The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Amelia kept moving. Perhaps it would’ve made more sense, she thought, to thoroughly wash her hands, and change her clothes, and rinse out her mouth. Brush her teeth, get every bit of transformative cummies off of them. But she was energized—too much so, her body hypersensitized and edgy. She kept catching herself licking her teeth, and had to jam her hands into her pockets, so she wouldn’t suck them for more crackling dried cum.

She experienced a brief moment of despair. This was pointless, trying to hold out. It was like being a mouse, evading the maze. At most she’d annoy the makers. There was only the maze, and there was only one way through it. Already she could feel her nipples tingling, readying themselves for another bout of chemical-influenced growth. She was dully horny, her skin prickling in an outdoor breeze. She looked cute in her socks. She was just a girl, a girl that had needs. Food, water, cum, boys, cum…

Amelia slapped herself. “Get a grip,” she ordered her body. Library. It was time to go to the library.

There were a number on campus. For whatever reason, Seeprince alumni donors refused to simply endow one large, convenient book repository. Eight or nine littered the grounds, all of them with their prominent plaque above the entryway, fine oak tables, not that many actual books. Only one, in fact, seemed suitable to a resistance leader on the run. Maritimus Library was 90% underground, cold in all seasons, and constructed out of war surplus concrete.

It was also apparently empty. Amelia had expected the standard clusters of rutting students inside and out. But the brutalist architecture, the freezing walls—there were plenty of other, nicer places to fuck. The place even looked normal, still bearing its pre-invasion flyers, with just a few pink wrappers scattered around.

“Can I help you?” A perfectly normal librarian asked. Or not—Amelia had gotten better about finding the oddness. At this point, a librarian with oval glasses, sitting ramrod straight, was more concerning than a silly slut pretending to read Cosmo.

“I’m looking for…” Amelia hesitated. But why not? “Caroline. I’m trying to find Caroline.”

“Oh! Certainly!” It was almost a relief when the librarian stood up to reveal a tight black leather skirt, along with matching black stockings. There was a hint of skin between the two. Up top was red cardigan. “Caroline is on level three. Please follow me.”

The librarian was also wearing stiletto spike heels.

The leather was noir black, and somehow managed to drink in the harsh overhead lighting. Between the heels, the skirt, and the librarian’s exaggerated strut, her ass made full figure eights in the air. It was like watching a truck maneuver. She watched in a perfectly straight line, clicking on the tile. There were others, Amelia realized, hearing the same clack-clack. All in the same strutting uniform, pushing stacks of books about with no clear destination. At the next level down the librarians wore black chokers.

The librarian on level 3 wore black plastic from head to toe, enclosed in a number of buckles and straps. Her heels didn’t seem to have room for feet.

“Visitor for Caroline,” Amelia’s guide announced. The bondage doll librarian nodded as much as she could, encased in tight vinyl. The actual books on level three were musty and aging dissertations, unread since publication. Amelia ran her hand along them as they passed. She imagined she was leaving a faint cummy trail. That had been her ambition: writing some thesis on some facet of human behavior, that no one would read, so she could call herself doctor in the mirror. Now her goal was… what? Not have sex and not have any fun?

“In here,” the guide announced. A metal door like many along a row. It was all unsettling, but, excepting the guide, in a nonsexual way. “I apologize for all my many failings along the way.”

“That’s… fine,” Amelia said.

“No no!” the guide insisted. “I was very slow on the second floor. I was feeling jealousy in my heart towards the girls who had earned the collar. And I deviated from the path two times on level three. I apologize, very sincerely. VERY sincerely.”

Amelia swung the door open.

“She won’t leave until you spank her,” Caroline said.

The head of the resistance was on the other side of a wall of plastic sheeting, taped to the ceiling with duct tape. She looked—a lot like Amelia. Angular, tall, a jutting chin. Or at least, how Amelia thought of herself. In reality she was now a lot softer than that self-image. The chin was getting erased into the usual heart-shaped face, her nose was no longer falcon-esque, and was approaching pert. Caroline sat with her legs crossed in a library chair, and looked actually homely.

“Just give her a few whacks on the ass, hard as you like,” Caroline instructed.

The librarian, obliging, had put her ass in the air, hands on a book cart.

“Is this—some sort of test? I don’t want to—I’m here to talk to YOU,” Amelia said.

“I suppose it is,” Caroline said. She flicked her fingers towards the leather butt presenting at them. “But seriously, smack away. Otherwise she won’t leave. You won’t turn into a leather slut. Not from that, anyway. I think the vector for the library was either a book or a choker. You can swat her rear all day. You have to.”

It wasn’t going to be hard to aim. The librarian’s butt was a peach-shaped shelf and ready to be smacked silly. The woman wagged it back and forth, ready. Amelia gave it a tentative pat.

“SMACK!” Caroline instructed.

Amelia flopped her wrist out and barely caught a patch of slick leather. The Librarian gave her a disappointed look, turning backwards. Her tits hung heavily in her sweater.

A month’s worth of sexual frustration went into the next one. It was a ringing clap that left Amelia’s hand numb. Even so it felt absorbed by a magnificently padded ass, covered in heavy leather. The Librarian moaned, a thick shudder of pleasure-pain, weighted towards pleasure. The scent of old books was joined by something more biological.

“Don’t drip on the ground, Michelle,” Caroline said, warning. She paced back and forth behind visqueen sheets. She wore patched jeans and a dark black sweater with SEEPRINCE embroidered in white. Her hair was tucked back behind her ears.

“I… I won’t, ma’am,” the Librarian said, fighting to steady herself. She turned towards the two of them, and descended in a very delicate, considered curtsy. She managed to work a wipe-up of a trickle of pussy juice into the formality, then tottered off, unsteady on her heels.

“Alright,” Caroline said. “Tell me what six times seven is.”

“Forty-two. Do I get to test you?” Amelia said. She closed the metal door. At last, a conversation with a normal person, perhaps.

“No. You came to meet me. State capital. Tell me any state capital.”

“Boise.” Amelia was aware she hesitated.

“How does this make you feel?” Caroline held up a picture of a man and a woman fucking. It had to be 90s-era vintage porno mag—glossy and cheap.

“G—” Amelia swallowed hard. The woman looked so happy. Blissful, even. Would it be so bad, to feel that good? To just stop fighting so hard? Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “Gross. So gross.”

“That took you thirteen seconds,” Caroline noted. “Alright. That means a tiebreaker. Let me see your pubes.”

“Sorry?”

“Pubic hair,” Caroline said. She paced back and forth in her narrow enclosure. Amelia supposed there had to be a living space, back behind the door in the rear of the room. A bed, water supply, food, a bathroom. Or was there? Caroline’s hair was definitely absolute filth. It shimmered with streaks of raw oil underneath the lights. There was a hint of the scent of unwashed woman even through the sheeting. “Or you can leave. Your call.”

“I can do—I’m not infected or transformed or fucked up or whatever you want to call it,” Amelia put her hand up on the plastic, pleading. It would’ve been so nice to have a conversation with someone normal, who didn’t suck cocks all the time. “I just want to TALK. To ANYONE.”

“And how can I believe that?” Caroline said, her eyes wide. “Because you say so? If you’re caught, your pubes fall out. Every single time. Or you’re Gretchen and you’re beginning to grow a penis. So lets see. If you have a hairy cunt, we can talk all you like. We can chitchat all day.”

What was that about Gretchen? Amelia huffed. “Fine.” She dropped her panties just long enough to give Caroline a nice long look. She risked a glance herself: the truth was, she was a lot sparser then she previously recalled. A thin, lightly thatched triangle. Hadn’t it been wild and unruly?

“Good enough,” Caroline judged. She indicated that it was alright for Amelia to clothe herself. “Amelia, right? I heard about you.”

“You did? How?”

Caroline, despite her rat nest hair and sweat-crusted skin, looked smug. “The Resistance learns. But I can’t exactly help you, if that’s why you’re here. Just lay low. That’s the only answer. The guy in charge of all of THEM—we took one photograph of THAT guy, and the photographer came back to the office with a different name, gender, and ethnicity.”

Of course Caroline was right—they should all be in widely spread cells, minimal exposures, subsisting on aging cereals and water until, maybe one day, this all passed. She was dumb to want more.

So dumb.

“Although,” Caroline conceded. “There is something you could do to help, if that’s why you came.”

Amelia didn’t say yes. She said no, loudly, and left, passing the slumped over figure of the librarian on the way. The librarian had made it to a table before passing out from orgasmic bliss, pussy juice streaming down her thighs. At some point someone had come by and locked a collar around her neck.

She said no, in her heart, for two more weeks.

On the fifteenth day she returned to the library, showed herself down to the third sub-basement, and said:

“I’ll do it.”

Caroline looked even worse. She’d cut most of her hair off. Carelessly, with a pair of scissors, so that she had a bowl cut around her ears. Tufts of forgotten old-wheat hair had escaped the purge and clung to her ears. She wore a half-mask respirator. It was matte black.

“Why now?” she said, sitting calmly in a chair.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” Amelia said. She rubbed at her lips. That was just one of many new tics she’d acquired—rubbing bits of herself. Not just her tits or her lips or her ass, although they got a lot of attention. Rubbing all over, like a cat on a post. “Its too difficult. I need to be—people aren’t supposed to be—anyway, I figured I might as well be useful.”

It wasn’t really the physical changes that had worried her, although they were starting to add up. Amelia had to admit it—she was getting puffed up and pornified, try as she might. There was no way of telling what the vector was. As far as she could tell she’d been very good about water and food. Nonetheless she’d gained two cup sizes and fifteen pounds, all in unnecessary curves. Her lips felt disturbingly good. She’d spent a good thirty minutes drinking water out of the bathroom tap, just because slurping away on the faucet made her body quake.

“Pubes?” Caroline said.

“I’ve got like, three left,” Amelia said. Barely any squiggly hairs remained. And she really had been good about stroking herself. One or two cums a day. Barely any, considering how much her body wanted to bounce up and down on whatever. There were so many orgasms in her, waiting to happen.

The risk-taking, that was what was worrying.

It was intoxicating, stupid, wonderful. Amelia had gone from weak-kneed voyeur to nearly, so nearly, a willing participant. She’d crept behind the boys getting their mindless pound in, smelling the sweat of their rut, the froth of their partner. When they thoughtlessly left, sperm deposited, Amelia diligently reassembled their partners—putting clothes back on, getting them water, wiping them down. And keeping whatever panties or shoes or whatever was left.

Conner, her favorite, had absentmindedly blown a load on a girl’s hoodie and tossed it aside. Amelia wore it nearly all the time. It had taken real willpower not to wear it to see Caroline. It was mucky and stiff, and made her lonely Aerie smell like boy. She wore it to bed, and nothing else.

The loft was getting crowded. Old cheerios boxes, lots and lots of gummy clothes, her damp sleeping bag, leftover backpacks she’d found on campus. After breaking into an arts classroom she’d tried painting, to pass the time, and spent an afternoon painting the perfect vulva. It had been intended as a rose. That had been the night she stuck her finger up her butt, just to see what it felt like. Pretty good, as it turned out.

Conner especially haunted her. Currently six foot four, he was now blonde and, Amelia imagined, had deep blue eyes. She’d never actually seen them. Conner’s uncomplicated but surprisingly regulated life involved him fucking a girl in the anthro lobby around ten a.m. almost every day. He even left them gasping and shuddering in the exact spot of dried residue from the previous day’s girl. He almost never spoke.

Amelia had painted his portrait a dozen times.

Finally she’d stripped out of everything but her hoodie and slipped out of her hiding place, while Conner was busy fucking Friday’s girl. Even by emerging standards Conner had a dick to be proud of. The girls definitely cooed over it. From their brief snippets of conversation, before Conner fucked rational thought out of them, he was apparently in high demand all over. He didn’t even fuck particularly hard, just twitched his pelvic area and let his prong do the work.

Amelia stood right behind him. Lube coursed down her legs. If he just turned around he’d see her. He’d pull free of the stupid girl he was stretching out, examine her with his devastating eyes—blue, they had to be blue—and pin her up against the wall. She’d wrap her legs around him, feeling his need, his desire, letting him pump into her, carrying away from another lonely night of vibrator play in the loft. His sweat smelled like gatorade and grass.

The plump slut he was wearing out fixed her bleary eyes on Amelia. Amelia had recognized her—Jenny, a fellow grad student. They’d done a group project together on middle eastern research goals. She spoke good Farsi. Now two oversized tits wobbled on her chest. Even her lips wobbled.

Amelia had backed up and crept back upstairs.

“The technology guru,” Caroline said. “We know nothing about him. Actually we aren’t sure he exists—we assume his existence, like an empty shape implies the puzzle piece.”

Amelia wasn’t sure what the “we” meant. She’d gone back to the journalism offices, telling herself lies about saving Gretchen. It had been totally empty, the boys all gone, the board with the photographs removed. It had been unnerving enough that she’d managed to resist licking the floor.

“He’s especially of concern. I don’t think most of these evil men can work at scale. Even their chemical specialist has to wait for meal time. But cell phones, TV, anything with a screen, how can we avoid all of that? He can take the entire world. I need at least his name.”

“I have an idea,” Amelia said. She was proud of it. Clearly she wasn’t gonna have many more.

“I didn’t think I’d get a second date,” Kirk said.

“Yeah, well, here we are,” Amelia said. “Date number two.”

She’d invited Kirk to the same on-campus brewpub as date number one. The tables were generally full of men like Kirk—a lot like Kirk, really. Young mind controllers drinking a beer at the end of a long day turning co-eds into toys. They looked like they installed ethernet for a living. The menu, as well, was the same, and in fact refreshingly free of the girl and boy slop that was getting served at the cafeteria. The last time Amelia had gone by they’d dispensed with the fictions that it was food, and were just serving pink-colored slurry in bowls. There was no silverware.

“I feel like I should get a little credit for accepting,” Kirk prodded. “You ghosted me after date one.”

“You told me you were busy turning me and everyone else into braindead fuck sluts,” Amelia said. She gestured around at the wait staff. That was the major change. They were all in khaki skirts about four inches long, just enough so that bending over tables was a fun exercise in showing ass. They were miserable servers. The girls had no balance, with their inflated bodies, not to mention their towering heels, and kept dropping drinks. Actual ordering required going to the cashier.

“It was a warning! And you look… actually pretty normal! Nice work!”

“Thanks,” Amelia said, and did mean it. It had taken a lot of mental effort to ditch the cum hoodie. Caroline had directed her to a safe shower: the chemical wash in one of the Science buildings. She’d put on minimal makeup, one of her pre-invasion panties, and, deliberately, a knee-length khaki skirt. It showed nothing. Her t-shirt tried to hide that she did have much bigger tits.

“I figured out your secret, Kirk,” Amelia said. She paused for effect. “I think you like a girl who can have a conversation.”

Kirk’s face flushed, somewhere underneath the beard. The beard was as adorable as she remembered, and, honestly, made her kinda wet. Really all of Kirk was doing it for her, this time around. That was the most disconcerting difference between dates. Even considering the girl she kinda knew getting openly spanked two tables over. Kirk was a hottie. His mild eyes and burly forearms were absolutely doing it for her. He just seemed so in…

In control.

“Amelia, please, my coworkers are right here,” Kirk murmured. “If they knew I didn’t always want to fuck dumb pussies I’d lose a lot of respect.”

“I do owe you big,” Amelia said. She ran her finger along his arm. Flirting hard was the plan, so this was fine. “All these… brains I have. That’s thanks to you. And I.. could use more help.”

Kirk smiled. “That’s probably not a good idea. I have job duties. I’m supposed to be turning you into a doll or whatever.”

“Kirk, come on,” it wasn’t hard at all to shoot him a lust-filled look. Caroline had told her to. It was okay. “I know you want to fuck a girl who actually can remember to scream your name.”

Kirk’s smile got even wider. “One more beer?” he said.

“Why not?” Amelia said.

When had she climbed onto his lap?

It wasn’t even that comfortable. They were up on bar stools, and, even though Amelia was pretty sure she’d gotten actually shorter, she was still about as big as Kirk. Sitting on his lap with her legs dangling was outright dangerous—or would’ve been, without his strong male hands steadying her. One on the small of her back, and the other between her legs.

“Oh, you’re up for air,” Kirk said. He didn’t pull his hands away.

“I’m.. what?”

“It’s an industry term.” Her face itched. She got the sense she’d been rubbing a beard all over it. Her tongue tasted like someone else’s mouth. Amelia let her hand roam over Kirk’s chest. There was definitely a lot of chest hair underneath his t-shirt. It had a screen print of a swinging watch on it. “So as I was saying, Mr. Placer said I had really skipped a key step. Libido is fleeting. It’s like the gas in the car. The motor is the mating instinct.”

“Yeah,” Amelia agreed. She put her arms around his neck and snuggled in. This was so nice, and she was helping mankind, to boot. There were a lot of empty glasses on the table, and Kirk’s phone. Had he—had he shown her something?

“So yes you need that erogenous zone rampup and the libido rev, but its nothing without the bonding and breeding, and that is in an entirely different part of the brain.”

“Oh yeah, this is basic Maslow stuff,” Amelia said. She wanted more kisses, and felt she needed to make a contribution to the conversation. The bar was really pumping now. Or, really, the waitresses were getting pumped. A few were still trying to fill orders and ignore their needy pussies, but a lot more were perched just like she was, only with cocks all the way inside of them. Amelia half-pitied, half-envied them. That looked fun. But it wasn’t worth being all dumb and shit. She watched a waitress slide her butt onto a cock, and forgot how to close her mouth.

“Maslow!” Kirk looked enthused. “Yeah! That’s right, you know this stuff! For now. Oh, you’re going pink again.”

They were outdoors. “Oh!” Amelia said. She’d lost her skirt at some point, retaining just her cotton underpants. Kirk was halfway into ripping them off as well. His fingers were drenched. They were outside the bar, although she was still on his lap. But his dick was out, bobbing between her legs.

“Oh, hi there,” Kirk said. He finished pulling her undies apart. “Hey, you can consent now. That’s great. This alright?”

“It’s—it’s—” Amelia gasped for breath. This was a second date, so playing with his dick a little bit was okay. She was already doing that, jacking it with both hands. “Uh. What—” she felt so very girl, so very pink. Maybe she’d just suck him a bit. But no. She had to—go. “I gotta—I gotta go. Actually.”

“Yeah, fair enough,” Kirk said. He lifted her off him, placed her to the side. The concrete froze her bare ass. It did help her think. She was—Amelia. She was not some silly slut. The night air was very cool on her slit. “So will there be a third date?”

“Yes!” Amelia said, while still getting her brain in gear. She sucked on a cummy finger, to help herself think. Right, she was a spy of sorts. A sexy, hot spy, going down on enemy territory. She could fuck Kirk next date. “Can we—see your laboratory? Where you do all the evil mind control stuff!”

“Oh, that’d be great!” Kirk beamed. His dick hung high in the air. “That’d be a lot of fun. Don’t forget all that stuff about Maslow and breeding between now and then, okay?” He rubbed at her hair, affectionate. She forced herself not to lean into it. Her body told her: this is your man. Turn off your brain and do what he wants. But what if he wanted her to think? It was all very confusing.

“Great date,” Kirk said, helping her up. He gave her a firm but caring spank on the rear. “Hey, I know we’re dating, but do you mind if I..?” he gestured at the girls walking by, giggling at the two of them, wholly unbothered by a guy having his dick out.

“Oh, oh no problem!” Amelia assured him. Her body really wanted to cum, after that slap. Things rippled inside her head. “They’re just stupid pussies, right?” She wanted him to be very happy. It wasn’t clear to her—why wasn’t she sucking him? There was something… it was bad for some reason.

“You’re the best, Amelia,” Kirk said. He gestured a girl over. Amelia walked back to her aerie, by herself, where “you’re the best!” made it really easy to cum a half-dozen times.

Amelia spent the entire day getting ready for the date. The girls helped out a lot.

After her electric second date she’d returned to find yet another girl passed out in a pool of fluid, on the stone floor. So many girls had squirted in the lobby the stains were distinct from each other—Amelia could recall that over there was the Volleyball team, over there the K-pop girl who had forgotten both korean and english, over there the girl who’d arrived in a turtleneck and glasses and left completely naked, at noon. There were cumshots on the walls. It smelled like fun.

And instead of playing guardian bimbo angel she’d let the latest one sleep upstairs.

Pretty soon she had a whole group. The shocking part was—they knew about her. All of them. Word had spread about the anonymous saintess in the skeleton building. She was a sort of fuck fairy, and would leave water, and adorably old-fashioned undies, and make sure they weren’t in a fuck coma on the harder parts of the floor. She’d become a campus legend.

So when Amelia had opened the doors, an entire group had flooded in. She represented safety, comfort, sympathy, and water bottles.

They wandered in and out, apparently happy for the brief respite from endless cocksucking and fucking. There was a lot of pussy licking. Amelia was hesitant at first, to let them between her own legs, but Lindsey was so insistent and so soft and wonderful. It was like having a giggly pet that knew just when to push. The loft was soon full of friends, and it felt right and normal. While they weren’t getting any smarter Amelia justified it as at least they weren’t getting any worse. She maintained a strict ban on boys upstairs. All fucking went on downstairs, and at most in the stairway to the upstairs, and maybe in the doorway.

They called her Mommy, which was—Amelia was fine with it. All the boys were Daddy, after all.

“You look SO cute!” Lindsey was the unofficial mistress of the upstairs girls. She’d been the one to lick out Amelia’s last lingering pubic hair. They’d put it up on the wall and had a fun little party.

“Then its too much,” Amelia said. “Kirk likes them, you know, kinda boney. Like sticks and stuff. I gotta look all smart.”

“Glasses,” Meredith said. “I think I used to wear them.” Her eyes crossed with the effort of thought. “I was like… glasses girl.”

“You have a PhD, Meredith,” Amelia reminded her, patiently. Meredith preferred classic lingerie, all straps and lace, which actually made her seem comparatively classy. She looked very “boudoir,” a word she was super proud to have retained.

“That’s what I said, I wore glasses. Maybe darker lipstick then? That’s SUPER smart!”

“Knock, uh….,” a boy’s voice. Conner.

“Knock,” Amelia finished.

“Right,” Conner nodded.

He was their unofficial mascot, even though he wasn’t quite allowed indoors. Apparently he was a delivery driver who had come on campus to hand over pizzas, and never left. He was six foot six now and still growing.

“My turn!” Lindsey dropped her panties and ran over to the dick on offer. Conner’s big cock stuck through the doorframe. Lindsey dropped her hands to the floor and arched her back with impressive flexibility, making it just possible for Conner to stick his prick all the way up her. It wasn’t the easiest position, but everyone liked the game of ‘no men in the loft’. The rule was absolute, excepting half of Conner’s cock, and, when he got excited, his toes tended to go over the line.

“Okay, you’re set,” Meredith said. Amelia checked herself over in the mirror. They’d added a lot of those, as part of the general redecorating. There was a couch up there now, some houseplants, two tables, one with vibrators all over it and one without. Amelia had encouraged painting, which were all very pink and mostly looked like genitalia. And mirrors. Lots of mirrors.

She was wider, now. Fuller. She had tits. Not enormous tits, or gigantic hooters, or ridiculous watermelons like Meredith, who really did need wireframe bras. But they were tits, no one would ever mistake them for breasts. She wore a sheath dress that was reasonably slimming, and only a little nylon-slick. It was red with a single strap. Her lipstick matched. Hot but not slutty.

Amelia sighed. Kinda slutty. Not all the way slutty. A girl that would fuck on the first date, but probably not suck cock in the parking lot.

Probably not.

“Do it for the girls,” she told herself. And maybe she was a little tingly about seeing Kirk, and kinda into saving the planet from evil mind controllers. But—the girls. They had made her very, very happy. It was probably bad for her, living in their pheromones and surrounded by their bimbofying makeup and food and other junk. Amelia licked her lips. Right, the makeup… she decided it was probably fine. Her lips were already pretty wobbly, and if she bit down slightly, she could nearly cum.

It was so hard to stay focused on all that. The truth was, being around other people was… good. No doubt that was the insidious plot and all but…

“And here, just in case,” Meredith said. She solemnly and with real ceremony handed over a small square wrapper. By the doorway Lindsey giggled, despite a cockhead presumably battering her tonsils from the other side.

“A condom,” Amelia said. Every girl in the room giggled.

“JUST in case,” Meredith said. She patted Amelia’s cheeks. “Have a great time. If he cums all over you I gets dibs on licking you clean.”