The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I know you will find this an unexpected email. You haven’t heard from me since we were in high school, and before I disappeared we weren’t on great terms, even before... In fact that’s partly why I’m emailing you. I remember how disgusted you were when I worked my way through the rest of the girls in school, even before the allegations, but I also remember how you kind of stood aside once the witchhunts. I think you took the attitude that there could be smoke without a fire. I mean I remember you as very clever, very principled, with a lot of self-respect. I remember that you care about others and have an amazing social conscience.

I know you’ll think it weird that I’m writing to you but the truth is that since I left school my life has only got more insane, even than it was by the end. I want you to know that all the stuff people believed about me at the time, it wasn’t true… honestly it wasn’t; but in a lot of ways it has become true since. I’ve ended up without anyone I can talk to. I have done a lot of harm to people but I’ve honestly never meant to… I kind of feel that only someone who knew me before any of it started would have a chance to understand how I’ve ended up here, and of those you’re one of the last ones I didn’t know for sure hated me. I mean you saw how it started, how it snowballed, and I think more than a lot of other people around me at the time you could see how little… control I had over what was going on.

I am in really serious trouble, Jenny, and it has the potential to harm lots of other people, especially women. I know that you have contacts in feminist organisations, and they are the people I can imagine most likely to want to help stop this without trying to exploit it in the wrong way. I mean I accept that I’m not thinking straight now, but what I’m hoping is that you could forward this message on to anyone you can think of who could help me. Not the police. They already know about me. And not the “medical establishment” either… I’ve tried. It almost resulted in a hospital being quarantined. If nothing else Jenny, please read this to the end.

Where to start? I don’t know where to start. I’m going to have to lead you into this gently. Let’s try: I rarely know what time of day it is any more. That’s both profoundly disorientating in itself, and also revealing in terms of the life I’m living. I mean, if I get to see a window or I’m outside I can tell if it’s day or night; although when I found snow some time back I was shocked, because I was still in autumn in my head.

But if I don’t actually know what time it is, then that means I’m not having to arrive at places such as work, not having to buy things in shops, not arranging meetings with people. I don’t think I’m sleeping in sync with the days; I mainly pass out for a bit, come round for a bit. Eating when it happens. All of the above and not going outside very often.

I mean, there hasn’t been an apocalypse, as far as I’m aware. Yet. I’m fit and healthy, not holed up waiting to die. I’m not exploring caves or in the space station, or in prison: this is through my own choice. On one level, how could it not be? It is, I’m sure, every man’s total ideal top fantasy life. And I’m obviously on a physical level enjoying it. But it’s horrible. Both in terms of the stasis, the loss of any kind of motivation or direction or evolution in my life, and in terms of the effects I know it’s having on others. I feel so guilty. I fucking hate this. But my current situation, the specifics of it, is through my own choice. And now I’m trapped. That’s why I’m… look I’m sending this to you because somebody needs to figure out how to stop this, and I’m sure that feminists are the people most likely to want to. Am I repeating myself? Sorry. Proofreading is not a priority right now. Anyway I’m sure most of them will delete this before they get through the next paragraph, I just hope that somebody will take this seriously and try to help. Stop this. Kill me if they need to. If they can figure out how, and if they can get past the… victims. Who very much don’t see themselves as such, and that is the problem.

I’m lying here, or sitting, or sometimes standing, but most of the time if I try to get away I don’t get far; and mainly when I’m standing it’s for another reason than escape. I’m here, anyway, constantly churning massive volumes of come into an endless succession of women who, themselves, are coming constantly. I’d need earplugs if I didn’t have my head clamped in someone’s vagina most of the time. I mean I often never get to see their faces, or even any part of them at all; much less ever know their names. It’s so impersonal. They fuck me, suck me, take me in their ass, they use their hands and their tits and anything else they can think of. One at a time, five at a time, many, all the time. They bring me food and drink and suck me, usually, while I’m eating. They don’t even let me go to the toilet, alone, at any rate. A lot of the time they don’t even get off my cock when I’m pissing. Most of the time when I piss it’s through my still-erect cock directly down someone’s throat, or into their holes. They seem to enjoy it. I have no idea, but I can easily imagine they’re pretending to because they think it’ll turn me on. Or maybe they are. Fuck knows. I try as hard as I can to keep my shit away from them, but this is only really guaranteed if I get to a toilet, and even then, someone is most likely blowing me. I’m sorry to have gone there but I wanted to be graphic in order to explain the extent of the situation. I will probably not go there again.

Anyway, I fall asleep with someone bouncing on my cock, and wake up with someone else sucking it, or vice versa. Apparently I’m hard whilst asleep. There are apparently women who come, and come, and go while I’m asleep, of whose presence I am never even aware. Apparently I don’t stop coming, either. I mean I’m coming constantly, being erect is coming a little bit all the time, and I’m erect all the time, or at least any time I’m around hot ladies, which is all the time. But I also have orgasms, which are colossal, both the experience and the ejaculation. Every, like, five minutes or so. If I go without for up to an hour it gets painful, two hours and it’s seriously affecting my thinking, after about three hours I will rape the first woman I find. But the horrifying thing is that they only ever think it’s rape for the first few seconds. After that they’re – well, they’re being driven through a succession of mind-breaking orgasms which will totally and indelibly change who they are. And which they never want to stop.

My cock breaks people. I hate it. I’m sorry. It’s particularly the case in that sort of situation, when I’m full of arousal and I just grab someone. I’m not sure whether it’s the amount of come that has built up, or it’s more concentrated, or the intensity of the situation, whatever. I’m not a scientist, I never even went to University, to study at any rate. But when I attack someone like that, they… well they end up coming so hard they pass out, almost always. And when they come round, they want more cock. Mine, ideally, but failing that, any. As much as possible.

So it affects people not only while they’re fucking me, but also afterwards. I mean they have these immense orgasms while they’re fucking me, but then afterwards, they want more, so they keep on fucking other people. I mean often it escalates. Very often within a few days of meeting me a woman will have her first gangbang, just trying to get back to the high I gave her, and it’s rarely her last. Many of their lives are completely derailed. They will usually become extremely promiscuous, any relationships that continue or begin beyond that point will be on the basis that she fucks around, they often become hookers just in order to get more sex. Some have gone into porn (which is how I met David). None of them ever say that they regret this. Some of them earn a lot of money and seem to be very happy. For a lot though, whilst they say they’re fine, it’s an addict’s denial.

And that can be the result of a one-off. Obviously, if I see them more than once, or if I’m with them for any length of time, the effects can be profound, all the more so if I’m trying to do it. Which, to my shame, on occasion, I have done. If I bring someone home and spend a weekend deliberately breaking her, essentially hammering her with orgasms, blindingly powerful ones the whole time, and saying things to her, then by the time I’m finished nobody will ever have a conversation with her again that doesn’t directly involve her getting cock in the near future. I went through an especially dark phase when I was telling them that my favourite sort of sex was huge anonymous blindfolded gangbangs, whilst I was fucking them and they were begging me to fuck them again in the future. Sometimes I told them their best chance of fucking me again was putting on a blindfold, an ad on Craigslist, and a live webcam, tying themselves down and unlocking the front door. They do it. Then they do it again. Sometimes I’ve seen the webcam and gone along and fucked her and they always recognise my cock and have a pretty much religious experience on it.

Sometimes I said that I especially liked it when my friends brought girls to me to fuck. So if a guy ever wants to send you to fuck his friend, that might be me. Or it might be an audition, so do your best. Go along and fuck the guy either way, and any way he likes. I know you’ll have fun. You’ll fucking love it. You can have orgasms almost like this any time you like from now on. Just fuck someone. Fuck everyone. I promise you’ll enjoy it. Every time. And one day, that special day, you will feel this cock again and you will know.

I mean, cheesy, but also horrible. That’s basically murder. Her life up to that point is now over. Her hopes and ambitions, her hobbies and pastimes, even her friends, other than, often, as bribes to get me to fuck her again. That was the bait: the orgasms. Enormous, powerful, addictive orgasms. Well no, I guess that’s the hook after they fuck me. The bait is… women just seem drawn to me. I guess I’ll do that in more detail later. This is all out of order, sorry. I mean I got to that dark phase, which now fills me with horror at the things I’ve done, after escaping from a different situation which had put me in a nihilistic frame of mind. This all needs explaining in order, but I’ll tell you some more about the… me, the effect I have, first, because there are a few more aspects I haven’t covered yet. Then I’ll go back to the top.

This email, by the way, I am typing it during… I have managed to persuade them to go with a kind of office scenario, and I’ve got someone to give me her laptop, so they’re doing me whilst I’m typing some important report… to help me concentrate, or something. Of course there are moments where someone, or maybe a couple of them together, will lose control of themselves, throw me on the floor and mount me, and then the next few usually join in too, and when I emerge from the mountain of heaving chickflesh I will have to… punish them. Partly for the sake of appearances, but also I have to admit, if there’s half a dozen beautiful women begging you to choke them with your cock or fist their assholes because they’re naughty little sluts who need to be punished, there is a temptation to follow through with that. Nobody ever objects whatever I do to them, they thank me. I spent a while telling them a safeword but they never…

I’m sure this ruse will only last so long, anyway, so I’ll have to think of something else soon.

I have no idea whether David will notice what I’m doing and look what I’m typing. He may already have done for all I know – as you can imagine my progress is intermittent, it’s already taken me several days to get this far. He might be waiting till I’ve done to delete it, reading it and laughing, or he might even be happy to let me send it out. I know next to nothing about this guy, maybe he is doing the best he can to mitigate the harm I cause, maybe he would be happy to see it end. But this computer can hear some wifi, and I’m writing it in my gmail and as long as I can send it before… so if you get this message in an unfinished state that’s why. I will have panicked. But I don’t think he’s around now… nobody’s been filming for a while, and I haven’t seen him, I’ve just been left to my own devices with the girls, pretty much. Drowning in a sea of beautiful women.

Anyway that’s another thing, they are all beautiful. I mean this thing affects any woman I want it to, but the ones who are appearing here are all beautiful. I think women of all shapes and sizes can be beautiful, but I meet women (briefly) of all shapes and sizes, and these women ARE all beautiful. All of them gorgeous, and their bodies stunning or magnificent or unique or toned or sexy as fuck in some other way. And as different as they are they merge into an endless, shifting succession of beautiful faces and bodies and holes and fetishes and sex acts and fluids and screaming.

And I’m endlessly shifting too. You never notice it, there’s never anything abrupt, I can sometimes spot a change in skin shade or the thickness of my shoulder muscle, over the course of a day or so; but given that mirrors occur sporadically in my life (sometimes whole rooms plated with them, though) it’s often a completely different person that looks back at me. I’ve been told that my DNA changes too. Told by a lady detective who was trying to track me down. And found me. They couldn’t understand it, any more than I can. But because a lot of the crime scenes contain very similar elements (like thoroughly fucked nymphomaniacs who don’t think they’re victims, and an enormous amount of semen) I think some law enforcement agencies are starting to put it together, impossible as it must seem. But witnesses, cameras and all the rest are useless because sometimes I’m a massive, thick-set black man and sometimes I’m a slim, white teenager. I mean security cameras are kind of irrelevant because a lot of the time David is filming it anyway. I don’t know what he’s doing with the footage but I’m sure he’s earning from it.

I’ve been a black man quite a lot, often very big, tall, broad, and pneumatic. I guess it goes with the cock. But I’ve been everything else, too, every ethnicity, every build type, even every age. I’ve never gone back to the face I was born with. The only thing that never changes is that the cock is always massive. It changes colour and shape, and detail and proportion, but it’s always long and thick with a very large head. And it gives women orgasms like they’ve never experienced before, cannot get enough of, but will never quite experience with anyone else, however many other people they fuck.

My healing is rapid. I seem to be immune to all diseases, and as far as I can tell it’s literally impossibly to sever any part of my body other than hair and nails. I know this because people have tried. One part in particular, but people have tried fingers, too, whilst attempting to torture me. It seems that beyond the skin my body is basically just too hard; like trying to cut stone. The pain is amazing, but they don’t actually get anywhere. My body absorbs bullets, and then later, rejects them. And obviously it’s husbands and fathers who go down that route. The effect I have on men is different. It takes longer to emerge, and for all I know it might just be a social consequence, but straight men all over time either submit to me, start bringing me their wives and daughters and shit, or basically try to kill me. It’s… again, I hate it. I can’t even have male friends, at least, not straight ones. It doesn’t affect gay men at all. Funnily enough they don’t really even seem to fancy me any more than any good looking guy might get. They might still hate me, for the effect I have on their friends and loved ones, but in a way that’s fair enough, and I get the sense that there’s nothing beyond that, it’s not warping their decisions in any way that I can tell. Which was another thing that led me to choose David.

I’m going to have to put blocks in order, I think, to explain the whole David thing. In one respect this is a solution. It was my attempt to find a solution, certainly, but… I mean I didn’t really know anything about him, and I still don’t. Even if my power doesn’t affect him, power corrupts generally, and I… I handed over control of my power to him, and I don’t know what he’s doing with it but I’m afraid. But I’ll… I’ll go from the top in the next section. I want to give you at least a bit of the backstory before I hit send.

So I don’t know if you’d even remember me from middle school, or the first few years of high school. Nothing noteworthy happened before puberty. I was middle class in a middle class area, good in lessons, bad at sports, I had a few friends but you’d probably have thought me a geek. I remember you vaguely from that time, if I’m honest I fancied you; you might think that’s odd given that we never… you know, nothing happened... but the thing is that before the changes we were all too young, and I was shy; after the changes, once I started to get a sense what was going on… I didn’t want to go near anyone I actually cared about. Plus, like a lot of other people, you apparently hated me anyway.

By the time I was 14 or so, though, I started to notice something. One was that although I didn’t magically learn football, I started to do well in athletics, particularly the stuff that didn’t involve technique. Long-distance running, running of all kinds, but especially distance; weightlifting, within weight categories still. Nothing exceptional at this stage but I distinctly remember being surprised by the people I was overtaking.

And then girls started responding to me. I thought it was just growing up, like I’d crossed some threshold in social skills that allowed me to communicate to girls I fancied without repelling them – because I fancied pretty much all girls, I thought everyone was beautiful and sexy if accepted on their own terms, and if they wanted to be. I mean I was raised as a feminist, but then from adolescence on alongside respecting all women I wanted to fuck them all as well. I think, in retrospect, that this must have been the beginnings of this… condition. And so admittedly, all my interactions with women have been coloured by the desire to have sex with them. But I’ve always consciously been aware of that, at least, and tried to counteract it. I mean I was still very young, really, so nothing happened other than that I wanked a lot in my own time. I had a fair number of female friends who I’m sure didn’t realise I was wanking over them, in private of course.

So that was quite a good time, before it all went sour. When the erections started. I mean I’m sure you remember me then. Everyone thought I was a pervert. I couldn’t help it. It got so that I would get hard whenever pretty girls were around. Do you remember when some of the popular girls started teasing other girls that I hadn’t got hard when they were talking to me, so they must be ugly? I started consciously trying to pop an erection every time then, since I couldn’t prevent it from happening. And then it became automatic. It would happen before I’d even seen someone, they would just have to enter the room. Or that time a pretty girl took her tracksuit off behind me on sports day, and the entire school saw the boner bend me double.

People treated me like I was something between an animal and a child molester. I mean it was already very big. Around then a lot of people started to avoid me, you included, I think. It felt like even the teachers thought I was disgusting.

At home it had been just me and my dad for a few years, we were close and I loved him, I mean I still really do, after everything. We got on OK, although there was the beginnings of the competing stags thing that all teenage boys go through in some way. And then he brought home Carol. She was younger than him, and, well, she never seemed to like me. Maybe she thought I saw through her, which I thought I did. I mean, it never once occurred to me that maybe my dad had a massive cock too; I just assumed it was the money. Maybe I misjudged her.

Anyway she was hot, so the boners started at home too. It pissed my dad off, both because I was regarding her as an object, and because it was his fucking woman. And it didn’t help relations with her either. She seemed to have nothing but contempt for me. Seemed. In retrospect I think she was compensating for something she could neither explain nor control.

I was shocked, one day, when she was drunk, when she distinctly started flirting with me. I had not been flirted with much before – women were generally avoiding me at that point – but I’d seen it on the TV, and it was noticeably new. I flirted back, and she moved closer. When my dad walked into the kitchen we were both still fully clothed, but she was pressed up against me, one hand on my chest and the other on my shorts. I did have one hand around her back, so when he walked in and she pushed away from me, it looked like I was holding her in. There was no police complaint but I ended up having to move out. By the age of sixteen I was on benefits living in a rented flat, whilst trying to finish school.

Anyway Carol had a daughter, Jane. I’d spent a fair bit of time around her too; we always got on. She transferred to our school in the last year. She already knew me, so she wasn’t put off like everyone else, the erections didn’t bother her, she thought it was sweet, and eventually we ended up fucking. Many times. She came like crazy every time. She started bringing her friends, they referred their friends, and sisters, and mothers, and I had a whale of a time. That was the period when I went through the cheeleading squad. It went on all through the autumn and winter. Then I got caught fucking a teacher (not the first time I’d fucked her) and she cried rape.

I would like to say at this point that I absolutely believe I am an exceptional case. I do not believe this is how most cases of rape are. I do not believe most men are compelled, or can be compelled, by need to the same degree that I am. I do not believe that women enjoy it, not in reality, and I do not believe that many allegations are malicious. I think it’s much more the other direction, that there are situations people have not consented to in a meaningful way that they subsequently feel they cannot report.

In my situation I don’t really feel that the women have consented. I think they are compelled. I don’t defend or justify my actions, many of which have been beyond defence. I’m trying to give a completely honest account, though, and that is genuinely what happened. I think to be fair it also suited the school for me to be the perpetrator, it externalised the problem in a way that fitted the public perception of me. By that stage I had fucked a lot of people’s wives, daughters, girlfriends and so forth, and they had gone on to have a lot more sex, and it was quite a small town. There were a lot of people angry at me already. I was never going to get a fair trial, so I absconded.

By this point I had started to become addicted to the sex, so after running away I only lasted a couple of days before going to a club, hitting on this beautiful girl, going back to her room in the student halls, and fucking the living shit out of her. And then inevitably, over the weeks that followed, the rest of the girls on the floor. That was fine though, everyone seemed happy enough, although they did all start bringing a lot more guys home, passing guys between them, teaming up or taking multiples; there were quite frequent large orgies and gangbangs. That lasted until the summer, and then when the students went home for the summer I had to move out. I went home with one of them.

Vicky had a still-hot mum in her early forties, and two older sisters and one younger, all due home for the summer. And no resident father-figure or brother. Both of those factors weighed in my selection of her. I’ll spare you the details but you can guess what happened, initially at least. In the longer term, though, whatever it is that I’ve got was really blooming, and it was concentrated into these five women over a sustained period of time. Each of them for hours at a stretch every day. What happened is that they went mad. They became obsessed with my cock. With fucking it, with satisfying it, and me. It became like a cult. They quit their jobs and college courses, but then because money was needed, started working as prostitutes from the family home. They were feeding me new women constantly, too. The trouble really started when some of the new women moved in. Quit their lives and became hookers and legally transferred all their assets to me. I didn’t even know about that until it had happened. Eventually there were twenty or thirty girls mostly resident there, and many more visitors.

Anyway once people were missed, the law turned up, it really did look like a cult, and I was locked up for the first time.

What happened next was extraordinary. It started quickly – within hours a couple of girls had smuggled themselves in during visiting time, using another two to fuck the guards as distraction; so that was my immediate needs dealt with. Over the next few days the situation escalated to basically a brute force pussy assault on the building. Women were fucking everyone who stood between them and me, not even trying to bribe the prison guards and management, as much as grinding them into a state of total exhaustion. There is no fortress on earth that can stand between an infinite amount of vagina and its objective. I guess that’s girl power?

There was a bit of a hold-up when they finally got into the prison, as the girls already in the cell didn’t want to stop fucking me, and once they’d joined in, nor did the first rescue party. So eventually they got me into a prison van, stuck a mattress in the back and drove off in it. I figured that that wouldn’t confuse the police for long, and even if they got away, didn’t want to essentially go from one cell to another, so I tried something I’d never done before, I deliberately used my… my gift. I intensified the fucking in the back of the van to the point where the girls in the front couldn’t resist pulling over and joining us. From there it was a fairly straightforwards task to fuck them all unconscious and then run for it. Well, waddle.

So from that I learnt that I had to keep moving, I had to try to minimise the impact I had on ladies. I became a succession of one-night stands and gone in the morning. I kept it as vanilla as I could, too, tried as hard as I could manage to give them mediocre sex (although I could never quite stop them coming). Sometimes I stole clothes or food or money, until I realised that that was drawing the police: again, identical crimes with plenty of DNA which was different each time, and a robbery victim who would flirt with the officers and try to keep her partner from finding out (because I could only take men’s clothes if she had a man in her house).

Because I kept moving, I never saw the consequences of this part of my life. To this day I don’t know whether I was limiting the effect or seeding it more widely. Anyway I survived more or less OK, until I met Helena. Helena was kinky.

Helena was older than me, mid-thirties; she was wealthy, successful, confident, clever: a lawyer. In the bedroom, Helena like being tied down and tying down. She made me strap her to a footstool, told me her safe word, and then told me to keep fucking her harder and harder, darker and rougher, until she said it.

I did. She never said the word. I eventually stopped because I was worried about her; she’d come harder, for longer, without passing out, than anyone I’d ever met. It was like an animal had taken over her body. There were no more words, she wasn’t even doing syllables any more; very few consonants at all unless you count glottal fricatives. But fucking back into me, still clearly begging for more. I honestly thought I was damaging her; I mean I was and I could see it happening. In the state I was in even that turned me on for a while and I pushed her further, but eventually, I came to my senses and stopped, and untied her. I was so relieved when she rolled over, cuddled me, thanked me, that I didn’t notice the first manacle until it was on me.

I said, “What—?”

She said, “My turn,” and I let her put the second one on, which was a catastrophic mistake that took months to escape from. And the consequences for her were profound. She was overdosing on me several times a day; she wasn’t going to share me with anyone, so the rest of the time I remained bound to the bench with a milking machine pounding my cock. God knows what she did with the vats of spunk it extracted from me. Bathed in it, probably.

The brothel thing happened again. She started capturing other women, exposing them to me briefly, then putting them to work as hookers to pay for all of us. One of them broke in to me, climbed aboard, and was still there hours later when Helena found her and… she killed her, she literally broke the girl’s neck right there.

The thing is Helena had been clever in the way she’d sourced the girls. I don’t know the details of it, but the police never came looking, anyway. I couldn’t tell: after that incident she had me in a gimp mask with earbud headphones playing euphoric techno on loop, and strapped down the whole time for good measure. My cock being pumped constantly, whether by the machine, or some part of Helena, or, very occasionally (although it might have been delusion) someone else. Constantly ejaculating, in peaks and troughs but all the time.

So that was like… time passed. Eventually she started changing the location, and whilst she was initially very careful when moving me from one room to another, one day she slipped up and gave me the leeway to flip her over and fuck her senseless. It took a lot longer than usual because by then her tolerance was way high, I mean it had been high at the outset, and I had to do some seriously dark things to her, but I eventually knocked her out with my penis, and got out, staggering, to the ground floor of the house. There, I was shocked to discover all the girls locked up in cells; I released them, then obviously had to fuck them all, then got away. Finally. Yeah; it had been about three months that had elapsed.

That was when I kind of went off the rails for a bit. I was angry, and full of despair. I’d been trying to limit the damage I was causing, and that was what had happened. I kind of felt, fuck it. What can I do? There’s nothing I can do to limit it, whatever I do the bitches keep coming back for more, so I may as well see where it goes. I stopped trying to minimise the impact, and started playing. I mean by this point I had all kinds of the law after me, as well as a whole horde of my victims. Given that every time a couple of months passed, I looked like a different person, that did a lot to throw off the pursuit. The women could still pick up the… I don’t know, the vibe in the air, from about fifty metres, so if they got close to me they’d know it was me, and a handful of them had been around me long enough to see changes. Helena included. Yeah, she’s still coming after me. Along with Vicky and her family.

So at that point I hardly bothered hiding my tracks, and I didn’t care what I did to people; I had a feeling that it would all go to shit whatever I tried so fuck it, basically. I became a real bastard for a while. I went on a kind of moral judgement trip. I took a risk and circled back through our home town, picking out women who I felt at the time had wronged me and broke them. Of course my dad’s by then ex, Carol, was top of the list. She had broken up with my dad after the incident with me; their relationship fell apart under the strain of him essentially choosing her over his only son. And also the fact that, she told me, after she’d had her hand on my erect cock through my shorts, she had never been able to get it out of her mind.

Of course she didn’t know it was me when she was telling me. I mean she had recognised the power, and made a connection, but I was in a totally different body then, albeit another young white boy. She didn’t know it was me. I reminded her of me.

Anyway I couldn’t handle this at all. I really did a number on her, gave her a huge thing about young boys which eventually landed her in prison. Did that to the teacher who’d claimed I raped her, too. I’m not at all proud of that.

As I said above I toyed with people, tried as hard as I could to turn them into sex addicts. During this a lot of this phase I was black, and I used the BBC meme; I did the whole “only black cocks can satisfy you now” routine. Just for fun, really; but it worked. Again they started to spread it like a cult, taking their daughters to grime clubs to get enlightened and so forth. I started intervening in world events. Over the last few years there’ve been a few far-right politicians who are not unattractive, who have kind of… disappeared from public life. That was me. I really enjoyed hatefucking them as hard as I could; the only shame was that they enjoyed it too. One thing about fascists: because they regard women as objects, they seem more likely to promote them for their looks, which makes destroying them more fun.

I thought about whether there was anything I could do with my penis to bring about world peace, but I figured the best thing I could possibly do for the Middle East was to keep my dick the hell away from it. I’ve ruined a couple of pop singers just to stop them putting out shit records. I mean it got to the point where I was smashing up people’s lives frivolously. And the law were getting really close, and the women were finding me faster.

It really upset me, kind of snapped me out of it, when I saw on the TV news a story of one of them dying in the chase. She’d hitched a ride and was blowing the trucker, and he crashed. There was even a little vox pop with another trucker who said there was a lot more road head for rides going about these days. I knew it was my fault the minute I heard the story, and when I saw her photo I recognised her. I’d liked her. She’d been one of the girls I picked up in a bar, so I’d actually picked her out, and then had a bona fide conversation with her. I remember her talking about her career plans and ambitions… of course I can’t actually remember what they were, and it’s irrelevant now anyway. I liked her. I’d really tried to give her a mediocre shag. Obviously not mediocre enough. The journalist talked about a sudden change in her behaviour, around the time she’d met me, falling out with her friends – maybe she fucked their husbands – and then disappearing. And then on to the weather.

A life, a beautiful life destroyed by a casual encounter, even before she physically died. And then all the guilt hit me. I mean it didn’t take away the need, I was still fucking five or ten women even on slow days, but I felt broken by it. As much as anything it was the responsibility I couldn’t handle. And I had one last idea, one last throw of the dice: what if the girls were already addicts? What if they were girls already so far gone that whatever I added wouldn’t make a difference? Or professionals, soldiers. Maybe they’d be able to handle it. Where do I find these ladies, both categories? Top-level industrial porn. I mean, if anything, I’d be enhancing their career prospects.

So I needed an agent. Best way to get an agent is with an in. I mean I guess there are lots of guys presenting themselves to work in porn. So every chance I could get, I watched porn, looking for people I recognised. It didn’t take long, there were quite a few. All different grades, too, from faceless webcams (indeed, it was stumbing across blindfold Craigslist webcam gangbangs that I’d inspired that gave me the idea) and amateur gangbangs to the kind of thing I was looking for, big studio glossy LA porn. One of the girls I’d spent a few months with in the student halls, way back, had managed to work her way into Pornhub’s top ten. So I screwed my way to the city of Angels, tracked her down, and started researching agents. I mean when you’re searching amongst porn agents, there’s only so much moral rectitude to be found, but I tried for look for someone who might be a decent human being, you know, as few suggestions as possible that they had ripped off or abused their clients. I also looked for a gay man, because I believe they’re the only category who are relatively unaffected. Lesbians certainly aren’t, I’ve taken a lesbian in the street and had her come back the next day with her lover so that they can both enjoy cock together for the rest of their lives. Again: I know a lot of men think they’d be able to turn a lesbian and I know it doesn’t work like that, but in my case, it does.

So that narrowing of options led us to David. He was delighted to receive her business, given that she was a rapidly rising star, and then I got her to introduce me.

Straight away he recognised that I had the physique for porn; he said it was the largest Asian (at the time) cock he’d ever seen. And then… I told him everything. I spilled my guts. Of course he didn’t believe me initially, so I gave him a demonstration, told him to pick any girl and watch. I don’t know why he picked her, but she was sweet and pretty, and shy, initially; she could have just been the next candidate on his interview list for all I know. Anyway I gave him several hours of really good footage and a very enthusiastic new client, and he would have been willing to sign anything on the spot I think.

His eyes almost came out on stalks when I told him I didn’t want any money. What I wanted was an unending supply of vagina and no responsibility for the choice. He could film and sell as much as he wanted, strap a gopro to my head and make a constant live-streaming channel for all I cared (and in fact this is what he did, for a while, until the face-sitting and the POV interfered with each other); just sort it out for me. You send me the girls and use me for whatever purposes you want.

I asked him to try to focus on porn veterans, or really extreme girls, and explained why; and to his credit he did, for a while. But I guess the demand to see sweet, young, pretty girls being turned into screaming whores is enormous and insatiable, so before long I guess I was doing a lot of “My first…” whatever, and “Porn Auditions” or “Stopped in the street and persuaded to fuck” films. And, er, you know how those films are always set up and made with professionals? Not my ones. We’d literally pick out a pretty girl in a coffee shop or on the street, and within ten minutes I’d be reaming her ass in a van.

And they came back. You know, even the ones who answered the ad for models for a fashion shoot, and ended up getting double-penetrated on film, howling like banshees, came back looking for more work, if possible with my cock, but if not, any fat slab of meat would do.

David was overwhelmed with work, and suddenly had to do very little to get amazing content. It was about this time that my life disintegrated into an infinite succession of body parts and sex acts. I think it was about a year ago. For a while I just drifted, lost myself in the orgasms and the beauty and the depravity. But recently I’ve become concerned; things have changed. For a start there have been a few times when I’ve been locked in with one woman for a long stretch of time. There can only be one possible consequence to that. And they sometimes don’t look like the porn type at all. I think he’s using me to transform specific people, I have to imagine against their will or at least without their consent, and possibly for money. There have been, I think, one or two women who seemed to know exactly what they were getting into and this is even more disturbing.

And he’s away for stretches nowadays, too. He could just be enjoying the money, or he could be… up to something.

Shit—I’m sending this email now because there haven’t been any new girls for half an hour or so and now I can hear voices in the hallway. I haven’t had time to check it, I hope it makes sense. Please help Jenny. Pass it on to whoever… or come find me…

You’re all I’ve got. If you can’t figure out a way to help, I will spend the rest of my life transforming beautiful women into raging cock sluts by fucking them. Endlessly.

Please Help. Thankyou. I’m sorry.