The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Undress Code

Chapter 6

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“COMING!!!” Celest yelled, feet high over her shoulders, laid back on the living room couch, her husband Roger plowing into her with an easy steady rhythm.


The doorbell rang again incessantly. She could see the silhouette of a roughly human shape approach the frosted glass, her view obscured again and again by Roger pounding her into the sofa.

She was close, so close, and with each delicious push she clutched him, desperately, hungrily, grasping him close and hugging him, squeezing him, thirstily gripping him—not letting him go. Trying to blot out the annoying ringing and just lose herself in the moment, her husband slamming her past the boiling point, his powerful strokes overwhelming her—and him smirking with his his equally annoying confidence that she would cum first. Taking his time with it, working in and out at a leisurely pace. Ramming home, hanging her feet around his neck like a trophy and feeling her bare thighs tremble.


“ONE SECOND!— CUMMMING—” Celest locked legs and pulled herself against him as they both climaxed. First him then her. His strong masculine face twisted in pleasure. Celest smiling up at him, breathing hard. Eyelids flickering.


More wooden knocking.

Celest sighed annoyedly, tossing Roger off her.

“GODDAMN woman! Holy fuck—” Roger grumbled, pulling up his shorts and unmuting the TV. It was Sunday and that meant sports. .” . .Who the fuck is that?”

“Probably that Eric boy again . . .” Celest wrapped herself up in a towel and went to answer the door.

“Hi Mrs. S!” Eric beamed, looking her up and down.

Celest’s towel barely covered her bum and its fluffy white hairs ended at exactly the same horizon as her nipples began. It once covered her well kept but rapidly middle aging body well enough, but ever since last week, her hips and thighs flared out and her ass plumped ridiculously up to stripper proportions. She could hardly cinch the towel around her waist. Knotting it up over her tits made it rise scandalously up over her butt and tugging it down risked flashing the neighbors.

“FUCK you look hot!”

“Thank you Eric.” Celest bit her lip and undid the towel just a little bit. Instantly his eyes popped with excitement.

“Uhhh . . .” His jaw dragging. Eyes flitting back and forth, breasts pussy breasts pussy ass.

Celest cocked her hips and waited. She LOVED having this power over him. Agitating this young boy to stomp and stammer, visibly tongue tied, with the pendulum swing her hips. Delighting in the way he couldn’t hide, couldn’t control his reaction to her body. His darting eyes flashing down to her ass, her thighs, her face, shifting his stance to loosen the strain on this pants.

“IS . . . uh . . . KyLiE hOMe?” His voice cracking.

“Yeesssss—” Celest answered blocking the door, letting him drink it in.

“Can I- mAY I go SEe her?” He pleaded.

“Hmmmm. . .” Celest purred, pretending to think about it.

“MOM! OMG! Let him up!” Kylie screamed from the top of the stairs.

Celest rolled her eyes and let him by.

“Thanks mam’.” Eric mumbled as Kylie led him up the stairs by the hand, scowling at him the whole way.

When they reached the top, Kylie made a point of whipping off his belt, angrily unzipping his pants and administering a loud sloppy ‘HE’S MINE’ blowjob to her boyfriend, noisy enough for Celest to hear. Eric let out a sound like a ghost had left his body.

Celest did up her towel pridefully and sauntered back into the living room, plopping onto the couch with her husband. She picked a pair of bright pink synthetic panties off the floor and hiked them up. They made her feel like a slut and she loved it. If they were her’s or Kylie’s she couldn’t tell.

“He’s coming around a lot.” Roger nodded towards the stairs.

“Don’t worry about it.” Celest murmured fishing his cock out of his shorts.

Roger just let out a grateful puff as she took his dick in her mouth, his hand caressing the back of her head, gentle. Not demanding. Celest couldn’t take much more than five or six inches before gagging, but she practiced everyday. There was something about the flavor of cum her changing body CRAVED. She found herself skipping meals, spending dinner under the table just sucking away.

When she first noticed her ass was getting bigger, she mentioned it to her husband. He responded by fucking it. When she brought up how big and heavy her tits felt, how she was lactating again, her gynecologist of 20 years referred her to her daughter’s school nurse. There the nurse eased her mind and calmly explained while rubbing in a cream that felt like hot sauce and tweaking her nipples in delightful searing heat that made her cum her pants over and over again that it was perfectly normal for women her age to transform into horny prostitutes.

All she had to do was lay back and watch some videos while the nurse injected her clit with hormones. It was all VERY informative.

Celest was learning all sorts of fun techniques on the internet and by auditing classes at the local library. The school district opened a new adult learning annex with fun classes like Stripping 101 and Double Penetration. Ever since that PTA meeting, Celest felt vaguely anxious and unfulfilled. Being a stay at home mom and occasionally volunteering was no longer enough to occupy her time.

She wanted to POLE DANCE! She wanted to wear pasties and have guys shove money in her thong. She wanted to strut around a stage and breath secondhand cigar smoke from burly men itching to take her into a back room and fuck her brains out. It was crazy thinking about all the time she wasted, the entirety of her whole adult life, not making gangbang videos in her living room with all her friends.

She LOVED being on her knees, surrounded by a canopy of male dicks. Mouth open. Drenched in cum.

Roger was super supportive. When she told him that she’d been thinking about becoming a stripper, he’d graciously offered to quit his job and pimp for her.

They hadn’t told Kylie yet, but there was this awesome rebate where you could donate your house to the school district in exchange for some kind of tax write off and police protection. Roger and some of the other guys went in on a nightclub out by the airport and were looking for bitches to dance the poles, with most of the proceeds going back to the school to repay the loan.

The details of the confusing arrangement made her head hurt. All she knew was she was finally living the dream. Working with her husband, him behind the bar, her up on stage dancing. Occasionally giving guys handjobs, or blowies, or private dances in the back. No more boring old housewife and house-life.

Helen and Chloe were also going to be there and were busy thinking up stripper names.

“Ughh -cumming—” Roger warned.

Her throat flooded with cum and Celest held her breath, counting and sucking. Counting and sucking. Gulping down his jizz like a good little whore.


The doorbell again.

“Who’s all coming over?” Roger winced as Celest rose off him with a wet ‘pop!.

“I don’t know, I think Kylie said some of her friends.” Celest tugged down a tiny black crop top with the words “Cum Slut” written in big pink bubble-letters on the front, stretched tight over her boobs and speckled the white dried remains from countless men nutting all over it, quitely lamenting to herself the indignity of having to wear clothes on the weekend.

When she opened the door four tall teenage boys were waiting outside.

“Hi Mrs. S!” Chirped a high girlish voice from below.

Celest almost didn’t recognise her. She was tall as a girls scout.

“Emily? What . . . happened—”

She didn’t know where to begin. The girl in front of her was a good foot and a half shorter than she remembered, or rather sensed, because all her memories were of Emily being quite a bit smaller than all the other girls her age. Kylie dwarfed her growing up. Celest remembered her friend Chloe complaining all the boys used to say she was the perfect ‘blowjob height’.

“I don’t know . . .” Emily whimpered helplessly.

“If only I had some big strong boys to help me . . .” Teasing now, giggling to herself as her brothers squirmed uncomfortably behind her.

Celest looked back at the boys. “Then you must be . . . Jeremy? I thought you moved away for college?”

“Came back.” That was the only explanation given.

“ . . . and you must be . . .”

“David” The tall built like a bull boy finished for her.

“—David and . . you’re . . .”

“Mike” Lean and fit, dirty blonde bay. Handsome face.

“—Mike and so you must be Tyler” Not recognising the boy but spotting him instantly as the youngest. He was much shorter, thin with round hips and big thighs like a girl. Big blue eyes and a cheerful cherubic face.

“YEP! Hi! I’ve never been over here before!” He said, eyes wide with amazement.

Celests interactions with her friend Chloe’s family were almost exclusively through Chloe herself or her daughter Emily. This gallery of teenage boys was almost entirely forgien to her. All she really knew about them were the vast qualities of stiffening socks they produced, according to Chloe.

“ . . . Tyler, yes well . . . welcome!” Celest repeated pleasantly. “So—”

“We’re here for the planning meeting? For the dance?” Emily chimed in sweetly.

She wore practically nothing and had no chest to speak of. If not for her tiny thong, hanging loosely around her tiny hips—she would be naked. She spoke through big chunky braces and smiled a lot. Celest remembered echoes of the last conversation she had with Chloe, about how wonderfully her kids were getting along. How Emily had started volunteering for chores around the house, spending most of her time cleaning the boys rooms. Their doors locked.

“Oh right yeah sorry, come right in.” Celest hadn’t expected the whole entourage.

“They’re going to be my chaperones.” Emily laid an affectionate hand against Tyler’s chest.

“To protect her.” David put his hand on her shoulder. Emily beamed up affectionately at him.

There was a lot of touching going on as all four of her brothers helped her up the steps. When it looked like Emily was about to trip, Jeremy scooped her up in his arms and she kicked and giggled, kissing him on the cheek.

“Do you think they . . .” Roger began.

“NO!” Swatting him in the chest. “Don’t be gross, those are her brothers.”

But she knew exactly what he meant. That conversation with Chloe kept flitting back to her mind. Just the other day Chloe had started in on this long unprovoked tangent about what technically is and isn’t incest. Her position—and that of the school’s—was that if it wasn’t sex it couldn’t be incest. She had argued so seriously over brunch that kissing and handjobs and blowjobs and fingering and butt stuff, because they weren’t technically sex, couldn’t be incest.

She insisted this was all purely hypothetical because of course she wasn’t fucking her own boys.

Though, in fact, even if she were, if all four of her boys were wearing condoms, were they even really touching her at all? With a condom on there was a latex layer of separation and if they weren’t even really touching each other, how could that possibly be sex?

And if one of them was cumming of their own volition, and a girl just happened to catch some of it in her mouth prancing around halfnaked like a horny little slut getting their dicks hard, that would explain why she always had so much cum on her face.

“Suuuuure . . .” She remembered saying, and didn’t bring it up again.

The whole conversation came up after Chloe announced a sudden month-long European vacation with her husband. They would be leaving the boys in charge with strict instructions that no matter how much she begged—don’t rawdog your sister.

Just to be sure, Chloe even made Emily meekly undress in front of them and present herself. Had her talk dirty to them. How oily wet she was. How horny and crazy it made her when they watched TV, taking turns fingering her. How badly she wanted to suck her big brother’s dicks.

When none of of them lunged at her, Chloe was satisfied and left them all in Emily’s room while she went to start packing.

“Hmmmmnn . . .” Helen obviously disapproved but said nothing.

Helen had her own plan for curing her daughter’s whoredom, including nightly ‘purity checks’ where she would tie up her daughter and interrogate her, tasting her to see if any boys had been cumming inside. Rimming her deeply to catch any cheating. Helen made her describe in vivid detail all the boys she saw and what kind of dirty disgusting sex-acts she wanted to do with them to help drive out the perverted thoughts.

Yet it seemed no matter how tightly Helen bound her daughter, no matter what kind of whips or size of dildos—blindfolding her, restraining her in stress-positions and paddling her ass while a powerful vibrator duct-taped to her leg rested on her clit—Jessica continued to act like a delinquent slut hellbent on being punished.

Helen complained about her eagerness to recount the day, what she learned in school, and how many dicks she sucked.

Celest and Chloe still found Helen to be a bit of a pushy uptight prude. The way she talked about covetously protecting her daughter’s virginity was laughably self-deluded, there were plenty of videos on the school’s front page of Jessica drenched in cum surrounded by naked cheerleaders—but as head of the PTA, she turned out to be a veritable wellspring of juicy gossip about the goings on at school.

Which teachers had the biggest cocks. Names, dates, and places when state senators or governors were visiting—that sort of thing.


Loud music began banging out through the walls from Kylie’s room. Some modern pop music they couldn’t place.

“Ignore it.” Celest whispered, head resting on Roger’s bare chest, alternately sucking and jerking him off.

Roger sighed and turned up the TV. Celest riding the rise and fall of his belly, eyeing his coke-can dick like the masthead to a great ship. Searching out droplets of cum in his chest hair, savoring his taste. Roger’s fingers played idly with her clit and just let her cum as much as she wanted. Purring like a cat, always hungry for touches.


“I’ll get it.” Roger got up this time. Zipping up and tromping off, irritated.

“Yeah?” He said flatly staring at half the football team standing outside his front door.

“Oh. Hey- Hello Mr. S. . . sir.”

Roger nodded acknowledgement.

“We’re Eric’s friends . . .”

“We’re here for the meeting . . ” Another piped in when Roger didn’t move.

They all looked young and beefy, but Roger was a man. Head and shoulders over them. At least sixty pounds of each of them.

“We bought tickets!” One said, holding one up for Roger to see. A hole-punched raffle ticket with the name Kylie written in sharpie.

“Yeah. Eric said five dollars each—”

“Oh did he—” Roger menanced.

Knowing exactly what they meant. Five dollars for a shot at Kylie. His daughter. Eric was selling her ass to the other boys at school for $5 a pop. Roger could just imagine the smug look on Eric’s face, probably counting his money as the whole football team had a go at his daughter three at a time.

“I mean . . . five . . .” The kid dug around in his pockets. “—fifty . . . ? Five fifty each—”

Roger’s glower deepened.

“. . . ten dollars each?” A more eager boy interrupted.

Roger snatched it out of the boy’s hands as it was presented and ushered him in. It sent the other boys into a huddle to come up with the rest. Celest waved prettily from the couch as they passed.

“Who were they?” She asked as he sat back down.

“Some of Eric’s friends.” Roger counted the money.

Almost a $100 just for getting up, not bad. Though he’d have to have a ‘discussion’ with Eric about the true worth of his daughter. Five dollars was an outrage. If Roger was charging five dollars to the other guys at work for his wife, his daughter should be worth at least twice that.

Loud cheers of welcome clamored from upstairs as the boys opened the door to Kylie’s room and crammed inside. Roger and Celest trusted Kylie, they’d had the ‘the talk’ about safe sex and saving herself for a guy that’s willing to spend good money on her—but it was times like these, when she invited a bunch of strange boys from school to hang out alone in her room with thunderously loud music that mostly sounded like a cover for horny teens fucking the life out of each other—when Roger wondered if Kylie was having sex.

They could hear moaning through the walls.

But then again, that could just have been the song. Who’s to say.

“Stop worrying . . .” Celest whispered in his ear, stroking his dick through his boxers. It never really went down.

“Hmmph.” Roger grumbled, counting the money.

Celest didn’t care for sports, but she did like getting to spend time with her husband. Sucking his dick. Feeling his strong arms, stroking her hair. Telling her what a good wife she was. Bending her over the coffee table during commercial breaks. True midlife bliss.


“Christ- what is it this time.” Roger tossed another empty into the waste bin.

“I’ll get you another drink.” Celest rose off the couch again too. “Another beer?”

“Yeah.” he growled, stomping over to toss open the door as Celest made for the kitchen.

“Hiiiiiiii Mr. S!” Jessica sing-songed. “We’re here for the meeting? Kylie said she needed more girls.”

“I’m sure she did.” Roger whistled appreciatively.

A whole pose of cheerleaders and girls in tiny little tennis shorts stood behind her like she was the president of her own sorority. All of them beaming, cheerful, eager, big titted sluts wearing hardly anything at all. Jessica sucked voraciously—not on a lollipop—but on a whole popsicle. Slurping it all the way down to the stick.

“What’s your deal?” Roger asked, noticing a lone boy in the back. Slim and slight as all the girls. His body thin and feminine with fleshy hairless thighs capping his knee high socks. He worse a loose tanktop and smacked his lips, applying a fresh layer of sparkling pink lip gloss.

“I’m FABULOUS!” He said squeaked pleasantly in a hyper-buoyant lisp.

Jessica reached out and casually, lightly, brushed her hand across Roger’s crotch.

“Can we pleeeeeaase cum inside?”

Roger had half a mind to drop trow and give it to her right there on the porch. She knew what she was doing-

“Jessica! Good to see you! How’s your mom?” Celest greeted the crowd of sporty young teenage girls still in their tennis uniforms and track-meet bootyshorts.

Jessica quickly snatched her hand away.

“She’s fine.” Jessica replied sweetly, obviously in charge of this random gaggle of perky giggling teenage girls. “We’re here to play with Kylie.”

“Oh go right ahead. You know where her room is.”

“Thanks Mrs. S!” Jessica slid by. “Oh by the way, you’ve got some cum on your face.”

“Oh do I?” Celest hadn’t checked in awhile.

“Yeah, I got it!” Jessica scooped a little dollop from the corner of her mouth and tasted it, swooning exaggeratedly.

“Oooh you taste so gooood Mr. S.” She simpered, looking up at him with innocent doe eyes.

“Heh, you’re welcome—” Roger started before Celest swatted him on the chest as he was about to hike up his belt at the compliment.

The whole pose of girls, and one effeminite gay boy, followed Jessica in closely. Celest had no idea Kylie was so popular! She never had this many people come over. At most she usually just had Emily over and not even that often.

“Kylie’s upstairs?” Jessica asked sweetly.

“Yes I’m sure she . . .” Celest noticed the girls were carrying quite a bit of equipment. Sports bags bulging with heavy loads.

“We brought condoms!” One of them said walking past.

“—well that’s nice—”

“Hi, I- . . . I’m not, I mean, I don’t normally—” One of the tennis players squeaked timidly.

She was the only one among them still wearing the old uniform. It looked so strange and matronly with her midriff concealed and her top at least partly covering her shoulders. All the other girls had big sunglasses, vacant smiles, and proudly bared their tits. By contrast she seemed practically mormon and obviously extremely nervous about something, looking at the floor, blushing bashful. She had freckles and a cute button nose. Short curly hair burnt auburn orange.

“Sorry! I don’t normally do this you know . . . I don’t normally eat pussy you know.”

“Well neither do I, I suppose . . .” Celest began but Jessica swiftly intervened.

“Take your pill Sarah.”


“Hold her.” Jessica commanded and two of the other girls took her by her shoulders and forced her to her knees.

“Guys, can’t I just—”

“Open your mouth.” Jessica held out a small chalky tablet, no bigger than a fingernail.

It was bright pink and lovely to look at. It even smelled nice. Something pungent and floral, girlish.

“No- I don’t want, not another one—”

But as Jessica lowered it over her, the girl slowly reluctantly opened her mouth, sticking out her tongue. When Jessica did not immediately drop it in, she searched for it with eyes closed, tongue extended. Jessica just held it there above her head. Waiting.

“Please . . .” The girl whimpered.

Jessica lowered the treat just enough for the girl to lick it off her fingers. Sucking them hungrily down to the knuckle. When she finished, Jessica smeared some of the drooly pink residue left on her fingers like leftover Cheeto dust under the girl’s nose. She snorted hoarsely and her neck twitched.

“Good girl. Are you ready to behave?” Jessica asked sternly, sounding very much like her mother.

“Yeessssssss mistressessss.” The girl burbled dreamily.

“Come along then.” Then her and the other girls disappeared up the stairs into Kylie’s room to more hearty masculine cheering than before.

Celest closed the frontdoor behind them, shaking her head. There was no way her parents would have allowed raucous parties like this when she was a kid. Kylie really had no idea how lucky she was to have such cool understanding parents. She didn’t even mind Roger licking his fingers clean after panty checking one or two of the girls. They were sluts, he had to check.

Still . . .

“Do you think we should go check on them?” Celest asked, peevishly.

There was some deep down maternal instinct telling her something was wrong.

“Nooo . . . not yet. Let’s give ’em a few minutes to themselves. They’ll be fine.” Roger replied, cracking open his new beer.

There was something . . . not right about a dozen boys coming over in the middle of the afternoon to hang out in her daughter’s room. Something crazy and sinister to the too-happy giggling and frequent hushed gasps of surprise. Fragments of conversations that sounded like ‘You’re so BIG’ or ‘Fuck my ass!’. She could hear, with impossible imagined clarity, the tell-tale ‘shuck of pants falling to the floor, of girls sucking dick on their knees, the flesh slapping sounds of boys high-fiving as they double teamed her little girl.

“What if we just . . .” Roger shook his head ‘no’.

There was something unnatural, performative, in the way Emily had stamped her feet and referred to her brothers as ‘big bro’ and ‘onee-chan’. A curious certainty that she could smell her pussy on all their fingers. Radiating off their bare chests. All those flashing perfect young adult male bodies like they just stepped out of a boy band magazine. The hundreds and hundreds of condoms. The stink of cum clouding everything. The dumb vapid smiles yearning to get fucked, wanting to film it-

“I’m just going to go up and check on them for a second.” Celest got up to move.

“No common’ let them be.” Roger swatted her ass playfully and the immediate electric charge of submissive docility frightened her. Like plunging into a cold bath of stripping and house work and calling her husband daddy, kneeling on the floor of the kitchen as all his friends shot their loads down her throat-

“Just- one . . . second . . .” Celest couldn’t breath.

There was no air in the house. It was all vacuumed out. Sealed up tight. Replaced with summer heat and sports and looking sexy.

“Look, why don’t we just—”

“GO TO THE SCHOOL.” The sports announcer commanded.

They both turned to look. It was so funny but the sports commentator appeared to be looking right at them through the television set.


His voice had that same generic geographically distinct masculine baritone all male TV hosts had, but . . . fuzzy. Distorted. Like an artificial harmony made from a composite of a thousand sports announcer voices talking all at once—at the same time—together. In one voice.

He had the face of the superintendent.


Play on the field stopped. All the athletes stared directly down the barrel of the camera. Game forgotten. Walking towards it, arms outstretched, pointing, stepping in unison.

“Hey honey . . .” Roger said, staring at the screen, unable to look away.

“I think . . .” The words came out hard, as if casting them in iron. Pouring his thoughts into a single inescapable mold.

“—we should go to . . .” beads of sweat dripped down Roger’s face.

The sportscasters, two identical twins both the spitting image of the superintendent, his face superimposed over theirs, mouthing the words. GO TO THE SCHOOL. Clear as if speaking directly in her ear.


There was something oddly cold about them. Affectionless. Robotic. Echoing their expressionless dictum in cascading overlapping waves.

“We should go to the school!” Celest suggested excitedly, pulling Roger up off the couch.

Oh it was a wonderful idea. The school! Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier? Celest LOVED going to school!

Yet . . .

Something about leaving Kylie alone in the house with a bunch of . . .



“Should we really leave Kylie . . . ?” Celest started, but even saying it sounded so stupid. She had to go to the school.


Their landline phone was ringing. It went straight to voicemail.



Someone was slamming their fist into the front door and shouting: “IT’S TIME FOR SCHOOL! GO TO SCHOOL!”

“Wait- one second—” She had no idea what time it was. Wasn’t it the weekend? Who was coming-

She searched for her car keys in a panic.

The magnet letters on the fridge spelled SCHOOL. GO TO. THE. Right next above their collage of family photos, mostly of Celest spread eagle in front of THE SCHOOL. GO TO THE SCHOOL. THE SCHOOL. YOU’RE A SLUT. A WHORE. DRINK CUM. THE SCHOOL. GO TO-

She had never been so thirsty for cock in her entire life.

“CELEST!” Roger grabbed her roughly by the wrist, so tightly it hurt. “We’ve got to go to school!”

The car keys dug into his fist. His face bright red with anger.

“KYLIE!” Roger shouted, “We’re going to the school for a bit!”

Kylie poked her head out the door. She didn’t appear to be wearing a shirt.

“Okaaay! When are you guys coming b—” But the front door already slammed shut behind them as they raced out of the house.

Kylie waited at the top of the stairs by the banister, listening for their car to pull out of the driveway. A second or two later she could hear screeching tires as they whipped out onto the street, burning rubber on the road.

“Finally . . .” Kylie breathed easy for the first time today.

She returned to her room where everyone was assembled. In the middle of the room Kylie stood a whiteboard where she sketched out the main details of her plan. On it was a diagram of the school, overlaid with occult symbols and whorling spirals. At the center was the gymnasium, where the dance would take place. Beside it lay a moldering tome on Demonology, borrowed from the school library.

“Okay.” Kylie took stock of her team.

They looked serious. Determined. Ready for action. Most of them still had their clothes on, even the girl buried head first in Jessica’s lap fingering herself through her panties.

“Let the first meeting of The Resistance begin.”