The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The incident left a mark. For two weeks Amelia barely left her aerie. Pee, water, food, trash haulage

She reprimanded herself for inadequate record keeping before. Yes, her boobs were definitely larger. Not overripe melons. In fact, compared to the rapidly growing campus population, she now had comparatively small tits. But they were a cup or two bigger, and they felt nice, and her nipples stuck straight up even when she laid down. They had a jiggle and firmness like there was some plastic in the mix.

She’d gained ten pounds. It’d be easy to chalk that up to inactivity in a loft. But it settled in too perfectly, putting curve on her rear, a noticeable layer of padding that just… smoothed her.

Little stuff, if she wasn’t looking for it. Except her lips. Those had definitely absorbed something real and permanent, off of Mia, no doubt. They had a pucker to them. They’d look good around some guy’s dick, no denying it.

But it was all little stuff, little stuff. Especially compared to the girls starting to make their way across campus, usually at night. Most of the co-eds were still just looking a bit ditzy and well-fed, but a few already had badonk butts, shelf tits, enormous poofy lips. Harbinger ladies, shorts disappearing up their ass cracks, usually arm in arm with some big guy. Women of the future.

Amelia had a lot of time for observations. She’d rigged a few tables together to give her an observation perch through the big window. She’d concluded this much: those mind controllers, they certainly had a type, and it was classic fertility statue. The kind of girl with a sexy shadow. Everything was full to bursting, an overstuffed, overfeminine approach that could be summed up as: juicy. There appeared to be some deviations—she’d spotted some muscular, amazonian girls, some absolutely tiny sprites in baggy sweaters. But mostly it was boobs and butts.

Amelia rubbed at her own curves, reminding herself: this wasn’t her. It was all easy to dismiss. She’d gotten a little slut juice in her. She’d softened, just a bit. Her pussy was more tingly. It still had hair on it. That counted for something.

It was the bubbling pink, deep inside of her, that was more worrisome.

Amelia recognized that she had to masturbate. It was a normal, human need. Masturbation took her sex drive and associated reproductive urge and grounded it, harmlessly, on her fingers. She needed to cum just like she needed water. That was fine. And it felt super good.

The issue was that when she closed her eyes, and tapped on her clitty, the pink came and found her. “You’re a dumb bimbo girl,” it chided, whenever she was self-stimulating. That same online advertisement voice, only delivered by the Calving U actress. “You’re a piece of pussy property,” she’d hear, or think, or whatever, right before cumming for the third time that day. And then she’d lay in a daze, and have to sort out: was it right? Did she need new, pretty clothes, or was that the effect of conditioning? She DID need new clothes—her old ones were worn, and didn’t fit, and were not cute at all.

But there was an out.

“Come on, Brian, I have volleyball!” Amelia stood up immediately. She wore the only pair of her shorts that fit, a loose pair of jogging shorts. The elastic was getting worn—she kept jamming her fingers down the front.

“I’m hurrying, Catherine,” Brian said, mollifying. “You know how it is now.”

“Bullshit,” Amelia hurried downstairs. “You didn’t grow six extra inches of dick. Fuck you. Don’t lie.”

“It’s hard to reel out,” Brian said. At last, Amelia got a look through the door. Brian was the standard male hardbody, his frame freezing into a cluster of muscles. All the men were basically the same jacked-up bro body with a horse-cock. Even their faces looked similar, with a bit more jawline. “It gets stuck in there now.”

“Fuck me or don’t,” Catherine said. She was one of the rare exceptions, the amazons, with a brilliant blonde ponytail and a perfect, deep tan. She was at least six foot two, and already naked but for her tennis shoes. “Lets go. I have four minutes.”

The building was host to a growing number of couples—and more than couples. A foursome had gotten situated around the foyer skeleton. It was not clear to Amelia if the cool, quiet spot was considered an attractive place to fuck, or if going at it in public was just more and more common. She watched Brian pull his dick out. Catherine was unfair. Even by the shifting standards of good dick at Seeprince, it was a good dick. No wonder it snagged on his boxers. Catherine grunted mild, grudging approval. And then, as soon as he shoved it in, she snapped her two muscle-thick legs around him, and drew him close.

Amelia leaned against the wall and rubbed at her own pussy.

It worked, somehow. Watching other students fuck drove away her own whispering pink self, made it just an exercise in sexual tension release. Amelia was getting good at it, too. For some reason she came extra hard when she timed her own fingers to the boy’s eager thrusts. She’d learned to speed up along with the rutting duo, and had gotten pretty proficient at cumming in unison. A threesome of sorts.

Catherine’s haughty, volleyball queen routine was melting under Brian’s dick. Just like all the rest. Get one of those cocks in them, and every girl Amelia had seen was just a whimpering, wet mess. Increasingly their brains outright shutdown post-fuck, with maybe a little giggling. Catherine’s legs went slack, her scrambled head unable to do anything but get fucked. Amelia’s fingers sped up. She had to be careful. Sometimes when she came, she hit her head against the wall.

Catherine was definitely going to be late for volleyball practice.

Amelia usually tried to time her own orgasm to the boy’s. It was just easier. The girls seemed to start to buck and moan the instant the cock went inside them. But vanilla, boy-facing-girl sex was getting rarer. During the day especially she’d rubbed one out to a lot of quickie blowjobs. There was one couple, Tania and Conner again, that came by nearly every day. At first they had been the usual giggling fun duo, having exciting public sex. Then Tania had started just sucking Conner off. Now she never talked, and Conner absently pushed her head back and forth.

Conner spent a lot of time in Amelia’s head, fucking her lips.

‘Okay, gotta go,” Brain said, cheerfully. His partner was a tangle of long legs and juices, moving very slowly. There were still some sweeties that did aftercare, and showed confused concern that sex left their female partners in a half-coma. But not Bryan, who patted Catherine on the cheek and, with some effort, zipped up. Amelia saw none of that part. She was lost in her own orgasm. There was just something about the man leaning forwards and bracing himself, to make sure he shot long ropes. Primal and hot. Amelia’s head lolled against the concrete. She was going to have another bruise.

It was a point of pride that she, at least, came out of her sex fog quicker then the other girls. And, although she licked her fingers clean, that was just out of necessity. She didn’t have laundry.

Amelia felt the usual pang. It wasn’t that—she really, truly didn’t envy Catherine, who was six foot three and still quaking in the lobby. Obviously Catherine was bound for some demented volleyball squad.

But…

She hadn’t spoken to anyone, to anyone, in weeks. Physical contact was an imperative, social contact even more so. When she talked her voice was thin and warbly.

Amelia opened her door.

There was no risk to it—Catherine was going to be unconscious for at least another fiver. She’d just started to drool, and wasn’t even limp. But it felt transgressive, guilty. Amelia reached out and stroked the girl’s leg. It was vinyl smooth. A pair of volleyball shorts were wrapped around one white shoe. Amelia took them. It was not the first time she’d taken clothes. Catherine was so warm. She traced a leg muscle with her finger. Catherine’s eyes tried to find her.

“Whuzzah?” The volleyball girl said. It wasn’t quite a word.

“Shh. You’ll be fine,” Amelia said. She put a water bottle by the girl. It was the very least she could do.

“Cathy, we saw you go in here! Hurry up!”

Two other volleyball queens. Amelia scurried, body low, to the bathroom. Similar pony-tailed big girls wandered in. This close, Amelia could tell how much they’d grown, too fast. They both wore sandals clearly too small for their feet, and their shorts looked painfully dug in on their rumps.

“Wake up, cum dumb Cathy!” one said, legitimately annoyed. “Coach hates this! He saw you leaking jizz last practice and said you should learn to clench, remember?”

“Get up, Cathy, I don’t want to run more laps,” the other one said. This one was a little shorter, and had an unexpectedly gentle voice. “Come on, get out of it.”

It’d be nice to have someone say those kinds of things to her, Amelia thought.

“Hey, I have a perfect solution,” first girl said. She kneeled in front of the still-woozy Cathy and, without hesitation, dove headfirst into her snatch. That woke Catherine up—she bolted upright to the tune of eager girl tongue, before settling onto her elbows.

“Ohhh—where’s Brian?” Catherine managed. Both of her friends laughed, affectionate, even the one muff-diving.

“It’s just us, and you’re lucky Erin is cleaning you out,” second girl said. She found a way to give an affectionate half-hug to the prone Catherine. Her voice gained that wistful, confused tone: something trying to work out exactly what was wrong. “We’ve been a little slutty this summer, haven’t we?”

Amelia watched as the pussy-licking friend nodded, and missed other people so bad she forgot to keep rubbing herself.

She wore other people’s clothes. Sexy clothes—the outfit was a melange of stuff trespassers had cum in. From bottom up, Amelia wore a pair of purple knee socks left behind, somehow, in a noisy threesome of two boys and a girl, then her new volleyball shorts, loose on her compared to the amazons, an orange tank top that she padded with toilet paper, and had her hair in pigtails. It was garish and fun, and she fit in well with the rest of campus, except she was alone.

It ground against her, alone. No one else was alone, anymore. Mostly the campus was coupled, boys and girls walking so intertwined it wasn’t clear whose hand was down whose pants. But even leaving them aside, no one walked alone. Men strode confidently with other men, jean legs too short on taller bodies. There were packs of girls, a moving cloud of different perfumes and all close up against each other, hands casually stroking. She stuck out. People weren’t meant to be alone. It was the major biological imperative she hadn’t solved.

For that reason, she marched out to find Caroline.

Getting into the Student Center, without suffering irreversible bimbofication, took thought and planning. It actually had some of the sinister white vans out front. Amelia guessed it was a fun sandbox for more tailor-made girls and boys: the foreign language clubs were there, the political groups, environmental, ethnic groups, LGBTIQ. More exotic building materials. On cue a wholly androgynous, stunning person with perfect skin popped open the door. They had purple hair and matching bubblegum, and beautiful lips.

“Thanks,” Amelia said, sliding through the door. The person gave her a charming smile, and winked behind dark sunglasses. It penetrated deep inside Amelia.

“Don’t take the elevator right now,” the stranger said, and walked off.

It was good, unsettling advice, and Amelia took it, strapping her face mask back on. The journalism office occupied the top floor, commanding a view of the entirety of campus. She started to smell it on floor six—earthy, musky, and male. Evergreen trees and biological generation. Cum.

There was a spatter of it on the door to the newspaper. A huge, white glob. It was sliding down to the floor, unnaturally slowly. Amelia made certain to knock well away from it. A redhead, also in a surgical mask, opened the door, and a gust of jism came with her.

The two girls stared at each other.

“Caroline? I’m… looking for Caroline?” Amelia said, nose wrinkling. It wasn’t just cum. There was a den of male in there, a hot wind made out of men.

It was reassuring that redhead wore a surgical mask, but the rest of her was hard to read. Flannel shirt, which was reassuring. Two healthy but apparently normal tits underneath a grey tank. She wore taut jean shorts with the cuffs up, which was bad, but also really old and tattered converses, which was good. Ultimately Amelia felt that she had to trust the woman’s eyes, which actually focused.

“Are you here to fuck?” the woman said.

“No- no!” Amelia said. She took a step backwards. “Look, I’m sorry. Thanks. I gotta—”

“That’s the password,” the girl said. “I’m Gretchen. Get in here. And keep your mask on, the guys are having a tough time today.”

Amelia stopped at the door. “How many guys?”

“Three. Don’t worry. They’re great. Just… come and see. Welcome to the Resistance.”

They passed into the vale of cum.

It was what Amelia supposed was a regular journalism office, only stickier, and glazed. Computer monitors especially had a sugared sheen, and the walls, a bright yellow, showed off cum stains easily. It should’ve been immediately disgusting but Amelia felt—okay with it. There was a boys-will-be-boys feeling that made it all amusing, even charming. It had to be the scent, the evergreen smell of enthusiastic men. She took a deep breath. It was nice to smell men, even ones who couldn’t use tissues.

“Caroline knew something was up right away,” Gretchen said, taking her along. “The same day the vans rolled in. I think she was tipped off in advance. On day one we got ahold of one of their Welcome Milkshakes and fed it to Krystal, and she had the biggest, juiciest orgasm in front of the entire staff. So right away we all got serious.”

They reached the men. There were three of them, and they were watching porn.

“It’s just normal porn,” Gretchen said, apologetic. “An old DVD. They’ve probably watched it nine hundred times.”

On screen a bored blonde was pretending to moan while a guy plugged her robotically. The bedspread was dirty. It didn’t have the same magnetic pull as Calving. Nonetheless one of the three was tugging on his cock right in front of them.

“That’s Alan, Steph, and Linh,” Gretchen didn’t bother pointing out which was which, although Linh was probably the black-haired one, drinking from a blue soda can. Amelia was very aware that they had extremely big cocks—enormous outlines pressed against short shorts, hard and firm. And the third was absently jacking his. It reached up to mid-chest, an enormous, proud prong. Even with the man’s lazy strokes it was leaking precum steadily. Amelia glanced up. There was an unmistakable stain on the ceiling, at least eight feet up.

“They got a—really bad exposure investigating Sisley,” Gretchen said, apologetic. “They’re still great guys, they’re just… not very complicated right now. They have a TON of pressure all the time. And when they’re not doing that they have lots of electrolytes to replace. It’s very demanding. I’m helping out.”

“Sure,” Amelia said. She inhaled deeply. Even in her brief exposures to other people she’d mostly been around girls. Girls were comforting and soft but men… she wanted to hug girls, and rub against men. Two of the three were shirtless. The third wore a t-shirt so taut it creaked. “It sounds like I’m not the first.”

“Oh, lots of people have come through. And we’ve learned a ton. Its just—we haven’t been able to get word to the outside, is the thing. You tried to call your Mom?”

“Yeah.”

Gretchen nodded, sympathetic. “I told mine I had to go stick my fingers up my butt. So there’s the problem. Even Caroline has the block in, and she’s barely affected at all.”

Gretchen pointed to a wall, kept relatively un-cummed.

“There’s at least twelve major figures, and a bunch of, you know, mini-bosses, and we’re pretty sure a ringleader,” Gretchen pointed proudly at a noticeboard covered in photographs, string, notes. At the very top was a blurry picture of a black haired man, taken from the back, with question marks written around him. Red Beard and Marlon had photos, taken from up close, in the upper ring. Red Beard’s name was Christopherson. An alarm chirped. “Oh! Excuse me just a moment.”

Gretchen nearly ran to a microwave. Next to it was an open bag of what looked like blue-tinted oatmeal, plus what looked like milk jugs, filled with milk, except they were unrefrigerated. “I know, I know it’s not safe and—they’re getting REALLY swole and hot—” Gretchen dumped big scoops into unwashed bowls “—but they’re really, really hungry. It’s all a vicious cycle, that’s how they get you here. I’m on my last few boxes of non-bimbo cereal myself.”

The boys stood up. Sitting they were manageable. Standing they were mammoth. Suddenly they were all around her, clearly hot to the touch. A dick bobbed in front of her face, sticky and dripping. “Just a sec, guys!” Gretchen said, placating. She lowered her surgical mask to smile at them, apologetic, and then left it down. Her lips were way too pink and way too heavy, and looked lacquered with something. Amelia doubted it was lipstick.

The men clustered around her. The smell and the heat of men—

“Can I—” Amelia blurted it. “Is it okay if I… touch one? On the skin. Not the cock. I just—”

“Oh, sure!” Gretchen said. “They love it. Shoot, who doesn’t?”

She just had to touch someone, especially hot men. She picked Linh, who at least had his dick covered. His skin was as hot as she’d hoped, coarse and tough and very strong. She could feel muscles building under there, if she just pressed.

“Heya,” Linh said. He put his arm around her.

“Oh,” Amelia said. “I didn’t…” a man’s arm was around her. It pulled her closer, into his thigh, and she was up against him. His cock twitched, and she could feel it through his legs.

“They’re not farm animals, they can talk and stuff,” Gretchen said, taking hot bowls of boy chow out of the microwave. “They just have to cum a lot.”

On cue, the third one came. It hit Gretchen right in the tits. It surprised Amelia, who was inching her hand towards Linh’s rock-solid pecs, to see if they felt good. The guy rubbing his cock had just softly jacked it the entire time, with slow, patient strokes, so that the sudden jolt of jizz caught Amelia entirely by surprise. Gretchen fitted her face into an embarrassed, indulgent smile, wholly unbothered. A second arc clung to her arm. “Steph, can you swing that around? Lunch is almost ready, okay?” The third jet, still impossibly long, went off into the middle distance.

Gretchen deposited her bowls of man food around a table. Jizz drooled down her chest, into her flannel. She didn’t seem at all worried by it. There was something about the scent—something very, very calming. Yes, the usual saline spunky scent, but with a chamomile overtone. The girls caught glances, and giggled. Boys being boys. Amelia felt her breath coming fast.

“It’s like living in a water gun fight,” Gretchen said, and they both giggled again. The boys hunkered down and ate. Amelia missed the warm embrace of Linh’s arm. His arm hairs had touched her cheek. It was so nice to just talk to someone, even, or especially, with half-naked boys around. “Anyway. We’ve learned a lot but a lot of our operatives are… compromised. Rose has pink hair and serves ice cream at the cafeteria, La’Tina and Tanya just want to lick each other’s pussies, Kimberly is some sort of, like, a doll you can pose and fuck.”

Amelia nodded, and blinked. She’d been looking at the wall of bad men, and, out of the corner of her eye, had seen what looked like Gretchen scooping a load of fresh cum out from between her boobs, and licking her fingers clean. But when she looked over, the redhead was just ticking items off her fingers, listing friends lost to urges.

One of the boys—Alan?—belched and stood up. He wore stiff basketball shorts. “Gretch,” he said, and tugged them down. The biggest dick that Amelia had ever seen flopped out. “Lets go.”

“We have a guest,” Gretchen said, but was already moving over. She scooted a chair right in front of Alan and, without any preamble, started to stroke his dick. Alan just stood there, a look of relief on newly-craggy features.

“I promised him he’d get a handjob if he went a whole morning without masturbating,” Gretchen said. She threw that gentle, apologetic look to Amelia once again. “And he did!”

“I did,” Alan echoed. His cock, already rock-hard, somehow rose up even higher. It looked like Gretchen was facing a hose.

“This should just take a second,” Gretchen said. “He’s gonna burst.”

“Can’t you… get him from the side?” Amelia said. She felt that internal sense of concern—or tried to. It smelled like everything was fine. She could see Alan’s balls, which were brown-red and nearly to his knees. They definitely needed relief. “Instead of right at your face?”

“Oh, its fine,” Gretchen said. “Just close your eyes. Doesn’t hurt or anything. It’s like a facial scrub, your skin looks SO good afterwards. If I tried to dodge them I’d throw my back out.”

She felt Linh’s hand on her shoulder. There was a big cock bobbling in the air to the side. “Linh, you’ve been jacking off all morning,” Gretchen said, accusing. “And she’s a guest.”

It was right up against her leg. How could she stop this? She’d been running away from boys and girls for weeks now, nothing but an frightened voyeur, watching other girls exult and change. These were allies, right? Heroes who had done the work of figuring out the situation, and the least she could do was rub her hand up and down Linh’s cock until he came. From the side. Her fingers almost went all the way around it. Linh’s fingers tightened on her shoulder, which was immediately gratifying.

“Don’t worry about technique,” Gretchen instructed. The third boy put down his spoon to join them. He was the one who had just cum. Nonetheless he was back at half-mast and rising fast, and was aimed, just like Alan, at Gretchen’s face. She still seemed remarkably unconcerned about the cockheads pulsing at her forehead. “They’re all hypersensitive, they cum if you just wink at them. Just grab and yank. I think they actually like it a little rough, don’t you boys? You like it a little rough?”

Amelia put her hand on it. She sank into a handy chair. She was committed, then. It was her responsibility to make Linh cum. His cock felt even warmer then the rest of him, and was restless, quivering. It had a wet sheen that had to be load after healthy load, built up into a reproductive glaze. She pumped up and down, just once, before getting the nerve up to look over at the full length of Linh’s dick. Already a string of cum beaded out of the tip.

Alan burst all over Gretchen. From her angle Amelia could see his balls clench and surge, dumping an impossible load all over the resistance leader. Gretchen made no effort to move, or even to close her eyes, and she definitely did not close her mouth. It was all quickly glazed over, her hand still persistently pumping more and more out. Amelia watched Gretchen swallow, and grin.

“You—you did it,” was her voice slurred, or was it just because she was talking around a hose? No, she was definitely struggling to talk. “You waited… allllll day. To cum. You big boy. Yum.”

Linh grunted, happily. Amelia realized, startled, that she was giving a very good handjob. With the silky white glaze it was easy to run her hands all up and down the tool. It being enormous helped as well—there was so much room to just enjoy the big manly tool pulsing between her fingers. It wasn’t wrong to do this, or bad. These were heroes. They’d turned into big walking balls in service of journalism.

Her man spurted. Gretchen turned towards it, catching her chin up so it would lace her mouth. As unsteady as she seemed otherwise, she had no trouble catching it all on her tongue. “Yum, Linh,” Gretchen purred. “SO good!”

Linh climaxing broke through to Amelia, or perhaps it was the white-painted face in front of her, the redhead almost lost underneath way too much jizz. With that much cum she could detect something too sweet, too sharp. Plus every single finger was dripping white.

And she really wanted to lick her hands clean.

“I’m alllllllll cummy,” Gretchen slurred, standing up. She stood up, caught herself on the table, and then coyly unbuttoned her flannel. Underneath it were two big tits, well-hidden until unleashed. They’d both caught a lot of jizz. “I’m gonna have to go take a shower.” She looked at the boys, all three still at least half-mast. “Soon.”

“Gretchen, where is Caroline?” Amelia said. She wiped her hands on the discarded shirt, succeeding mostly on getting more cum on them. “Where is Caroline at?”

“Oh, for me?” Gretchen said, falling on her knees, right in front of Steph. She licked her lips momentarily clean. “You think I can suck that? Are you even bigger today? I think you are.”

“Gretchen!” Amelia nearly shouted. She backed away. The boys were closing in on their redhead. She could help. The two of them—four hands, two mouths, two pussies, two butts… they could make the boys very happy. All that wonderful cum could be in her. “Where? Where is Caroline?”

Gretchen stared at her, uncomprehending. Steph’s dick hovered in front of her mouth. “Oh…” she said, focusing slightly, at somewhere. “The… place with the… books. The book things.”

“Library?”

Gretchen shrugged. She had a dick in her mouth, and Steph wasn’t slow about thrusting it all the way in. There was already four… six… a ton of male inches in her mouth. The other two men closed ranks, getting ready to bathe her in jizz once more. Amelia covered her nose, backed out through the journalism office, to the soft grunts of the men roping more cum out. She closed the door.

Mission successful.

And she had, she noticed, one finger still coated with cum. Who knows which boy. Her index finger. Amelia sniffed it. It was a glob of sperm, and it smelled like the best thing there ever was. Churros and cinnamon, or cotton candy, or—her brain couldn’t make sense of it, struggling to come up with what it could be.

Amelia licked it clean. It tasted even better then it smelled. There was a pop in her head, and the next thing she knew, she was in a heap on the floor. Her tits felt very hot. A person with purple hair loomed over her, smiling, and offered a hand to help her up.

“Aren’t they something?” they glowed, grinning. “They’ll taste even better tomorrow. It iterates on being male. I don’t even know what they’ll be like in a few weeks.”

“Is it… addictive?” Amelia said, staring at her finger. Why had she done that? Slurping infected cum was the worst idea. Purple hair frowned.

“Addiction is crude. You’re on Team Caroline? We’re all really enjoying her. Keep up the good work!”