The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Food.

Amelia had gotten out of her pink-infected apartment with three protein bars and a bag of peanuts she didn’t recall ever purchasing. They were half lost in the folds of her backpack. The expiration dates were too faded and worn to read. After some thought Amelia put them in a separate part of the room, marked ‘QUESTIONABLE’.

She’d slept rough, curled up around her well-soaked snatch, her hands pinned behind her back. Now her shoulders were sore. But at least she’d emerged with dry panties, a clear head, and the same size tits as before. Amelia made a note to measure them.

Breakfast was two of the protein bars and another gallon of tap water. At least the day was planned out: she needed a food supply, something unadulterated, unaltered, unspiked with hormones and chemicals. No mouth-watering ice cream penises, or anything similar. She was pretty sure where to look.

Getting there would be the difficult part.

She didn’t own any makeup and her hair was already slick with oil. But it was never that hard for a girl to slut it up. Amelia poured herself into her volleyball shorts and paired it with a t-shirt. There, her ass was hanging out. After thinking about it she tied off the shirt at the waist to show some bare midriff. The hair was challenging—ponytail or no? What was more vapid? She put it up, figuring that long, straight hair would be the outlier. The norm would certainly be puffy confections, or pigtails, or something more than severe, waterfall hair. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and knew she was not at all pulling it off. Bimbos didn’t look tired. But it would have to do.

The campus was very quiet.

Was she being observed, even then? Small cameras assessing her flounce, checking her figure for proper hourglass tits? Amelia told herself to relax—no one was going to bother keeping tabs on her. Kirk had simply told her the plan, confident that she was just a single, hapless female. The premise was that they all swam in Kirk and gang’s fishbowl. A little girl fish could hide in the castle, if she wanted. And it was early: there were still girls jogging around in normal, loose grey sweatpants, which would surely be banned in any regime of misogynistic mind controllers.

On the other hand, at least two of the early morning runners were wearing lipstick for a seven a.m. run.

And then, just when she was prepared to relax, to find a moment of ease in a suddenly alien campus, she found everyone. Just about everyone. They were thronged inside and out of the dining commons, up early and clearly starving. Boys and girls had intent, hungry looks, and they fidgeted in long lines outside of the entrance. And while many were still in pajama pants and large comfy sweaters not a few already had dolled up, cheeks bright pink and eyelashes curled. Some of the boys looked sweaty and held their hands to hide erections.

They weren’t even the worrisome ones. The mind controllers were right there, in large numbers.

As a partial outsider they seemed so obvious to Amelia. Perhaps it was learning the type from Kirk. Men. Men with a smidge of engineering, largely wearing workday jeans and buttondown shirts. A pinch of something else—there were men with a number of beeping devices hanging from thick belts, or wearing the most enormous, thickest glasses Amelia had ever seen, or, just simply, with two sluts hanging off of them. Most obvious of all was an enormous man with a big red beard, who trailed two scantily clad redheads like they were jewelry. The bad men were clustered around big white trucks. Brawnier, younger men—the Kirks of their world, Amelia figured—were unloading lots of cardboard boxes.

The air smelled amazing. A slab of bacon mixed with caramelized sugar, with the freshest, sweetest coffee swirling around it. There were cinnamon buns in the atmosphere. Actually, Amelia noticed, they were really in the atmosphere—there was a third redheaded slut walking the entrance line, handing out bulging and enormous cinnamon buns dripping with suspicious white icing. She was wearing, Amelia noticed, volleyball shorts, just like her own.

“Come on, come on!” Red Beard roared, imperious. “Caloric intake is important right now! We need to get our baseline saturation up!” he pounded on the side of the nearest truck. He wore a magnificent burgundy robe, to boot. The overall look was magnetic, and far removed from the seedy technician look most of the others sported. This looked like a man who fucked whoever he wanted. Particularly redheads. Amelia was very conscious, suddenly, of her long brown hair.

The man attracted all available attention. While he stomped around Amelia took the opportunity to peek her head in through the double staff doors. There were plenty of evil staffers there, none of which took any notice of her.

“They don’t even see women,” Amelia thought, sliding in. How best to look like a slut? She’d need to get some bubble gum. She settled for twirling her hair methodically and throwing her rump about as she walked. It was cartoonish and cheap and stupid, but wasn’t that what they liked?

There were a lot of girls there. It was her first good look at the—she shuddered—the end product. What was surprising was the ethnic diversity—they weren’t just porcelain dolls with varying degrees of tans, with uniform blonde hair. There were heavily modified women of all colors and backgrounds, and not just reduced to the same blonde lovedoll. But they were all—Amelia hunted for the right way to put it—the dumbest, sluttiest version of themselves, the biggest possible tits, the thickest, most imposing butts. Every inch of sexual potential had been wrung from the basic frame. And regardless of national origin they had happy, silly eyes, that saw no fault with anyone. They all licked their lips a lot.

The boys were too busy to bother her. The cafeteria back room was in a frenzy of food preparation. The air itself glistened. Out of the cardboard boxes came sugary delights of all kind, covered in crackling glazes and run out front to ravenous, changing students. Donuts, bear claws, sugar cookies the size of dinner plates and snickerdoodles completely powdered with cinnamon. More concerning, meat came out of the same, unrefrigerated boxes. Sides of red, glistening products that snapped apart with a touch. They smelled like primal, raw steaks.

Amelia tried not to read the labeling on the packages. It was all worrisome. “COOKIES—STAGE ONE’ read one, with an entire table of chemical additives. There was an accompanying diagram of a woman and a man, with helpful color-coded areas pointing to bits. The pastries had arrows pointing to the ass, and there was a very concerning set of symbols next to the girl’s brain. It looked like a minus sign, followed by the number eighty.

“Girl! Brunette girl! 32B brunette!” That was, in fact, her size. Amelia froze. Was she already just a stupid piece of ass? She’d walked right into slut central with a disguise made of shorts.

One of the harried looking tech guys dumped an enormous tray of what looked like ribs in her hands. It was downright heavy and smelled very good—like a marriage of candy and meat. It wasn’t clear which it was. “Get this out front, they’re going too fast,” he said, breathing hard. “Did I say that slow enough?”

It seemed like an honest question. “Um, yes!” Amelia squeaked. The pan wasn’t hot, but the contents smelled warm. It didn’t bear thinking about. The man gave her a look: why was a woman with a B cup in the back area. “Yes….sir!”

That did the trick. As she swiveled Amelia got a slap on the rear, for luck. She added a second squeak, this one very genuine.

There was nothing to do but obey. Amelia fell in with other girls and men, out through the doors to the front of house. The dining commons was a vast area themed like an overgrown ski lodge. Someone had paid for enormous timbers and brass chandeliers. The tables were very cheap, and all were completely full of students eating. Quickly, fast. Almost all had their heads low to the table to speed things up. Their plates were riotous with colors, and it was easy to tell that they’d color-coded. Blue drinks for boys, pink for girls, very simple. The coffee wasn’t dyed, but Amelia saw a girl with glasses on drink so fast brown dregs ran down her shirt.

She dumped the tray in the buffet area and backed away. Co-eds were already moving in to fill trays. They used their hands to pick up ribs.

“We’re not putting these out there,” Red Beard snarled, when she returned to the back, eyes downcast. “Marlon, absolutely not. No.”

Marlon was a very, very tall man with the build of a corn stalk. His only horizontal element was a twisted black mustache. “On the way in,” he said, holding out a small pink gumball. “It’s my finest work.”

“Finest work it in some other space! I’m running a complex operation here!” Red Beard said, waving his hands around. “Damien gave us all the same talk. In our damn heads. Remotely. You know how important calorie-driven adjustment is and I’m not fucking around with some damn magic-poof-pill! Find another space!”

“It is,” Marlon said, stiffly. “Not a magic poof pill.”

“It’s an instant change,” Red Beard insisted. He took the gumball and crunched it between two fingers. A puff of pink powder made a small halo around his greasy fingers. “Marlon, I’ve known you for twenty damn years. Magic poof is your whole damn thing.”

“I got the same message fro Damien,” Marlon said, unphased. He extracted another gumball from behind his ear. “And it is not. Magic.Poof. Get a girl in here. A demonstrative.”

Red Beard poorly concealed a hint of a grin. Amelia, lingering in the background, realized she was a brunette, with little boobs, holding nothing. She found a half-empty tray of what at first seemed to be red apples, but clearly weren’t.

“The perfect volunteer is already among us!” he pitched his voice higher, as if everyone in the room, even the bimbos, weren’t watching. “She thinks she can go undercover! As if we can’t steal into the little minds of silly defiant girls!”

Amelia’s heart sank into her pelvic floor.

But Red Beard turned and pointed an imposing finger at an asian bimbo with the most enormous boobs Amelia had ever seen, even in new, well-stuffed company. The other girls gasped in appreciative shock. The girl wore a long platinum wig, which she tore off, defiant, her hands shaking.

“Rose Lee, Seeprince Daily Journal,” she announced. “I’ve got lots of pictures already, and they’re uploading to the cloud as we speak.”

“No, they’re certainly not,” Red Beard said. “Did you really think you could fake tits on US? An insult! And cheap blowups to boot? You deserve this to be poofed.”

No one made a move to restrain Rose, and she had a clear path to the door. The bimbos were already back at work, although the male techs watched, interested, with their arms folded over. “You can’t hold me,” Rose said, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Everyone knows where I am. We’re this close—”

“Dear, you misunderstand us,” Marlon said. He glided over on his stilt legs. “We do not restrain women, ever. Not a hint of coercion.”

“Never!” said Red Beard.

“We would never use violence.”

“Certainly not!” Red Beard echoed.

Marlon had perambulated over to the nervous girl. She had, Amelia noticed, worn nearly the same disguise as her. Tight shorts and a tied-off t-shirt, except hers was tied off to nestle two balloon boobs. “Here,” Marlon said. He handed her the small pink gumball. “I think you will agree with me, and not with my oversized friend, that it smells very, very good.”

Toss it, Amelia willed. Drop it and run.

But instead Rose’s eyes fixated on it, her nose flared—then her pupils dilated. It was already over, Amelia figured. They had her. A single mistake…

“I’m keeping this as evidence,” Rose said.

“Yes, good,” Marlon said, nodding. “You do that.”

“I’m… the police will know RIGHT away that something is fucked up because it… it smells so damn good,” Rose said. She held it right underneath her nose. Amelia stopped breathing through her own—a red flush was already spreading across the journalist’s face, and she hadn’t even taken a bite. “So… its SO good…”

“Fake. Magic,” Red Beard said, shaking his head. “Trickery. Actual scent is the product of—”

“Your cooking is sugar and hormones with a pink glaze,” Marlon snapped, annoyed. “High caloric sludge with a hundred chemicals. Twinkies have given plenty of women big plump asses without your innovations.”

Red Beard shrugged at this. They were both intent on Rose, now. A spasm of emotions crossed her face, but mostly a low-lidded confusion. “Smells really good,” the reporter reported. “Like.. omg. Like… daisies.” She steeled herself. Amelia cheered her on, as internally as she could. “I gotta…. No… I gotta stop smelling this… too good….”

She popped it in her mouth, and gave a smug, triumphant look at the assembled men and their women. “Can’t smell it now,” she said.

“Oh, fuck,” Amelia thought.

It wasn’t exactly instantaneous. It took exactly as long as it normally did for a woman to orgasm, which is what Rose went through. Except for sudden, intense chewing she lost all composure, her face wholly slack, and she fell onto her knees. “Ohhhhh,” she moaned, the pink bubblegum filling her mouth entirely. Amelia watched, her own knees quivering, as Rose’s lips turned bubblegum pink themselves, swelling double, as her flushed cheeks gained even more color. “Ohhh, I… ohh no.” She brought her hands up just in time to pull her neckline down. Rose’s boobs puffed up in front of them, as two gel pads popped out of a stuffed bra, to land on the floor.

“Not that you care, but this took a lot of work,” Marlon said.

“I’ve seen plenty of poofs,” Red Beard said. “Granted, the lip-led is a nice touch. But still. Poof. Crescendo with a big, ear-splitting orgasm. Commonplace.”

“Sequencing like this presents enormous challenges,” Marlon said. “You can’t see her pussy, unfortunately, but it goes through a half-dozen distinct transformations. Slicker, more responsive, smoother…”

“Yes, I know what good pussy is, Marlon,” Red Beard said.

Rose herself heard none of this. She’d fallen forwards onto her hands and knees, tits hanging halfway to the ground. Her shorts looked painfully taut on her ass. Both eyes looked out, the pupils gone bright pink. The air itself around her seemed to shimmer. Strands of pink hair escaped from her wig, which toppled off her hair. It was a mixture of pink and black now.

“Like watching an anime sequence,” Red Beard said.

“God, at least let me enjoy it, man,” Marlon said. Rose’s changes seemed to be slowing down. She was much bigger, restructured into a fat fuckable bimbo version of her past self. Even her face was rounded and curvy, capped by the hot pink lips. “Watch what happens when I touch her lips.”

Marlon put out a finger and stuck it right between the permanent dick suckers Rose had acquired.

The girl sucked on it, just once, and then exploded in a messy, wet orgasm. Her shorts ripped right down the middle. There was a burst of applause from permanent bimbos and staff alike, which Red Beard quieted by glaring around.

“And then in ten minutes, what, she pops back to her former self?”

Marlon withdrew his index finger, which was coated in pink Rose drool. The girl was a wriggling, sticky mess on the floor. “And that, my colleague, is the other new innovation. Get enough calories in her, in the next twenty minutes, and the changes are permanent. Any slop will do. I see it as perfect for resistance mop up and emergencies.” He skittered back over to Red Beard, who had gone quiet with some grudging respect. Marlon wiped his finger clean on the beard itself.

“Ta da,” he said.

This time Red Beard let the applause roll. Amelia had no choice but to join in. Rose drew herself up, panting, her new lips not good at sucking in air, instead of cocks.

“Get her a few trays in the back room,” Red Beard said. “And we’ll see how she does on staff. What stage is she?”

“Three. But a well-rounded three.”

The bimbos took charge, at this point. They seemed sympathetic—many probably had dim memories, Amelia figured, of their own involuntary changeover to sex doll. Rose was helped between two similarly busty girls into the very back of the cafeteria. She looked very groggy. The girls brought in several full trays, gave their new friend some sympathetic pats on the butt, and then left her alone.

Except for Amelia.

“You okay?” she said, kneeling nearby. It probably wasn’t good opsec, but she had to know.

“I just.. I just got huge tits,” Rose said. She groped them. Her eyes regained a little glimmer, and she knelt as well, groping her nipples. “Oh. Oh my. They got me.”

“Y...yeah,” Amelia said, apologetic.

“Big tushie, big titties, and look at these hips,” Rose muttered. She struggled out of her basketball shorts. “Did I cum? No, I’m sure I did, gawd. Where’d my pussy hair go? How am I supposed to go jogging? I’m just…”

She looked right at Amelia. “Oh crap, I’m a big dumb bimbo!” she whispered.

“I can help,” Amelia said. “I’m hiding out too. I think if—” but Rose had already lost her moment of brief realization. She had seen the trays of food. With enormous effort she swung her gaze back at Amelia. “Listen—” she said. Her face turned back once more. “I... “ she gritted her teeth.

“Oh, fuck am I hungry,” she said, staring at they trays. “We found out this stuff—its basically pressed-together hormones with saccharine. It turned Stephanie into this—this slut-pig. In like a…” she picked up a cookie. “Like a week.” she said. “Just a big, dumb, food whore.” She stuck the cookie in her mouth. All of it.

She had already picked up another one before the first one had gone down. “Sorry—I’m just… I’m super hungry,” Rose said, moments before stuffing the next one in. “So hungry. I bet its…” she smiled, sadly, around crumbs. “Gonna go right to my titties. You should—you should—”

“What?” Amelia said. “What should I do?”

She only had enough room between bites and breaths for two words. “Find Caroline,” Rose said. She turned her attention fully onto the box of sweets, eyes wide, working her way through the collection of baked goods methodically. Her pussy leaked onto the floor.

Amelia stood up. They were in the very back of the cafeteria area, in a warehousing section that looked partly forgotten. There, in the corner, on a wire racks, were what she was there for—pre-invasion cardboard boxes, filled with cereals—normal cereals—and regular snacks and other kinds of fare that were long-lasting, prepackaged, and not drugged. And there was a disused door there, to boot.

Before she made her escape Amelia took one look back. Rose was on her hands and knees, butt up high in the air, mouth down inside the tray of faux-burgers. On all fours it was possible for her to rub herself between her newly meaty thighs. A pencil and pad slowly slid out of the remnants of her shirt and landed on the floor, in a pool of lubricant.

Amelia ran for it.

“Oh, hey Amelia,” her roommate said, casually. “Did you forget something?”

“Mia, I’ve been gone for three weeks,” Amelia said. She slid cautiously into the room, then over to the windows on the far side, holding her breath. They were locked closed despite the summer heat, and she struggled to open them. Mia watched her, curious. She was just as Amelia had left her: embedded into the couch, watching TV.

“Two and a half weeks... “ Mia said. Amelia had gotten used to that half-puzzled, half-distracted tone. That was the way partially-mind-controlled girls talked when they just couldn’t quite process something. It got stuck in a buffer. Sure enough: Mia wiggled her nose, blinked, and lost any look of concern. “So what’s up?” she said. “You okay?”

Amelia had to admit: she was the bedraggled, oily, gross, bereft one. She’d spent three weeks roughing it in a single room, drinking water out of a tap and eating dry cheerios. She smelled bad. Her hair was matted down with unwashed oil and yet, somehow, felt gritted and rough. She was no stranger to smelling awful: she’d hiked trails for weeks. But it felt… terrible.

Maybe in part because everyone else on campus was looking so sparkling-stunning. Amelia had expected that her fellow girls would be slutty-fat, greasy sluts with spunk coating their hair. And perhaps that stage was still on its way. Right now they all seemed to glow—skin clearing up, hair perfectly set, even teeth seemed whiter. Mia was a good example. She had arranged her own hair into a set of two short pigtails, and looked super cute in a high-waisted pair of white shorts, with a periwinkle crop top. Her toenails were colored pinwheel-rainbow.

“I’m great,” Amelia said. “I’m doing really great.” She wore a double layer of face masks stolen from the campus medical office. Oddly enough, it was mostly deserted—she’d expected some coterie of maniacal plastic surgeons, but they’d been absent. Although the nurses were sporting new one-piece uniforms. “You still watching pornog—oh. You’re not.”

“Are you watching Calving U?” Mia said, eyes returning to the screen. “It’s SO good. There’s like, five hundred episodes, I can’t believe I never heard of it before.” Amelia closed one eye and risked a look at the screen. It appeared to be a bunch of sexy, but clothed, college students, making serious faces at one another.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Amelia said. Not that she was fooled by it. Among other things, their floor had turned into a creek bed of forgotten trash. Plastic wrappers, emptied bags, and pizza boxes—lots of pizza boxes. The mustachioed italian on the box had his arms around two curvy cartoon blondes with big cartoon tits. “Extra cheesy!” his speech box said.

Mia herself looked a lot different. She’d gone up perhaps two cup sizes, and, while Amelia couldn’t tell how much new ass was buried in the couch, it looked like a lot. The innocent, crunchy-hippie student was still there, if she squinted… but it was all underneath an enormous set of dick sucking lips. They were coated in lipstick. Or at least Amelia hoped it was lipstick. There weren’t any lipstick tubes around.

Focus, that was key. She had to keep focused.

Over the past few weeks Amelia had made limited forays into campus, just to learn. She’d watched, as an example, a nubile co-ed who looked relatively unscathed: leggings, baggy sweater, actual books. Seconds after getting outside the girl had gotten her pick of free sweets, then a coffee cart manned by shirtless hunks. These she’d turned down. And she’d made it as far as the main quad, before a booming bass line caught her. Even on the outskirts, Amelia had felt it too: a musical arrangement that somehow vibrated, very specifically, on her clit. An aural hitachi wand. The co-ed had slowed to a stop, looking for the music, before deciding to sit her rear down on a concrete bench over by the speakers.

From her expression, it had been a very nice place to sit. Amelia had gone by an hour later. The girl was still there, blissed out, legs open as she laid there, letting the rhythm fuck her.

Amelia had caught herself tapping her own zipper to the beat. And that was just one person.

“Focus,” Amelia reminded herself. Go to the computer. Rose had emptied out the rest of her head giving her a name to hunt for. Caroline. Caroline, associated with the newspaper. There was some sort of nascent resistance out there.

Perhaps it was fool-hardy, hungering for contact. But Amelia was forced to admit: there was more to human needs then water, air, sleep, food, potty. She needed human contact.

God, did she really want some contact.

Her computer had been running the entire time. The desktop seemed normal enough, and she resisted the temptation to check e-mail. And while the browser was slow to load it came up bright and white. “Caroline…” Amelia ran the search. Caroline, Seeprince, Newspaper.

A pop-up interrupted.

“Fuck,” Amelia swore at it. She clicked it off before it could load, but caught a glimpse of swirling pink. Closing it just seemed to open two more, and these loaded fast. Ads for something naughty and girly—she kept herself from reading it. Underneath the marketing the search engine chugged along. Amelia closed both windows, which opened several more. Now the browser window was completely covered.

She bit her lip. This was ridiculous. Just playing games with her. The mouse darted across the screen, relentlessly shutting down new windows. It was impossible not to read them, now: they were all girls, much like herself, wearing very thick grins and with wide-set eyes. When she closed a bunch of windows the ad-slut almost seemed to be talking, almost looked like she was moving her lips. Each window had something important to say, waiting patiently for her to get to the next one. Her computer whined, overtaxed.

Was she drooling? Amelia slurped, frustrated, impatient. The girl in the windows was saying something important—about Caroline, she had to imagine. Perhaps it was Caroline, head of the resistance, telling her that it didn’t really matter, nothing mattered when you were a girl. Girls needed water, air, sleep, food, fuck. No. Water, air, food, fuck, cum, suck. Something like that. Amelia reprimanded herself for blinking—she was there on a mission, and she had to focus.

“Amelia? Are you still here? Come watch with me!”

Soft hands tugged playfully on her tits, and then took her by the hand. Amelia protested, feebly, as her gaze was snapped away from the windows. She had been so close. One more click would’ve done it. But she was too tired, suddenly, to protest. Mia arranged her on the couch so they were nice and snuggly, two girls up against each other, four eyes on the TV.

“Suchhhhh a hunk, right?” Mia kept up a running commentary as it all went along. Her hands were all over Amelia, gently, not really insistent. Just fun girl times together. The browser windows were still in her head, whenever Amelia blinked.

The plot of the show was a new girl on campus, a brunette, trying hard not to spend each day hopelessly turned on by a succession of cute guys. She was clearly a horny little minx, fighting all the while, trying to ignore the dead sexy dean, the math professor with a huge dick in his pants, the football players surrounding her irresistible little body in the hallways. Her morning outfit kept getting peeled off, due to wacky hijinx, into a nearly-nothing coat of taut short-shorts and overstuffed blouses.

Through no fault of her own, and a series of comedic events, she found herself on top of the also-hot math nerd, grinding her twitching pussy on what was definitely a twelve-inch dick. Mia grabbed and rubbed, excited. “The nerd! Its the nerd this time!” she said, thrilled. “Oh I love when she fucks the nerd! HUGE dick, just huge, big monster dick!”

“Huge, monster dick,” Amelia echoed. Mia was very soft and comfortable. Hadn’t the internet ad lady said something about that? She’d said a lot of stuff about a lot of stuff.

GIrl on screen was a very good actress. She really looked like a very horny girl totally overcome by her hormones, the insistent needs of her cunny, how good it felt to have her nipples fondled, no matter how hard she tried to be a good girl. Amelia watched her make a break for it, wet patch clearly defined between her legs, weak knees stumbling for the door. The camera swept behind her pert, trembling ass, to catch the expression on the Nerd’s Roommate’s face, as he walked out of the shower. His towel was tented by an equally large cock. His hair was damp and shaggy and so hot.

“Nerd Roommate!” Mia shrieked! “Finally! Oh my god it’s the Nerd and Roommate threesome shower anal episode!” Amelia was aware of her own roomie’s hand disappearing under her shorts.

Shower.

That rang the smallest bell. Something in her that had been hastily kicked away, but wasn’t quite gone. Amelia shifted away from Mia’s warm embrace. It wasn’t hard—Mia was busy putting her fingers inside herself.

Right, she needed a shower herself. She was gross. Even in the grape perfume of Mia’s body, she smelled bad.

On screen, the girl, trembling, pulled the tip of the towel down. A forearm-sized dick popped out. Helpless, the girl started to suck on it.

“I gotta take a… shower,” Amelia mumbled. “I’m stinky.” She fixated on that. As much as her body throbbed with new commands, she certainly couldn’t do any of them with oily, mangled hair. No way she could be a hot bimbo fuck, a warm wet hole for men, and all the other things she had learned. Amelia picked her way into the bathroom. It was barely used, which raised questions about Mia.

Shower. Good girls needed to be clean and wet. Amelia turned it on, and threw her body in before she could consider it, fully clothed.

Cold. Very, very cold.

“Oh. Oh!” Amelia said. She was back.

She’d been extremely careless. It had been a very close call. She could still feel the garbage circling around in her head. Pink thoughts tried to coalesce under the icy rain. Unsubtle stuff. She was destined to be a Good Girl, a squirmy, accommodating good girl. Dressed in pink and desperate to please men. She was still hot despite the water, pussy remembering television men with oversized cocks.

She’d have to do better.

Amelia took a cold shower. There was a forgotten bottle of cheap shampoo, even. She scrubbed her hair. Mission accomplished. Cautiously, very cautiously, she turned up the temperature to something approaching normal.

She could feel something waking up inside of her—a warm, horny, fuzzy feeling. A heat between her legs that was just waiting for a chance.

“Shit,” Amelia said, in the water. And she was getting very pruney. She was just going to have to grit it out—walk with her legs far apart to the safe house, lie there curled up, and detox. Amelia hit the lever. The shower stopped. It was just her, her naked body, her substandard tits, the heat inside of her. At least she was cold and naked.

Her clothes were far too wet to put back on. “Shit!” It helped to curse, she found. Good little girls didn’t curse. They took their nice clean naked bodies over to the couch to keep watching the fun show, where Amelia was sure the protagonist was getting spit-roasted very nicely. At least, someone was moaning from the other room. Maybe it was the TV.

She walked nude and dripping to her former bedroom, slid into the ugliest underpants she could find, a pair of jeans. They were disconcertingly tight—she told herself it was just dampness, fighting pants legs. But an old bra, a really old, stretched-out one, was just as taut. Amelia risked a single glance at the computer.

All the ads were gone. There was just a page of google results.

Hesitant, half-dressed, Amelia closed one eye and clicked on the top result. It brought up the student newspaper website. A banner headline read WARNING DO NOT CHECK CAMPUS WEBSITES. Underneath it a subhead read, in smaller font, INCLUDING THIS ONE.

No other stories or mentions of a descending swarm of horny mind controllers. But the latest story was dated—weeks ago. On the staff page there was a single photo of a number of students, surrounding a skinny, serious woman with dark hair, her lips pursed against the flash of the camera. Rose, in her previous body, was hip-to-hip with her. A second girl, a redhead, butted in on the other side. Geeky men populated most of the rest of the frame.

A hopeful pink ad started to form. Amelia, startled, pushed the monitor off the desk. It hit the ground and shattered. She was panting, her thighs warm and wet. It was well past time to go.

Mia had rolled onto her side, eyes still fixed on the TV. The moans were coming from her. She made a very compact ball, one hand snaking behind herself to rub at her crack. She had her other hand up her sleeves, and presumably down the front. Amelia didn’t look at the screen. The noises coming from it were barely human, and mostly squeaks.

“Bye, Mia,” Amelia said. She had to go. The couch was—so inviting. She’d be very happy sitting there. All her needs would be taken care of, wouldn’t they? Every need she could ever think of.

“Goodbye kiss?” Mia said, lazy. She pooched her oversized lips. They were perfectly smooth and flecked with purple dots.

She—but it had been so long since she’d touched anyone, anyone at all. Holding Mia on the couch had been so nice. Amelia tried to pull her neck back, but she was leaning over, for her first-ever girl kiss, sinking into those soft pillows. Mia breathed right into her mouth, delightfully sweet. She could feel that pink clouding her head. Stupid, stupid girl, to think a cold shower did anything meaningful. She was probably drinking all sorts of dumbening chemicals from those enhanced lips.

Mia’s tongue touched at Amelia’s upper lip.

Moaning, just like her roomie, she broke free, stumbled out of the room, and out. Back to the safe house, swollen and needy, where Amelia really had no choice at all except to rub herself until she had a guilty, wonderful cum.