The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

May 2008

“Alrighty, all my pretty little schoolgirls—listen the heck up! I’m gonna need all y’all studious sluts to touch yer toesies, and wiggle them butts!”

The scattered clapping of growing asses, sloppy and off rhythm with each other, mimicked the gauzy pitter-patter of the sad early rain. “Glisten for the checkup!” Someone was starting to sob. A few girls were motioning for their chairs, panting. “Do it for Jesus!”

The sun was just beginning to peer over the hill that flanked Forward Mothers Prep. Homeroom exercises usually took up some of the hour to reach their maximum health benefit, but today, these fresh-faced cherubs were really dragging their high heels. “I mean it this time!”

Being close to forty minutes in, the girls still hadn’t been allowed their morning cups of strong, school-issued Christian coffee. Not until their “pledge of allegiance workouts” were complete. They just weren’t up to snuff with the church of St. Brittany’s requirements. “For realsies now—mmkaaay, hoes?”

A couple of the girls went “yeahhh”. One of them muttered, “Yes-muh,” too exhausted to say “ma’am”. It surely was strenuous labor to release some bunched-up, half-visible panties. Every time she tried, more pink polka dots got sucked up into the clutches of her hungry crack.

Mostly, the new cherubs didn’t try to speak at all, though the most diligent ones at least moaned “mmmm”, half-heartedly. The brightest of the bimbos mooed their best moos. Chunkie Goodrack (“A” student and teacher’s pet), though hobbled by a huge head of strawberry blonde hair getting in her face, knew to oink for extra credit. For the most part, though, no one else would get a gold star. Slurpy, smacking schoolgirl sounds meshed into one big wet ambience. Some of their mouths were stuffed with wads of gum, and a good number of puffy slits smooched with dildos.

Inside the windows of the classroom and out, everything (and everybody) was hot, muggy, and drippy. Teacher gently pulled her own porky ass-cheeks apart, soaking up a quart of sweat with a patriotic-colored hankie. Okay. You can do this. Just pop another Cherub Cream and you’ll be good to go.

Homeroom was more than halfway over now. Slushing down the hallway, strutting like tubs of man-magnet molasses, had evidently wiped the pupils out. A first bell routine they’d all mastered proficiently the previous semester, now felt disturbingly clunky and unmotivated, these past few days.

Synchronizing the clacks of their stilettos, along with each gum bubble they blew, didn’t seem like something a Brimbo would unlearn that easily. Math, sure. Days of the week, absolutely. Even easier. But the Bramble Amble? Really?!

How hard could it be? You worked your jaw real nice, in an even, comfy rhythm. You made your hips sway real sweet and hot. If you really wanted to go that extra mile, you put a little twist into it every other couple of steps, tossing a bit of coquetry into the walk. A little touch of added flavor.

It took some steely concentration, but if you had any focus left at all after that, you made sure to keep eye contact with the passing headmaster as he graded your group. That topped the whole thing off, made it seem effortless. But it wasn’t totally necessary to do that. I just don’t know what their problem is!

It wasn’t like they had to add two to two. That was it. It’s what every woman was made by God to do. It was in the breeder’s bible! It wasn’t difficult to get a happy face sticker slapped onto your cheek. Really, you just had to want it.

The newbies were being trying and pathetic. Many of the girls were even failing Makeup. “We really, like, need to work on our windmills, ladies!” The toothy teacher in charge tsked, then positioned herself behind a girl who had been struggling with the booty dance’s “flirt factor”. Drizzlina was supposed to look sexy doing it, not shy.

“Look,” Kristee the teacher said, rubbing the freshman’s blossoming butt. Her titanic cows (which had to remain unclothed for all of first period, as she toplessly encouraged her charges by waving a shiny metallic American flag) had no other choice but to brush up on her student’s back.

It made the girl shiver. Kristee gingerly ran her long bright nails on the resulting goosebumps. “Don’t you want some hunky senior stud, with a pretty cock and stuff, to take you to the ring dance? Maybe a baseball player?” It was clear that she was getting much more worked up about the prospect than her student.

“Maybe he’ll be a super devout Christian, y’know? And, like, cuz he never misses church and prays for the home team and all that, the Lord’ll bless that stallion with, like—mmm, really, like, super-super potent supersperm. I’m talkin’, the kind of real American hottie whose smell could getcha all nice-n-preggers "

“Superspermies!“ Drizzlina crinkled her nose. She’d had her fill of being constantly filled with the stuff. The past week was especially loaded. Who knew that the proper way for a girl to shower was to lather her boobs up with some cum first? (“To get clean, a girl must get dirty.") Before moving to town, she definitely didn’t!

At least she made sure she wasn’t going to wind up like practically all the women in town. She dragged her half-shut, horned-up eyes to the buxom barbie, grinding the side of the seat next to her. The girl was seven months along, with quite the visible bump underneath her baby blue babydoll.

It’s like none of these chicks know the meaning of the word proteh... pro-tank-top... pro... life? Whatever. Words!

She never, ever forgot to take her birth control chewables. They were sugary sweet and really did help her boobies along, like the cow on the jumbo bag said. She washed two of them down everyday, with her morning jug of Princess Water. Then three more with dinner, and four before bed. Just to be safe.

Her apartment just outside Cherub Cove had flooded, the second night she was in town for business. It destroyed most of her property, and that included some still-unpacked prescription meds. The nice old man who let her sublet a room in his house had given her a free two-months supply.

She really liked the taste of the coconut ones more than the weird, sweet-and-sour pineapple-lemon, but it was a hard bargain that she knew she had to chew, sooner or later. It was the only kind that promised “more baby-blastin’ goodness” and “fertility freedom” for her dollar. She had no other choice.

Switching over to the “extra-strong” stuff set her mind at ease, after her period kept stalling, getting later and later. At first, it hadn’t made sense to double up on a dosage of contraception that didn’t seem to do its job. But the pharmacy tech at the old country drugstore assured her that it was the best stuff around.

His logic was sound. Whipping his dick out, so she could prove the medicinal candy’s effectiveness for herself, made her confidence rise as much as that very dong. Of course it made sense that slow-acting “nummy nutrinos” would give her a “rad tummy”, after they made her late so she could “always be up for hot dates”.

Everything made sense. The guy was a real hunk and his voice was so smooth. So was his boner. She thought the chewy sweet things were really nummy, too. Besides, condoms always seemed to break, those past fifty fucks or so. Guys around town had massive dicks. Not like she was complaining about that, necessarily, but still...

“Tellin’ ya, hun,” the teacher went on, squeezing Drizzlina’s ass a little, for encouragement, “that baseball boy gon’ be yourn, y’all wait and see, it’ll be just like I tole ya. You jus’ gotta make sure to move dat ass and get him more beer before he has a chance to ask you.” The girl gulped. She’d already started doing that to her “new daddy”, all on her own.

Boys. “Believe me. It’s okay to want that for yourself. To just get knocked up and eat a bunch of junk and keep on fuckin’ and say ‘fuck everythin’ else—I’m gonna be a big hawt mama.’” If her teacher only knew how many guys she kept on fuckin’, day out and day in. She’d somehow maintained an abstinent act, and her interim report suffered because of it.

P for prude didn’t make the old man, or his trucker son, happy one bit. Kristee’s voice was at once soothing and scary. “Be a big hawt mama. It’s what boys want. Believe me. Be yourself. Be what the boys want. Believe me. You are a big hawt mama! Show some dang confidence, child! Show me with yer fat little rear, right now! Don’t you want that?!“

Yes! Yes! Fucking yessssssss! “Not at all, you bucktoothed bimbo!” The girl looked up at her teacher with dewy doe eyes, chin fluttering, revealing a second one forming. Tears streamed down a pair of faintly chubbed-up cheeks. She really didn’t want to learn how to put “mesquite magic” all up in her behind. She needed it.

She just did an expert job at fooling the public. It was frustrating to Kristee that she couldn’t seem to get through to her problem student. She never gave up on any of her kids, though. “At least you’re healthy, I guess. Been eating well, I see! Big bro’s buffalo chicken calzones, huh? What else is there to do around here, right? I mean besides fuh—”

Drizzlina squirmed in the tightened hold her teacher had on her, batted her hand away, when she tried to tuck her fast-growing curls behind an ear. She let her paw her on her booty, though. That was fine. It was much more than fine. That thing was still so new and ultra-sensitive, teacher or no teacher.

It was being made to do its work now. To let everyone know, cherub and bullboy, that she was prime real estate for a litter of babies. She loved all the sweaty, bouncy fucking in Cherub Cove, but that part made her nauseous. She’d hated that aspect of the town ever since her ex-husband got her that stupid job there.

It seemed like a nice gesture, before it all unraveled. She really should have known something was off, when, upon her arrival and first day at work, it was clear they actually expected her to believe that managing a Dairy Dreamerz was a “human resources” position. It was even stranger when a goateed, blue-eyed line cook started ordering her around.

Stranger still, when she started to enjoy it. It was all a downward, foggy spiral from that point on. “Drizzly, baby. You really gotta try to put some bump into it. It looks a whole lot more inviting if you work that booty counter-clockwise, like it’s sniffin’ somethin’.” Like what, a penis?! Why can’t I just dance like a normal person? Why do I even have to dance at all? This is so fucking demeaning!

“Hot little sweet-tart like you shouldn’t be ashamed of what you got. Honey, I can just tell, that in the two weeks you’ve been in my class, you must have packed on at least, like, twenty or thirty pounds. All in those delicious places, too. That’s some serious baby-makin’ muscle right there, babygirl.”

“Puh-puh-lease sss st—” Drizzlina sighed, blubbering. Her boobs shook. I took my chewables today, right? “What, slut?” her teacher mocked. “You growin’ so good! I mean, honey—double D’s are nothin’ to sneeze at for a fifteen year old!”

The newbie broke free of her teacher’s embrace, which was swiftly going crotchward. “Don’t you get it?! I’m not fifteen! I’m thirty-four!” The slightly less brainless sector of the class went “ewwww”. “And I’m not Drizzlina! I’m not! I’m not ‘Drizzlina Glandrietta Buhbiscuits’! That’s not a real name. My name is Diane Elizabeth Joh—”

The pregnant girl beside her, giggling out her impatience, shoved another cherub’s dildo up “Diane”’s greased-up, cock-craving pussy. Her ass was still in the air, a prime target. “No,” assured Kristee. “You’re Drizzly now.” Teacher put her hand back on Drizzly’s ass.“You’re fifteen and a half, and you’re fertile.”

She pushed the toy deeper in, once relinquished from Goldie-Lou’s chocolate-smeared hand. Deeper. To the hilt. “Unnngh! I’m, like, Drizzly now!” said Drizzlina. “I’m fifteen, and I... ummm... wow....” Close enough, thought the teacher. “Just say ‘I wanna be a bimbo mommy!’” Drizzlina did just that. She screamed it, over a dozen times.

“Now, try that windmill one more time, counter-clockwise this time, alrighty?” Drizzly nodded, spit flying off her slackened jaw. Kristee let the newborn-again teenager finish up on her own, scanning the room. I shouldn’t have to do this for them. I mean, it’s totally hot and all, but... The students’ problems went beyond the physical aspect of homeroom, too.

Tushie Baybreath said her “horsey” ate her lipstick. That she had a doctor’s note excusing her from the Oral Technique portion of the first period, when she’d need it. Boogie Bingo was simply too inconsistent with coming to class sufficiently baby-oiled. Floozy Heartbutt picked up the nasty habit of forgetting to put her second ponytail in.

“Come on, you stupid cumsuckers, come onnnnn!” Kristee was a recent addition to the faculty, so she strived to do things by the books. She felt like she’d actually been making a difference in these curvaceous little whores’ reproductive developments, but that it was all going to shit with these doped-up sluts.

The weather was changing, the school year was coming to a close, and for the first time, the teacher was just as ready for it all to be over as the girls were. Sunbathing, cocksucking, and planning out next year’s curriculum. Rumor had it that the school was introducing a webcam course. She hoped she could still find time to breed again, too, having all that fun.

She’d need a new babysitter, though. The one she had now was ready to pop her own out, any day now. Chocha Melonjelly raised a shiny wet hand, not giving a second’s pause for a response. “Mrs. Supple-McBangbang?” she whined, squeezing her wide thighs together, sloshing in her seat. “Can we pleeeeeeeeeeeease cum now?!”

Kristee smirked, taking a seat, as dopey and exhausted as her budding Brimbos. Even she still hadn’t quite gotten used to the heavy gravity of her lower body, always needy and restless in its slow push to sit on something eventually. She farted when ass met cushion, but covered it up with a flouncy giggle.

“Sure, and then y’all can have some coffee.” At least I gave it my all, she conceded, pulling open a drawer and uncapping a jar of lime green nail polish. In a flash, the classroom got ten times wetter and louder. “So, slutties,” Kristee sang, trying not to drool as she applied the first coat on her pretty nails, “what are we bimbo-mommies-to-be havin’ fer lunchy-poo?”

The whole class erupted in one heaving, fleshy ocean of orgasms. “Bitches gotta eat!” they all cried at the same time. Teacher finally started in on some nice finger work for herself, teasing out her thick snatch with a highlighter. She was much too lazy to reach for the rubber dong on the chalkboard.

Principal Prickman knocked on the door right as she closed her violet-mascaraed eyes, shook his head in the window derisively. Mrs. Supple Mc-Bangbang looked away immediately, tried with all her mushy might to stop stroking her pussy, and instead pulled up her brief schoolgirl tartan. Am I really gonna get spanked in front of my kids again?

“Uh-ohhhh!” razzed Drizzlina, behind her own back. Her already-nice butt wobbled into a true badonkadonk right then and there, in her godly grasp. Spongy assflesh rose up, obscuring fingers. She was also gyrating in perfect accordance with last year’s Cowgirl Code. Yay! Good for her! “Teacher’s in trubbbb... mmmmmooooooooooohhh...”

Oh, well. Better luck next year. Or whatever.