The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

June 2nd, 2020 — 8 Months after Case Zero

Ed Willis was no stranger to the concept of bimbofication. The 19-year-old freshman “studied” it practically every night, whacking off to erotica or questionable Deviantart galleries. So when the Dimorphic Syncytial Virus began to spread, the whole situation felt oddly familiar.

The virus (which became known as “Syn Syndrome,” or even just “Syn”) worked very much like the diseases in the stories Ed obsessed over: it came out of nowhere and rapidly spread across the world, leaving chaos and debauchery in its wake. Towns, cities, and eventually entire countries were brought to a standstill as the rate of infection grew, eventually leveling off at around 98%. Just like in Ed’s stories, Syn Syndrome increased female arousal and submissiveness. Just like the stories, it turned prudish housewives into obedient fuckdolls. Just like the stories, the condition was permanent…

...But unlike the stories, it didn’t make women stupid. Instead, it was men who were “dumbed down” by Syn Syndrome. The “Dimorphic” part of Dimorphic Syncytial Virus referred to the fact that while women were getting hornier, men were getting simpler.

As Ed Willis reveled in the wet-dream-come-true that was unfolding around him, he hardly even noticed that his thoughts were growing foggier by the day. His family complied with the mandatory quarantine, unaware that they were already infected. As a result, Ed spent most of his time in his room, spending hours jacking off to the increasingly-depraved news reports coming out of affected countries. His parents were also getting “sicker” by the day, and soon he was allowed to masturbate in the middle of the living room, with the sounds of porn blaring throughout the house more often than not. His mother began to enjoy the constant moaning, while his father was too stupid to care (and too busy plowing his wife, of course).

Today, though, Ed isn’t hanging out in the living room. He’s sitting in his parents’ basement, gunning down bad guys in a singleplayer shooter. Online matches are too frustrating for him nowadays, mostly because all of the matches are dominated by quicker-witted female gamers. He still enjoys a good singleplayer campaign, though, as long as it has an easy mode.

“Bullshit,” Ed growls, squeezing the controller until his knuckles turn white. “Why do they have so many grenades? That’s not fair!”

“...Gmph...” Between Ed’s legs, a nude woman is swallowing his cock to the base. The brunette is 42 years old, but she looks significantly younger... As she should, after spending the bulk of the last three months in gyms and salons. Looking up at the young man she’s deepthroating, the MILF lets his cock free with an audible pop. Sticky ropes of spit and pre-cum cling to her lips, dripping off one by one as she talks: “Aw, I’m sorry sweetheart. Don’t you like this game anymore?”

“It’s stupid,” Ed replies, throwing the controller aside.

“Want me to buy you a new one?” She continues to jacks him off, rubbing his well-lubricated shaft with long, slow strokes. “My son likes that building one, with the robots.”

“Craftblox? That’s for little kids.”

“Jacob’s almost your age! Besides, my husband likes it too,” she giggles, slapping Ed’s cock against her cheek a few times. “You have Syn Syndrome, sweetie. It’s okay to like different things than you did before.”

“Whatever,” the frustrated young man sighs, leaning back on the sofa. “Buy it, I guess.”

“What do we say?” She smirks, pausing with her hand wrapped around the base of Ed’s shaft.

“Uh... Shut up and blow me?”

“Good enough!” With that the woman dives on Ed’s cock like a starving animal, moaning as she takes it back into her throat. Now that his hands are free, Ed grabs her by the hair and starts facefucking her without a drop of hesitation or restraint. “Gugh...Gugh...Gugh...”

“...And thanks, I guess,” he groans after a few rapid strokes. “Your throat is way better than my girlfriend’s.”

Though it’s difficult to tell with her face being pummeled, the MILF seems to appreciate the compliment. A few minutes later, when Ed’s legs lock around her head and he starts pumping jizz down her throat, she cums harder than she has in years.

“Guh... G-good shit,” the young man grunts, picking the controller up and taking another shot at the level while his cumdump tries to bring his limp cock back to full attention.

August 12th, 2020—10 Months after Case Zero

“I think we need to hire more women.”

Cindy McKay is bent over, one hand on her laptop while the other is braced against her heavy wooden desk. Her skirt’s hiked up, and a well-dressed man is plowing her from behind.

“More women is good,” the man grunts, slapping Cindy’s pale (but quickly reddening) ass. “Can we get some with big tits? I like yours, but... Lots of girls have those big, fake boobies now. Can we get those?”

“I was thinking about hiring some girls with big brains,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “Our billables are down 48% since last year, and I’m not staking the entire firm on that bailout. We need to get with the times, before it’s too late.”

“Women can’t work that good either,” the man says defensively, still thrusting. “All you want to do is fuck. Don’t be discriminatey.”

“Can’t remember the last time a g-guy refused,” Cindy laughs, biting her lip as her partner starts hitting just the right angle. “B-buh... Besides, I doubt gender discrimination is gonna be a thing soon. All that stuff’s out the window... Men and women are both fucked, but in different ways.”

“I... I’ll fuck you in different ways!”

“You don’t need to keep trying to be witty.” She glances back over her shoulder, flashing the man a smile. “Don’t worry... You have other talents.”

“...Cool.” With that he picks up the pace, tie flapping this way and that as he pounds his boss into the desk.

Cindy has just finished pulling up a file of twenty resumes when the first orgasm hits, her partner’s thick cock sending wave after wave of pure pleasure coursing through her body. He doesn’t stop fucking her, and by the time the second orgasm hits, she’s narrowed the applicant pool down to four.

“I... Fuck that’s good... I’ll just hire them all,” she mumbles, flipping through the cover pages.

“Wait, isn’t that one a guy?” The man leans over Cindy’s back, peering at the laptop. “I thought you wanted girls?”

“Y-yeah, mostly, but look at this guy’s cock!” Instead of a headshot, the cover of one resume is adorned with a well-framed dick pic. “Shit, he’s an associate at the firm he’s at now... I wonder if he’ll take a job in the mail room if I let him fuck my ass?”

“Let him?” The man behind her chuckles. “You’re gonna beg for it.”

“That’s... That’s not—”

“Beg for it now.”

Cindy takes a deep breath, opens her mouth to reply... Then closes her eyes, smiling. “...Please? I... I need it...”

“You got it, Boss.” With that, the man pulls out of Cindy’s dripping pussy and lines himself up with her asshole.

As he eases inside, inch by warm, incredibly-tight inch, she begins writing emails to the lucky applicants. Within the week, she’ll have slept with all of them... More than a dozen times, in the case of Dick Pic Guy.

March 8th, 2021—17 Months after Case Zero

“Ungh... Ungh... Uuuungh...” Dr. Joseph Thompson has two hard-earned PhDs to his name, but right now he’s grunting and growling like a wild animal.

The rhythmic sounds of flesh on flesh fill the kitchen as the fit middle-aged man fucks a girl thirty years younger than him. He has Cora in a mating press on the floor, a dish towel laid out to protect the Asian girl’s back from the cold, hard tiles.

“Ahem!” Just as the ball-slapping reaches its peak, a voice calls out from the doorway. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Huh?” Dr. Thompson’s head pops up when he hears his wife’s voice, but he doesn’t stop thrusting. “Oh... Hey, babe.”

“Don’t ‘babe’ me. Why are you fucking Anthony’s girlfriend?”

Mrs. Thompson was once an average-looking, somewhat-chubby, 40-something-year-old nurse, but the psychological effects of Syn Syndrome soon changed all that. She worked in the hospital where Patient Zero ended up, and as such was one of the first to catch the mysterious disease. As her sexual needs grew, her husband was happy to satisfy them... At first. But the increasingly-dim-witted professor kept “forgetting” to save his loads for her, either jacking off or offering himself to the legions of horny women who appeared once Syn Syndrome hit the college campus where he worked.

When Mrs. Thompson tried to turn the tables by sleeping with other men, she found volunteers to be in short supply. Everyone and their mum was acting like a slut, now: who would pay attention to a frumpy nurse? That realization drove her to update her wardrobe, and her makeup... Then her hair, then her workout regimen... Plastic surgery followed shortly after. Her connections at the hospital allowed her to skip the queue, which was growing by the day as more women found themselves in the same predicament.

Today, the woman standing in the doorway would be almost unrecognizable to those who only knew the old Mrs. Thompson. She had an exaggerated hourglass figure, her thin waist dwarfed by thick hips and a huge bubble butt. That rear end paled in comparison to her chest, however: fake tits the size of her head bounced and jiggled with every step, threatening to burst out of her scandalous mini-dress. As for her face, long lashes and plumped-up lips made her look more like a trashy Instagram model than a respected wife and professional health care worker. Her hair was long and platinum-blonde, and she swept it aside as she glared at her humping husband.

“Oh, sorry,” Dr. Thompson mumbles, nervously groping Cora’s small-yet-perky tits. The girl looked at Mrs. Thompson apologetically, but stayed silent. “You weren’t here, and my balls are super full.”

“I told you, I was just going to the store! I was only gone ten minutes!”

“S-sorry, babe—Oh, oh yeah, fuuuck...” His eyes close and he tenses up, pumping a load into Cora. The lithe teen seems to be enjoying herself as well: she wraps her legs around the man on top of her, pulling him closer.

“Unbelievable,” Mrs. Thompson sighs. “Is Anthony home?”

It’s Cora who answers, her voice meek: “Y-yes, Mrs. T. I’m on my way to visit him—Or, um, I was—”

“Fine. I’m going upstairs,” the bimbo MILF continues, turning on her stiletto heel.

“Huh?” Dr. Thompson pulls out, letting his cum spill from Cora’s pussy and onto the towel. “Why? I can fuck you now.”

“Can you? I know you paid an early-morning visit to those sluts next door, and judging by the seed you just gave Cora...” She scoffs. “Sorry, dear, but I bet our son has more juice left right now.”

“You know I don’t like it when you fuck him,” Dr. Thompson says with a scowl. “It’s kinda weird.”

“You should’ve thought of that before wasting your load on his girlfriend!” With that, Mrs. Thompson turns on her stiletto heel and heads upstairs.

Cora and Dr. Thompson clean themselves up in silence, both trying to ignore the thud thud thud coming from the floor above them. Anthony was always partial to huge tits... A fact which contributed to his mother’s decision to go with over-the-top implants. The boy was uncomfortable with incest at first, but he was also nearly as dumb as his father; the allure of an ever-eager, live-in sex toy with massive funbags soon proved too much to resist. Whenever Mr. Thompson fails to give his wife a good fucking, Anthony is happy to supply one (or two, or three).

“I can’t believe those two,” Mr. Thompson mutters, standing on tiptoes to wash his dick in the kitchen sink. “So disres... Disruspekky... So rude.”

“Um, Mr. T,” Cora pipes up. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“I can clean it for you.” She gestures at his cock, smiling innocently. “...Please?”

An hour later, Mrs. Thompson staggers downstairs to grab a glass of water (and a beer for her son). Her dress is pulled down to expose her massive tits, and she’s dripping with Anthony’s jizz from her forehead to her nipples. The sex-hungry bimbo is grinning from ear to ear, finally satisfied after a tender titfuck and a rough pounding from her special boy... But her smile falters when she sees her husband.

Dr. Thompson is balls-deep in Cora’s throat, thrusting into her without regard for the young woman’s comfort. She’s lying on her back on the dining table, limbs flailing as her boyfriend’s father leans over and gropes her slender body.

“Damn, that’s fuckin’ tight,” he growls, before placing a hand on her throat. “Let’s make it even tighter...”

As Mrs. Thompson watches in horror, her husband begins jacking himself off through the girl’s throat, rubbing and squeezing to his heart’s content.

“Honey, please be careful,” Mrs. Thompson says, edging around her husband to get to the kitchen counter. “She probably won’t tell you to stop, but you still need to ask... And you shouldn’t hurt her too badly, no matter what. You have certain responsibilities to women, given Syn Syndrome’s effect on—” She pauses suddenly, her back to the rutting pair. “Why is the sink full of cum?”

“Oh... Nutted there earlier, when Cora was cleaning me up,” Dr. Thompson replies with a shrug. “Is it clogged?”

“No, you just forgot to open the plug,” his wife sighs back, already wrist-deep in the cloudy-white mixture. As it begins to drain, she dips a glass in and fills it with cum-laced water.

“I thought I taught you better than this,” she tells her husband as she passes him on the way out, two refreshing beverages in hand. “We don’t waste cum in this house. Anthony knows that, because I did a good job raising him, but you—”

“Get down on your knees, babe,” Dr. Thompson gasps, close to orgasm. “Lick my balls while I nut in this slut’s throat!”

The bimbo rolls her eyes, then puts her glass and her son’s beer on the table... But after a glance at Cora’s flailing arms, she reconsiders and places them on the counter instead. Then she’s on her knees in a flash, crawling between her husband’s legs.

“Hurry it up, please,” she says, between licks of his bouncing sack. “Anthony wants me back up there. He says we’re going to film a video, for his friends in the quarantine zone—”

“Sssh... Back to work, I’m—I’m gonna—Hngh...”

When Mrs. Thompson returns to her son’s room, she has an extra dribble of cum making its way down her cheek. If the young man notices, he doesn’t seem to care: he’s too busy throwing his mother on the bed and sliding his cock back into her dripping-wet pussy.

“You’re... My... Fucking... Toy,” he grunts, playing it up a little as he holds up his phone and tries to keep Mrs. Thompson’s jiggling body in-frame.

“Y-yes, honey... Play with me,” she whispers back, hugging her son tightly as he pounds into her.

January 20th, 2022—2 Years after Case Zero

Karen and Alice are best friends by any definition; the pair met in high school, and have been roommates since freshman year. They don’t always agree, though, and right now they’re in the middle of one of their classic arguments.

“I still don’t think it’s fair that they pay less than we do,” Karen says, her voice shaky. She and Alice are lying face-to-face on the living room floor, bracing themselves by grabbing onto the shag carpet.

“They’re boys, Karen... Jocks, even. They probably weren’t geniuses before Syn, so how could they possibly hold down a good job now?”

“Hey, we’re right here,” a voice grunts from above them.

Two muscular young men are straddling the college girls, thrusting slowly into their asses while they argue. One has his phone out, browsing social media; the other is sipping on a beer.

It’s the half-drunk one who’s interrupted their conversation, and he scowls down at them.

“Dude, I’m trying to get her to see why you should only pay half rent,” Alice says. “I’m on your side.”

“Oh... Kay,” he replies with a shrug, turning his attention back to plowing Karen’s tight asshole.

“It—it’s s-still not fair,” Karen stammers as the boy’s massive cock stretches her out. “I’m not exactly rich.”

“Look, babe,” Alice continues. “I get it, but this just makes sense. Male roommates are in high demand... It’s cheaper than visiting the himbo-whorehouse a buncha times every week, and way cheaper than getting fake boobs or whatever to stand out in the crowd. Don’t you want to live with these guys?” She smiles, wiggling her ass. “Can’t you feel how big they are? And the stamina...”

“I... I guess,” Karen concedes, moaning a little as the jock picks up the pace behind her. “But can’t we at least get the bigger bedrooms?”

“Like we’ll be sleeping in our own beds, y’know, ever,” her friend laughs. “We’ll probably only use those when family visits.”

“Ooh, yeah... Is your dad coming this weekend?”

“Both my parents are, unfortunately.” Alice rolls her eyes, then pauses and turns to the young man on top of her. “Hey, wait. Big Boy, you like MILFs?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” he replies simply.

“Maybe we can get one of these helpful young men to keep Mom busy while we take turns with Dad,” she continues. “See? They’re already paying for themselves!”

“I gueeess,” Karen says, finally smiling. “...Yours is cuter, though. Can we swap?”

“Hey! We’re still right here,” the boy mounting her says, before spanking her ass a few times. Then he pulls out, high-fiving his friend as the two jocks swap places.

“This one looks plenty cute to me,” Alice giggles, licking her lips as she eyes up the thick shaft that’s bouncing towards her. “C’mere, let me lube you up first... Roomie.”

September 17th, 2026—6 Years after Case Zero

President Felicia Harper is due to address the nation in two minutes, and she doesn’t look happy. There’s a scowl on her face as she reads over her notes, and after a few tense moments she shoos away the girl who’s fixing her makeup.

“Have you read this, Allen?”

“Huh? Oh, I... Not really,” her Vice President says with a shrug. Allen Morales is an intelligent young man... But he’s still a man. Like most male politicians, he was chosen for his handsome physique, his charming smile, and his massive cock... Not to mention the innate appeal of having a man on the ticket. Male voters like to see that they’re still important, and female voters like to see him naked.

It’s that very issue that has President Harper’s brow wrinkled as she skims her State of the Union notes. “Well, about halfway through the first sentence you’re supposed to tear my blouse off.”

“Don’t you like it when I play with your tits?” The VP leans over, cupping one of Harper’s large breasts through her blazer.

“Mmm... I do, but... Aren’t I supposed to project power?”

“Look at Page 3,” one of her aids pipes up, flipping it over for her. “Once your tits are out, he’ll eat your pussy while you finish up the speech... Oh, and don’t forget to jack off, Mr. Morales. We want you to cum just before Madam President wraps things up.”

The VP nods. “Facial?”

“Or on her tits, if she’s still talking,” the aid continues. “The ‘talking through a mouthful of cum’ thing plays well, but the State of the Union Address is too important. We need them to hear every word, even if they’re staring at President Harper’s perfect rack.”

“Thank you, Nicolle,” the President sighs, looking a little less worried than before. “Ah, that’s our cue. Come along, Allen.”

Vice President Morales smiles, placing his hand on the President’s ass and squeezing gently as they walk out onto the stage.