The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Shimmering Fields”

by Cristina Prince

Part V: Jessica, Rabid

Jess hiccuped. That voice was back. The one that made her sound all dumb, druggy, and sorority-southern. She tried to understand what was going on, and took another breath, lightly tasting the supernatural smells of her own stressed body and the young indie rocker. She figured a “little girl lost” act might speed things up. “Don’t you have a more comfor’ble place where we can talk in private?”

The only thing this reminded her was of a time her boyfriend pulled her into his parents’ bathroom when they were over for Thanksgiving one year. That had ended, she remembered fondly, in some amazing, if abbreviated sex. The memory, such as it was, paled in comparison to her first orgasm with Trixie’s magic cock earlier in the day though, or whenever it was.

Darren ignored her and simply took down the straps of her dress. Her growing, wobbly boobs helped it off. “I have a boyfriend,” she drooled, “an’ shit, and—” She unzipped him and worked his dick to full mast in no time. “I’m just going to jack you off, that’s it,” she pleaded. “Believe you me, yer not the only one who’s missin’ out right about now!”

A daub of precum seeped its way from his cockhead to Jess’s fingertips, and she started to spread her legs out a little more as she stood, hiking up her already revealing dress with her free hand. “Well, actually, um...” She whinnied. “If nobody can see us fuck, then that cain’t possib-lie count as cheatin’!” Darren hesitated and wriggled free from her sensual grasp. All she wanted was for his great rod to be back in her hand. “Right?”

He answered by putting his dick away, his boner still rudely tenting overworked denim after zipping back up. She could nevertheless smell it, and it made her irritated. She smacked her forehead. Why was she ready to cheat so willy-nilly? This guy was trying to stop her!

Darren got behind Jess and held her boobs, caressing either nipple one at a time. She reflexively backed into him with her exposed rump, grinding down on his clothed crotch. She felt so safe. “Truth is, Jessica,” he said, already fibbing, kissing the back of her neck, making her melt deeper into his arms, “This is the only room in the house with a mirror.”

She gazed at her reflection, scarcely recognizing herself through all the curves and makeup. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, almost bored-looking, like she was a professional at these sorts of situations. Going through experienced motions. “Notice anything different?”

It took her an eternity, but she did. “My left nipple is a little bit harder than my right?” Darren backed away slowly, flabbergasted at how quickly she was going Brittany-bitch.

Jess just cupped her boobs right where he’d left his hands, pouting to her reflected image. Neither of them knew if it was out of desperation or because it made her look that much sexier. He toggled his phone to play a snippet of live video someone took of her Pittsburgh show. The disparity between that Jess and the one in the mirror was intense and undeniable.

“Jessica,” he said, using her full name, making her feel more relaxed and comfy all around. She loved that he called her that. “Jessica, I’m concerned about you. I think you caught the ‘family way flu’.” The girl in the poor-quality cell phone video was slight, tiny even, as she stood onstage, warbling a morose tune.

To Darren, it looked as if she had gotten a completely new lower body in the two days since, her hips nearly three times the size they were on record. He thumbed an asscheek as she wimpily egged his hand on lower. He refused, peering at a tiny but clashing birthmark on her butt.

“You have to know what I’m talking about. You’ve got the mark right here.” He poked at the spot and it sent a cascade of pleasure throughout her whole body, almost as good as if he had decided to throw his meat inside of her. The little mole radiated red outwards, looking like hives until he got a closer look.

Sure enough, it was the sign of a newbie-cherub. Little tiny crosses made up the light rash. He swallowed, tempted to unzip his fly and ravage her pussy right there. “You said you wuz—I mean- were in Poren Springs last night?”

The past two times Trixie had tried this and orchestrated other girls’ tours had proven slight experimental failures and they’d have to abandon the project attempts. By the time the first one made it to his house venue, she did not have that birthmark yet, signalling to the members of the top secret operation that something physiologically was not gelling. The second girl’s birthmark was already close to black, well lived in. It was decided that she was too far gone, barely able to speak, let alone enunciate enough to sing.

That particular inductee’s “performance” was just her rolling around and jilling off onstage. After fucking her following a lukewarm reception, Darren made the arrangements to send her back to Trixie. He made sure that the next musician she tried out was in the middle of a tour instead of putting a seasoned cherub on the road right after she graduated from Cowlick College.

This girl was just right, though certainly progressing quickly. He tapped the button on her butt and it made her knees lock together. “Yessss,” she moaned, “yeah, I was there last night—Hey, if you do that again, could you, like... dry-hump me or something, at least?”

Darren pushed Jess’s butt-button again brattily, and that was apparently her final straw. She just about toppled to her knees, licking this pseudo-friend’s package through his jeans, gasping and panting, comfy mouth oscillating between tongue-attack and hanging lustily open. She got his cock out in a manic rush, like a spoiled child on Christmas morning.

But before she could duck down and start to quench her thirst for this dude’s dude-cum (a first, since she rarely even spit whenever she gave Jude oral, preferring him to spurt on her tits or more frequently, a dishrag), Darren had to be a party pooper, again.

“Tsk-tsk, you can touch, but you can’t suck. I don’t have any condoms, and I’m sure you don’t either.” Jess couldn’t figure out if he thought that about her because she seemed innocent, or if she just seemed to be starving to get herself preggo. “Come on,” she complained as she stroked. “What the fuck?! So I can’t blow you?” She traced his abs as she looked up sadly at him, all emotionally riled up.

“I don’t want to catch Angel Lover’s Disease,” he said, which is an entirely harmless condition afflicting almost every one of the unlucky (or very lucky, depending on who you’re talking to), uninitiated men who happen upon a cherubgirl and decide they can’t resist, and fuck them. Which is basically every one of them nowadays, including an alarming amount of gay guys. There were downtown protests for St. Brittany’s “Swing Both Ways, You’re The Lord’s Gays!” conversion campaign, to boot.

* * *

Angel Lover’s Disease is beneficial for men in almost every way. It’s good for the skin, builds muscle faster than any supplement or standard excercise regimen, and makes a man not only hung like a mule, but rock hard at the drop of a hat, with feats of mythic stamina and super-potent sperm replenishment.

The lone drawback is that, depending on how many cherubgirls one screwed, he’d run the risk of a brain drain, particularly if it was an exceptionally hot day. Darren definitely had the “ailment” for months and so already reached half his country pussy quota for the day. Angel Lover’s Disease promises you lots of angel lovin’, on the real.

These days, all he had to do to scoop up some tail was just stroll shirtless through Little Cherub, which was swallowing South Philly whole. A streamlined mega-neighborhood for downhome, sex-crazed flesh-gods. A gentrification of another kind, if you would. Babby, Shana, Lissa, Polly, Misha. There was even a girl that insisted on being called Titties. She had her name legally changed to Titties Menlove, and is working as an actress for Cowboy Candy B-movies and lives off of Reed, working as a recruiter for St. Brittany’s between jobs.

Of course, he never talked to any of these girls again. He didn’t need to. Little Cherub was literally swarming with all manner of similarly unbeatable pussy. His favorite come-on line was “Excuse me, miss, could you spare any milk?” If the Brittany-bitch got the reference (A hobo-gigolo to Shay-Belle in her movie “Motherload”), which she would, she’d smile back, they’d talk for a minute or so, maybe get a drink or a bite to eat. Invariably she’d be too worked up to not invite him back to her place to watch another foreign movie from church country.

Within fifteen or twenty minutes, as it happens to urban Brittany-bitches with all those silly DVDs, someone was fixing to cum, and cum hard. The movies are just that great. Today was one of his favorite days yet. Twins. That only happened four times before, so he felt kinda proud. They were also redheads. (So Jess was his third one of the day.)

He tried a handful of times to stop fucking those girls, but it was a lost cause, all he did was jack off and start to lose valuable memory, like his name or social secturity number. Yup, a hot day without fucking a real live cherubette, if you had ALD, would cut you down some IQ points to boot.

Afflicted physicists and politicians alike have had to resign their posts and become cafeteria workers and custodians. Before they realize how much more fun they could be having in Cherub Cove and move there, of course. It becomes clear when examined in this way that the “disease” is really, ultimately a blessing. It eliminates the gravity of most problems and replaces them with a trusted route to a fertile family unit.

* * *

Jess’s eyes glazed over as she half-listened to him go on and on, sucking up her drool every once in a while to keep up. “It travels through oral sex,” he continued, and Jess was way too trusting and dim at the moment to see that he was already well healthily afflicted. “I didn’t know that for the longest time,” he lied; it was more like a half a day at best, his first while visiting his cousin Maddie two summers ago in Cherub Cove.

(He couldn’t believe the odd rumors about the town and was mystified and had to see it and Maddie, magnetically attracted, beyond intrigued. It took some time, and a dozen or so conversation attempts, to realize that this was no longer his cousin, or “Big Sis” as he often called her. That girl was gone and this new girl didn’t miss her one bit. In fact, she loved her plasticky-smooth skin and unbothered mind, both ready to be commandeered by cartoon curves.

He was uncomfortable about fucking a relative, though. Even if she was nothing like the Maddie he knew, and was even taking to the name Madison. That new precocious name, despite having nothing to do with her real one, Madeline, seemed to signal a shift in her behavior and demeanor.

Although, after four or five mean blowjobs all the way into dusk, he figured he could accept at least those and her new silly name. After visiting her every weekend while her boyfriend was away, just for a couple in-and-out, dessert-treat BJs, he was finding it hard to believe Madison wasn’t always her name. It was as natural as the three or four FarmFrappes he had to order every time he “checked in”.)

“You could, uh... You could say I’m a fan of blowjobs and must have been dick-milked by a Shimmering Shield of St. Beverly somewhere down the line,” the kind, hospitable but more and more masculine-seeming dude admitted. “Nah-uh, you did not just do that!” Jess caterwauled. “It’s St. Brittany,” she reinforced, highly annoyed, huffing and puffing.

A curiously pleased smile fell onto his face as she exposed her perfect programming, wondering if he should play it cool or just bend the chick on over. Jess was already halfway there. All he had to do was pivot and reposition her, like she was an opposable doll. “I don’t wanna quarrel with ya, but get it right.”

She was already on her knees. She looked up at him with glistening, puppy-dog eyes that seemed to suggest, “Oh, pwease, pwease let me thuck your penith.” Jess didn’t want to fuck, though, not really. Sucking wasn’t cheating (as long as you didn’t look up at the guy too much while you were doing it. One of Trixie’s town’s infomercials had told her that, and that was quite helpful.) and she was just jonesing for it for whatever reason.

Darren totally has Ass-Girl Lover Syndrome by now, I’m sure, Jess thought, unaware of how true her wild guess was.

“My cock’s like, two thirds bigger or something already,” Darren informed her, complaining as if that was somehow a setback for him. Even in the throes of discovering her new, hyper-erotic self, Jess called bullshit, but in the process ignored the implication that he had fucked more than a couple cherubgirls already.

She knew, somewhere in another silly-sexy sector of her brain that was forming and staking its claim, that she had to have been the freshest, most delicious ass he’d seen.

He unbuckled his belt and slowly unzipped his jeans, stopping not too far from the fly, and whipped his dick out as it shot upward, slapping onto his toned stomach.

“Oh, you poor, poor baby,” she cooed like Marilyn, sarcastically, spit adorning her lips like molasses, a glut of sugary saliva making her speech start to border on redneck. And not a refined one, at that. The more she talked after, or during her jumbled, flailing, half-thoughts, the dumber she felt.

It made her weak with the twinkle-tinglies when she recognized that she only got horrified about once every twentieth sentence by the ditzy crap she was saying. “Gotta walk around this whole wide world with a strong dong, huh? Sex must feel awful!”

Those flashes that told her something was destroying her brain made her a lot wetter than they should have. They were getting fewer and too far between. When she first noticed something naughty was happening to her, it had been a lot more obvious. Even if she was still pretty much compliant and almost gleeful for some of those excercises earlier that afternoon, she knew who she was.

How to locate dreams and aspirations. Maintaining a somewhat grounded outlook as her brain begged for sleep mode much too often, and her body started asking and answering more questions each minute. “I wish it was smaller!” she joked at his prick, rolling her eyes as she tried to graze the tip before her hand was swatted away again.

Jess surely knew who she was. She was an adventure-seeking touring musician, and she wanted to have just a second of fun. (Figuring her boyfriend into the equation was annoying and almost sad, so she didn’t.) Wasn’t she entitled?

Now, it was also getting troublesome to remember where she was a lot of the time. It smelled like she was back in the lazy sex gravy of the Poren Springs / Cherub Cove border. The fact that they were playing Shimmy Shields on the stereo, muffled through the bathroom walls, only added to the backwoods ambience.

“So... Do you like music and stuff? Like, art and... I bet you work out, huh?” She was trying, adorable but desperate, to sound smart and invested. Really, she mostly wanted to keep hearing and using words that made her panties (when she wore them) cream.

Jess held a tit, idly trying to make its nipple meet her lips, as casually as biting a fingernail. “You work up a sweat and build that bod up so you can pound the living—” She sat on the edge of the bathtub, fidgeting, and crossed her legs together.

“Um...” She put on somebody’s pink vintage glasses, left on the soap dish. They almost reminded her of something she might wear, and, holding them up, could have sworn she had a pair just like them. But that was ridiculous—she had perfect vision! They’d make her remember how to be smart, though, anyway. Or look smart. Whatever. “Ummmmm. So like...”

The more Jess let her changing body carnally luxuriate in itself, the less her mind could attempt to give a shit. Now when she tried to make herself feel extra wrong, feel extra guilty, her conscience simply pre-empted those pesky intruders with a Pavlovian urge to fuck something.

She couldn’t stop teasing Darren, even though she knew this was not like her. At all. She fought and fought to remember what she would have done to such a nice and nicely exposed cock before all this bimbifying. Probably something lame like run away. Ugh, that was so two days ago!

But, logically, the best part about teasing was that it gave her more ammo for the hot session with the mighty magic-dick toy that was sure to come at some point. At least for this moment, all she could do was tease Darren, and felt altogether justified.

“Guys that get better and bigger dicks are sooo persecutie,” she giggled once and then at her mistake. “Gimme a break, boy.” The powerful, rich scent of basically just his straining cockhead teased her right back. Jess purred.

“You know you want it,” she sang despite her slushy will, making sure the door to the bathroom was locked. Of course it is. I’m such a dumb whore, she accused her ever-shifting self.

For the past couple hours at least, she had taken to poking fun at herself, to force her to laugh at her libido-enriching troubles. Much, much easier to be amused than get freaked. Every little thing she could do to avoid a breakdown on the road surely helped, she reasoned. Even if it meant stuffing her holes, like, a lot of the time. (At the moment, her mouth was of course her loneliest hole.)

Playful little jabs to herself reminded her that she, as incomprehensible as it sometimes seemed, had other responsibilities besides being sexy and waiting for sexy shit to happen. It did seem like her self-worth was dwindling to hay-pennies, though. I’m a triflin’ little bimbo and I’ll never make it without a man and a ring.

She wondered, frightened as to where that “settling down” trip had come from. It almost sounded like something Hilda would say, Ginny’s twin sister on the “Pastures of Promise” soap. “I know you know just what to do with ass-n-titties like mine.” She slid the rest of her dress off to better advertise, and present her request with a little more color. I’m a silly, stupid ditzy-girly. That’s all. That’s who I am.

“I am not!” Jess shrieked, hardly noticing Darren’s smirk. He didn’t even bother to acknowledge that surely misplaced blurt and let her continue. “I haven’t tried out these new lips yet,” she pled her case extra-irrelevantly, “and I already ruined a perfectly good top from all this spit, and like, just before the show, when I got an iced coffee, I kept suckin’ on the straw even when there wasn’t anythin’ left in the cup. ‘Cuz it felt so good.”

She stuck a prim, fashionable finger in between her lips, because she mentioned them. They felt good, but she had a hunch they could feel a lot better. “I dunno, it’s like... My mouth is getting horny.” She threw her hands up, making her new boobies shake. “Weird, huh?”

She got back down on her knees, and he was going to let her blow him this time, overcome by how cute and genuinely carefree her personality was, complimented and still put in another context by her voluptuous, lust-built second bod. Jess got as far as a couple jacks after wetting her fingers (too easy) before someone knocked on the bathroom door and barged in, not waiting a second for an answer.

“Oh, for Sister Sandy’s cankles! Did I interrupt?” Darren’s smoky sibling’s eyes went wide at the secret scene. Jess still had her hand on the boy’s johnson, but hesitantly took it off when she met eyes with and recognized the black cat-woman. “Don’t let me stop you, hussy,” she laughed, sliding a hot pink gardener’s mat under the singer’s appreciative knees, rubbing Jess’s back as she took her brother in her mouth, both of them forgetting anything said about Angel Lover’s Disease.

The girl, already past peaking with a fever pitch, creamed at being called “hussy”, and wore that as a badge of honor. The boy liked it too, because she didn’t fight it, just welcomed the blowjob as if she was about to receive St. Brittany herself.

“But Darren,” his sister carried on authoritatively, denying herself the urge to give Jess pointers, watching the young tramp’s ability and suck-style take care of themselves all on their own. The more Jess sucked, the better she got at it, and the better it felt. Merely a hair or two less intense than getting fucked for real, she knew she’d still be able to cum just from having him in those pleasure puffs.

So did he. He thrusted a bit more emphatically now, close to facefucking her. He gathered her long, succulent red hair and clumped it together in a temporary ponytail, jerking her head back and forth in her lascivious labor. “Darren!” his sister called again, aggravated. “Yeah?” he wondered, shockingly meek. Bitch could suck.

“You can’t forget to christen her with a new stage name. You can’t forget.” Jess grabbed on to Darren’s solid thigh to steady herself and gagged, her head being pulled up as if it would make her nice, helpful man think better. The sharp, rough act was a hot reminder that she was putting in work. She sighed, gurgling a little from the precum sludging off the roof of her mouth, putting a finger in her mouth at least.

She stumbled to the side of the bathtub, sucking on two fingers now, too hot to say anything but admitting, “I love sucking cock.” Darren’s sister laughed as he jacked himself off, and she said, “Of course you do, Britty-bimbo.” More resolve dissolved in Jess, in the shimmering shape of a unicorn made of sparkles. Acceptance!

The crowd was still milling about the house. Darren and Jess could hear the dozens of loud conversations going on but it didn’t bother them. Darren’s hard rod stood strong and red in front of him as he lit up a cigarette. He emitted a timeless, rebel sort of cool as he spoke between his first puffs. “I gotcha, sis.”

Jess finished putting her lengthy, lustrous hair into a real ponytail and demurred, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but your brother is like... hot as shit,” she beamed, already with one thumb on her clit and the other in her mouth, “and shit.”

Darren’s sister glared at the performer as she took off her glasses that kept sliding off her face from the sweat of sexy-time. “Okay, Darren?” she asked, bored by the trifling tart. He dumbly nodded.

“Jessica’s got a lot of fans out there, so she should set up her merch table soon,” his sister went on. The singer could not or would not hear, and spread her legs out more, silently deciding whether or not plugging her cunt with the end of a hairbrush would feel as awesome as she hoped.

“I’m not telling you to rush, but just be careful about the clock.” She stepped into the bathroom, fidgeting with a tissue dispenser that rested at toilet level on the wall. She met eyes with her brother and grinned a knowing grin.

“I think you two need to take a look over here and maybe fix that before you come on out, too,” she sang with a sultry wink. Jess didn’t know what they were talking about, because she was so barely conscious that they were even talking in the first place.

“Jessica! Jess!” some fangirl shouted as the feline mistress closed the door. “She’s busy, she should be out soon,” the chocolate sister could be heard saying on the other side of the door. There was a decent amount of audible groans at the news. Jess stumbled backwards into the door, locking it.

She studied her body briefly and smoothed her hands over her partly familiar curves. Hair is up, face is rinsed. Let’s suck some more cock. She slunk down to her knees, pulling Darren forward by his shins, hungry and close to dehumanized.

“Fuck, Jessica,” he said, worried in his own dim-bulb way. “My sister was right. This Kleenex box is off-center.” Jess blindly trusted him and didn’t want to peel her gaze off of his dick, now deflating, the poor little guy. She wanted to help it, to stroke it, to suck it. But she knew that the second she went near it, he’d push her back down with those strong hands of his.

While punishment and discipline were oddly making themselves known as major turn-ons lately, she understood it would be best not to rock the boat with him. She just wanted to give some head, that’s all. Was that really so much to ask?

“If you could just,” he grunted to get her attention, undoing the fixture with a screwdriver that seemed to come out of nowhere, “pry your eyes off my pecker for a second and watch. That’s all I ask, and then you can have your little dick-snack. It would help me a good deal.” She complied, anything for her oral reward that doubled as his. “Teach your dumb little trailer trash ass somethin’ about home remodeling.” Impatient, he grabbed her by the butt and scooched her over to him.

“You might even like it better than smokin’ pole, you slutty litte dummy.” Fat chance. He snuck a finger in her cunt as he plopped her down next to him. Glancing at it once it was unglued from her snatch, he saw it was covered in her juices. Jess grabbed onto his leg like a monkey to a tree, squeezing. He couldn’t believe how perfectly this indoctrination was working out. Her mouth felt better than most vaginas he enjoyed since contracting ALD.

“Slutty, dumb little dummy dumb-girl,” he murmured dreamily. The words swam around in the wayward singer’s bliss-ravaged head, until they rubbed up against each other in a special new kind of prayer. “Trailer park trash-ass,” he prattled on under his breath. “Slutty, dumb little trailer park girl with a dumb, big ol’ trash-girl slut-butt.” She attempted to mouth the words, as they seemed too important to forget, but all that came out was a simpering moan.

Jess was way too wet after being called those names. They were so far from the truth, yet so close to the Truth. She squelched up and down on her fist. She was delighted to learn how to unscrew a tissue dispenser, and didn’t even put up a trace of effort in keeping her drool from splashing onto the tile.

Her hands went animalistically to his dick, and he wordlessly allowed her to go for it. He was granite hard in seconds. The sweat that covered every micron of Jess’s body was heavily made up of runoff Cherub Cove product, the ultimate all-purpose aphrodisiacs, and just those fleeting moments of getting blown were enough to enlarge his junk.

It was only a little, but he could definitely tell. This newborn Brittany-bitch would easily pile another one or two inches on his prick by the time they were through. Jess jerked him until it was big and strong and begging for a two-handed tugjob. She didn’t want to let him down though, and worked his wood as best she could with just one, eyes on the almost unscrewed tissue box.

“There,” he grunted, relishing in the sweet thumbing his engorged cockhead was getting, as he rested the dispenser on the floor. Jess was gobsmacked. In a hole in the wall, encircled in a pink neon light, was a veiny, monstrous, yummy-looking megacock. Two big dicks? And here she was, barely able to contain her joy in handling one!

“A glory hole?” she asked, only having read about such a thing. Something about it seemed familiar, though. Something beyond the instantaneous recollection that she’d seen the ads for Gloria Gobble’s Glory Holes back in Poren Springs. The shape of it and the pitch-black negative space around it seemed mighty and commanding, like a home you’d never need to leave.

“Can I kiss it?” she asked irrepressibly. “Sure, but just for a few seconds,” Darren encouraged. “Get him nice and wet. You’re gonna be sucking my dick, after all. Or did you forget that, you tit-wit bimbo?”

She’d figure out what would happen with this dick after she blew it. She propped an elbow on the wall to get a better grip on the big wang, to do her job better.

It was best not to worry about it, and to let her spit do the talking, and her hand do the jacking. It seemed hasty to do anything like think when Darren was already saying such sweet things. Egging her on so cutely.

“You’re a pro at this suckin’ shit, honey bun” he said, petting her shoulders. “Why, I bet you’d just suck harder if I told you there were two cameras in here, both pointed at you.” She sucked harder and felt the heat of surveilance. It felt like being onstage.

To Be Cum-tinued...