Big Tit Brunette Bimbo

NINE YARDS Cover by Sortimid

NINE YARDS PART 9 OF 9: THE WHOLE NINE YARDS by Limerick

“And that’s it,” Damien told the audience. “The whole nine yards. In nine months we’ll have the entire world just where we want it: attractive, horny, and wet.”

Samantha didn’t hear the applause, the cheers, the wild acclamations. She had been picked up by a random attendee, fucked so pleasantly her legs hadn’t worked correctly, and then left in the room to pull herself together. And then, on the way back to the ballroom, a gorgeous boy had walked by, and she had just needed to know what his cum tasted like.

But she made it back just in time for the final exhortation.

Damien pointed towards the doors, just as Samantha worked her way through them.

“We are going to go out there,” he declared, “and we are going to BIMBOIFY THIS WORLD.”

Samantha stared at hundreds of horny, eager mind controllers, all of them looking right at her, following Damien’s outstretched arm to the cum-spattered girl with wobbly legs.

She smiled eagerly.

NINE YARDS PART 8 OF 9: DO IT YOURSELF by Limerick

Everyone had returned to the ballroom, eventually. Even those attendees still butting up against some girl’s cervix had looked at their watches and realized the time. The legion of well-established bimbos and sluts that followed the convention squirmed anxiously, only partially satisfied, and unloaded their lust on each other.

A few holdouts had tried to leave and been unceremoniously himbo or bimboized. A quick and corporate erogenous overload. But very few. Damien had them.

They waited, quietly, for his return. And when he swept out onto the stage, he was greeted with vast waves of applause. And then, just as quickly, silence.

“I’ll bet you’re wondering how I finish it all off,” Damien said, pacing the floor. “I’ll bet that you all made wagers on that final coup de grace that turns the world from slightly slutty to downright bimbo-riffic. You’re thinking a big mind blast, or a TV special, or fluoridating the water.”

“You’re all wrong. It’s a pill. I started with pills, and I’m going to end with one.”

He held it up in his hand. A camera zoomed in, and the screen behind him read “NN-HANC-DD-2”.

“It’s everything you wanted it to be,” he told the crowd. “Tarts them up, makes them randy, bigger lips and tits and everything you could require. It’s the whole package.”

He smiled.

“And it’s a 100% effective cancer vaccine.”

The implications took slowly. But then they built, until the room was cheering, on and on, and didn’t show any sign of stopping.

* * *

Cousin Rebecca was turning out to be a huge disappointment. Brittany had corresponded with her for years, sharing book recommendations and political propaganda and maybe a few funny images with cats in them.

Brittany had been excited to move out of the deep country, where they farmed avocados and boredom, into a town with a mall. And Rebecca was going to be her ticket into an easy circle of friends.

Things hadn’t worked out that way, exactly.

“Are boys ALL that you want to talk about?” she asked, exasperated. The trio in Rebecca’s room gave her a puzzled look.

“…..Yes?” Anne said, frowning. The brunette was sprawled on the bed with her legs kicking in the air, two pink shoes dangling on the tip of pink-painted toes. Then there was the pink lipstick, the polka-dot bustier, and the matching underwear. “Boys are great.” She considered that statement. “Boys are REALLY great,” she concluded.

The foursome had watched an episode of The Mastersons, which had been about Jessica Masterson’s struggle to go an entire day without buying silly shoes or sexy skirts.

“Anyway,” Anne said. “so I’m at the store, and the clerk totally knows that I don’t have any money because, um, I was there the day before and spent it all. And I’m like, there must be something I can do, hint hint, look at my titties.”

Brittany rolled her eyes.

“And he says that he’s totally spent, he got sucked dry like ten minutes before!” Anne huffed, exasperated. “So now I owe him five blowjobs whenever HE wants, and he only wants them at like 6 in the morning when he gets up. It’s ridiculous!”

“Ummmm… that’s kind of hot though, isn’t it?” Rebecca said. She wasn’t very talkative. At first Brittany had just figured she was tired after long shifts at Pink!, but lately she had concluded that Rebecca was getting too stuffed with dicks to leave room for brains. Rebecca usually just wore her slutty little work tanktop and a rotating set of cutoff jean shorts with the buttons left undone. “I mean, he can have you anytime you want. Anytime. I think that’s.. umm.. hot.”

“Oh, like, you don’t know how that is with John,” Candice said, looking up from her laptop. She had bright neon pink lipstick and was drizzled with some kind of syrupy perfume. It filled every room the girl occupied. Candice lived in mini dresses. She apparently lived to flash her brightly colored underwear at passing boys. “How many times a day is he fucking you now?”

Rebecca counted on her fingers. “Seven,” she eventually reported.

“Don’t you guys have homework or something?” Brittany asked.

“Aw, school changed how it works. Girls don’t have homework any more,” Anne said. “It was just a waste of time.”

Brittany just shook her head. “No homework? I mean..”

A commercial flashed for Pink! Vaccine. It was a very compelling commercial. Brittany lost track of her train of thought entirely.

Then, when it was over, all four girls conscientiously took a little white pill out and swallowed it.

* * *

School was making Brittany increasingly jumpy. This was way different from what she had expected.

Back at the farm, sure, she had read about the hot new styles, on the internet. She had been a casual Dream Girl Kate player, although a fuzzy modem connection had kept her from getting the best dresses.

But seeing it all at once, all put together… it was overwhelming.

The campus was a playground of difference scents. Many of them were the Pink! infused perfumes Brittany had come to recognize, usually some sort of cheap candy infused with a fruit scent. Candice’s basic pink was popular, but girls waltzed around in apple or cherry or watermelon, trailing it like a fog.

And that wasn’t all. Brittany had realized, with a short shock, that she could squeeze her eyes shut and pick up that a boy was around just by sniffing the air. There was this telltale musk, this dark leather tang, that made her eyes spring open and look for the source.

The boys were like gods.

They trailed girls like heads of their own herds. Each boy had his own adoring, doe-eyed fawn with pendulous tits hanging out of something skimpy. They casually groped their own girl, hands never to far from some pert, loving rear.

“Thank you for meeting with me, sir,” she babbled, to the school’s assistant principal and part-time guidance counselor. “I really wanted to get a letter of recommendation for some state colleges…”

“College!” Mr. Demetrios said, raising a dark black eyebrow. He noticed for the first time the worried expression, the fact that she wore jeans. “I haven’t had a girl come in here for a college recommendation in months. I thought you had all given up and decided to be girlfriends.”

The door was closed, and it was a hot spring night. Mr. Demetrios had his own scent. Brittany could pick them out.

“Um, of course I’m going to college, sir,” she told him, nervously.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” he said, soothing. “Lots of girls are going into different fields. There’s housewife, there’s, uh, salesgirl. College is really hard, you know. Lots of different books to read.”

“Oh, of course! I love, um, reading!” Brittany said. She leaned forwards. He was smiling at her. It seemed really important.

“Okay, but it’ll be a shame to lose you just after you arrive,” he told her. Her heart thumped. What was WRONG with her, lately? Maybe it was all this sex-talk, but she had been increasingly randy since getting into town. And her stupid boobs were on the grow once more.

“Stand up,” he told her. “Let me see you breathe in and out,”

She complied, letting him gaze up and down the length of her jeans, the tug of her sweater. Why had she worn such a frumpy outfit for such an important interview? Brittany pushed her boobs out to do the best she could.

“And the back,” he ordered.

This seemed so wrong—plus, she was starting to get wet. But Brittany complied, letting his eyes wander over her ass.

“Okay, I don’t see any problems,” he told her, cheerfully. “You’ll get your recommendation. Thanks for coming in, Brittany.”

The dirty blonde trotted out, elated. But she remembered to take her vaccine, just like a good little girl would.

* * *

“They’re taking away our right to VOTE!” Brittany exclaimed. She had been helping Rebecca with the housework. It was soothing, calming stuff, exactly what she needed.

The vaccine was giving everyone what was described as a “mild, secondary case of Boob Flu,” as part of the toxin-eliminating process.

Brittany had spent the past four days sneezing in bed. At about day three she had gotten up, sneezed, and all the hair beneath her neck had simply sloughed off. Pantyhose sales had fallen apart, and sales of razors had stopped entirely.

That hadn’t been all, either. Of course there was the additional boob growth, as if all the tit-obsessed girls in this town needed to pack another inch to their bustlines. Even the girls who had somehow escaped a top-heavy look were packing big boobs in their bras.

No, the worst part was the way “sexual sensitivity” had increased. Her clitty was puffy and pink like a gumball. It stuck out from her now-easily-visible slit.

“Do you really want to vote?” Rebecca asked, wielding a broom. “I mean, what would you vote for?”

“Ummm,” Brittany tried to answer that one. It wasn’t easy to think of good ideas. They kept revolving around her body. “Because… it’s important. And if we can’t vote, only the men will vote. And they’ll vote for guy stuff! Like cars!”

She smelled him before she heard him. “Is that so bad?” John said, putting his arm around her waist. Drawing her close in.

“Oh… hey John,” she said, weakly. He had been spending more time at the gym. There wasn’t much nerd left in him. Or if there was, it was somewhere behind those muscles.

“Doing okay, Britt?” he said. He rubbed one finger down the curve of her butt. “You’re looking curvier then usual. You go through Boob Flu again?”

“Y-yeah.”

“So did I,” Rebecca said, pointedly. “My lips are all soft and puffy and cushy.”

But John was watching her. “Wow, are you soft,” he told her, rubbing her legs beneath her skirt. Brittany had taken to borrowing Rebeccas. They were too cute. “It’s like you’re made out of rubber or something. Hot.”

“John, do you want to see my pussy?” Rebecca asked, pouting. “It’s extra pink. EXTRA.”

“Maybe soon,” John told her. He casually reached around Brittany’s skirt, dipped two fingers into her glistening honeypot. He fed her her own juices. Brittany sucked hard on his fingers.

“Okay, Becky, lets ride,” he said, and walked out.

Brittany nearly collapsed on her broom. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she thought, dully.

* * *

Brittany’s titties were bigger then ever, and her hair was growing like a weed. It was silky soft, and shampoo seemed to be a waste of time. With her newly flawless skin she was starting to look like… like all the girls, really. The ones walking down the street, everyone decked out in skirts excepting a few holdouts in jean shorts with the cuffs turned up. The ones on magazine covers with their tops off, on Time and Newsweek and The Economist. The weather girl with her half-lidded eyes and 4th grade vocabulary.

“I’ll totally be a good babysitter,” Brittany promised the Stocks. “I’m.. umm.. I used to know CPR, I probably can still do it if I need to.”

“Eh, whatever works,” Mr. Stock said. He tugged at his tie. His collar was too tight. “The kid is in the second bedroom down the hallway. Help yourself to the TV, to the kitchen, whatever. We’re easy.”

“Ready to go, baby?” Mrs. Stock said. Both Mr. Stock and Brittany’s eyes widened. She was over the top even by the loose standards of a sluttier world. She wasn’t even wearing a dress. She wore patches of fabric that could be easily removed. Her nipples were already edging above some pink nylon.

“Okay, we’re out of here. We’ll be back around… midnight. Or one. Just come upstairs if there’s an emergency.”

“Ummm.. upstairs?” Brittany asked, twirling a lock of hair.

“Oh! Yeah, of course upstairs, honey,” Mrs. Stock cooed. She grabbed Mr. Stock’s arm.

“We wanted to have a little intimacy without worrying about the kid,” Mr. Stock said, unapologetically. “We might get a little loud. Hopefully it won’t wake the baby.”

Mrs. Stock was already grinding up against her husband as they strolled upstairs.

Brittany checked on the kid—sound asleep—and had just sat down in the living room, legs primly crossed, when the screams started, punctuated by Mr. Stock’s thick grunts. Mrs. Stock was an incoherent moaner, then a transcendent yeller, without anything like actual words getting in the way.

The audio porno was hot. Brittany tried to drown it out with TV, but channel after channel was nothing but pink, brown, and tan skin in different states of arousal. Even the golf channel calmly featured a lanky blonde announcer with her legs open. Her panties were green and white.

Brittany took her vaccine pill. She only had twenty left. That would barely get her through tomorrow, even if she sucked each one as long as she could.

Then her hands wandered between her thighs, and she whimpered in counter time to Mrs. Stout’s groans.

* * *

A few days later and Brittany found herself on Rebecca’s bed, letting her cousin gently lick between her thighs.

It was like she couldn’t say no to anyone—no matter how trivial it was. At the store she made sure boys could look down her shirt, she tugged up her pantyhose, she wore Rebecca’s big heels and tumbled around in them like the oversexed teenager she was.

On her way home she had let a couple of teenage boys feel her tits. They had pulled up besides her in their Dad’s car, and they had asked politely. Well, not politely. But they had asked. She had gotten in the car and mewed to herself while they casually used her body to break up the monotony if commuting.

She popped another vaccine pill. She was sucking on them pretty much constantly. Everyone was. They were delicious, AND they prevented harmful cancer rays, or something like that.

“Mm, you taste different from Candice and Anne,” Rebecca told her, nuzzling her slit. “Candice is really sweet, she’s like licking a candy cane. Anne is like a big green apple, plus she giggles too much. But you..” she slurped away. “You’re cherry.”

“Thanks,” Brittany squeaked. She tried not to buck her hips in Rebecca’s face. But she didn’t seem to mind. The girl’s face was dripping with Brittany’s juice.

“Rebecca… what’s.. what’s going on?” she said, gasping for breath.

“Oh,” Rebecca said, coming up for air. “It’s a big conspiracy or something. It makes girls sexy and dumb. You know. I got tons of proof of it on the computer.”

She went back to Brittany’s red-hot clit.

“Why.. why didn’t you do anything about it?”

Rebecca just smiled and licked even harder. And Brittany was too overstimulated to do anything but kick and scream.

* * *

It was all there, on the computer. And on the internet. Enough people had pulled it together to prepare a damning report on mind control, body manipulation, a worldwide bimboizing game that was already far along.

Brittany sat at Rebecca’s computer for hours, examining the clear, crisply written documentation from the overendowed girl that spent hours each day keeping John’s dick moist.

At long last she stumbled away from the monitor, just in time for John to enter the bedroom.

Brittany rushed at him. She beat uselessly at his chest. It was a waste of time. She couldn’t hit a guy. And she was weak, all her muscles devoted to keeping her titties from producing any sag. Eventually she just collapsed against his chest and patted his chiseled abs.

“Come on,” he told her, patiently, “the big national address is tonight.”

He guided her by the ass. It’s how most girls liked to be walked. Holding hands was so… 9 months ago.

Everyone was already sitting around the TV. Candice was there, her eyes thick with mascara, and reapplying another set of perfume. Anne had monopolized the couch, and was absent-mindedly massaging the shoulders of a couple of guys Brittany didn’t recognize. And Rebecca sat in a chair, her legs open, waiting.

A dark-haired man appeared on their television screen. He wasn’t that tall. But he was overwhelmingly, shockingly attractive, and Brittany swooned right back into John’s waiting arms. He smiled at the camera, and Brittany’s hands darted for her pussy, waiting for what he had to say.

NINE YARDS PART 7 OF 9: CULTURE SHOCK by Limerick

It was time for a lunch break. Damien had scheduled a good hour and a half. Everyone was hungry and thirsty, and it was polite to give mind controllers a half-hour to relieve any pent-up tension.

It felt good to be outside of the hotel. And just then a pair of intent young professionals jogged by, matching in black spandex mesh. They were wrapped up in synthetics, with tiny white socks and shoes with pink accents. Trying to get their butts toned.

Damien thought about grabbing one. Best not. A horny mind controller was a sharp mind controller.

Instead, he made sure that the girl on the left would go home, feel unaccountably horny, and fuck her husband so severely she wouldn’t even bother to buy the pregnancy test. She would turn insatiable at home, waiting desperately for his return so she could bounce up and down on his cock. And the gentle rhythm of housework would make her so drowsy and contented, letting her mind float on a sea of soap operas and commercials, until the hardened office warrior was buried beneath a sex-hungry house-bimbo.

But nothing really major, besides that.

* * *

“Isn’t it kind of sexist?” Daphne said. “Ummm, I mean, isn’t it definitely sexist?”

The other three men at the table gave her patronizing smiles. “We think that’s an evolving term, sexist,” the creative partner explained. “Sex has always sold. And the housewife has become so boringly practical, so concerned with price and value. It’s time to bring sex back into the household. Here, lets watch it again.”

They ran through the commercial once more. A lithe blonde in an apron and a white skirt so short it couldn’t see her knees kept bending over to scrub at stains on the floor. Each time, her skirt flipped up, flashing the audience.

“Introducing the new Swift Scrubber,” a patronizing male voice said. “If you’re going to be on your knees, you might as well enjoy it.”

That stupid tinny pop song played. What was the name of it? Daphne couldn’t quite remember.

“She’s flashing the audience!” Daphne protested.

“Just last week, a Bud Light commercial said the word ‘Pussy,’” one of the other men said. “We have to keep up with the times.”

Daphne opened her mouth to complain, again. But then the creative partner gave a meaningful sigh and tapped his coffee cup. It was empty.

She should really refill it. It was.. the right thing to do.

Her rear swung around in a fetching black sweater-dress. One of the boys whistled. Daphne sighed. It was getting really hard to keep up with the times.

* * *

PaisleyGrlX:

honey.

PaisleyGrlX:

honnneyyyyy

PaisleyGrlX:

u there?

Callyipso:

Hi Sandy. Yeah, I’m here. Just getting ready for tonight.

PaisleyGrlX:

Oooh, big date, right?

PaisleyGrlX:

Big date with a big man?

Callyipso:

Yes and no. Mostly no. He works at the book store with me.

PaisleyGrlX:

so… what’s wrong with that?

Callyipso:

Nothing’s wrong with it it’s just not a date. We’re going to a book reading. It’s practically work.

PaisleyGrlX:

wat are u wearing?

Callyipso:

….. dress.

PaisleyGrlX:

lol

Callyipso:

Everyone is wearing dresses. You can barely buy jeans. You know I went into the Levis store last week, and asked for regular jeans, and they didn’t have them?

Callyipso:

It’s jean shorts, jean skirt, and MAYBE some capris, and that’s it.

Callyipso:

It’s really, really decent. I’m even going to wear a cardigan over it.

PaisleyGrlX:

Ew.

Callyipso:

Well MAYBE a little lipstick, just in case.

…

PaisleyGrlX:

So. So. So.

PaisleyGrlX:

How’d it go???

Callyipso:

Um okay I guess. Wow, books are really boring.

Callyipso:

I mean it’s nice to have a job but when you LISTEN to one being read out loud..

Callyipso:

Uhh…

Callyipso:

Yuck.

PaisleyGrlX:

Haha I know! I don’t even touch them, they’re gross.

Callyipso:

Maybe it’s me. I was trying to read Jane Austen yesterday.

Callyipso:

I used to love Jane Austen.

Callyipso:

Um, like, two months ago I think I loved Jane Austen…

Callyipso:

But now I just want to yell at her.

Callyipso:

FLIRT A LITTLE!

Callyipso:

Hey, Mr. Darcy, look at these legs. Ooh you’re so strong. Wow big muscles.

PaisleyGrlX:

Date tell me about the date.

Callyipso:

Haha, turns out Keller has big muscles.

Callyipso:

Who knew.

PaisleyGrlX:

I like big muscles.

Callyipso:

Yeah I didn’t think I did. I thought they were… I don’t know.. stupid…

Callyipso:

Having second thoughts.

Callyipso:

Third thoughts!

Callyipso:

We’re going out again, for reals.

PaisleyGrlX:

YES.

Callyipso:

I know. I need your advice.

Callyipso:

I want him to be interested, right?

Callyipso:

But I don’t want to be… slutty or anything…

Callyipso:

I just want to be available, haha

PaisleyGrlX:

I have been there, oh my goodness I have been there.

PaisleyGrlX:

Two words.

PaisleyGrlX:

Pencil skirt.

Callyipso:

Oh, that is cute. Really cute.

Callyipso:

BBL, I have to run to the Pink! store. I need some new makeup super duper bad.

* * *

Callyipso:

Okay, feeling a little weird about last night.

Callyipso:

Sanddddraaaa

PaisleyGrlX:

Okay back!

PaisleyGrlX:

Haha, you’re not the only one with male admirers, u know.

Callyipso:

Yeah, we kind of had sex last night.

PaisleyGrlX:

!!!!!

Callyipso:

Second date. Yep.

Callyipso:

Tell me I’m not a slut.

PaisleyGrlX:

Nope!

Callyipso:

Yeah, pretty much. That’s okay I guess.

Callyipso:

Ohh I was so juicy for him. Seriously my knees were quaking.

Callyipso:

We went to this serious movie, and it was like talk talk talk.

Callyipso:

And I’m thinking shut the fuck up, god.

PaisleyGrlX:

i hear that.

Callyipso:

Finally he puts his arms around me, and I just MELT.

Callyipso:

Such a turn on to be all made up and dressed up and stuff, you know?

Callyipso:

I got a little forward

Callyipso:

I started to give him a handie right in the theater.

PaisleyGrlX:

Slut!

Callyipso:

I KNOW!

PaisleyGrlX:

Big bad slut!

Callyipso:

Okay, yeah, but that just made me hornier. I have never been so turned on.

PaisleyGrlX:

Gosh girl, you are getting me going.

Callyipso:

He drove me to his place and I was just slutting out, squirming on his seat..

Callyipso:

Soaking the chair…

PaisleyGrlX:

OMG!

Callyipso:

He must’ve fucked me raw. I can barely move.

Callyipso:

He’s still here btw.

Callyipso:

He’s back gtg fucking.

PaisleyGrlX:

haha!

* * *

PaisleyGrlX:

There you are! Sheesh!

Callyipso:

Sorry!

PaisleyGrlX:

Getting kind of worried…

Callyipso:

Yeah it’s been a busy two weeks.

Callyipso:

Quit my job

Callyipso:

Living with Keller now…

Callyipso:

We joke that I’m like the maid or something.

PaisleyGrlX:

Wow honey.

Callyipso:

Haha, it’s actually really nice. He has money saved up.

Callyipso:

I’ve been doing a lot of shopping.

Callyipso:

For everything but underwear.

Callyipso:

Wink.

PaisleyGrlX:

you bimbo you

Callyipso:

Yeah I am head to toe in pink as we speak.

Callyipso:

I guess if you give as much head as I do, you gotta wear the label.

PaisleyGrlX:

Damn this is hot.

Callyipso:

Uh yeah that’s kind of why I signed on.

Callyipso:

I was talking to Keller about it..

Callyipso:

Do you want to.. come over?

PaisleyGrlX:

Uh?

Callyipso:

You don’t have to if it’s weird.

Callyipso:

But I’ve got three vibrators, and it gets a lonely around here…

Callyipso:

Sooooooo..

Callyipso:

What are you waiting for?

* * *

“This can’t be right,” Dr. Sondgard said to herself.

She brushed back a lock of hair. It was trouble to keep it loose in a laboratory. The older female scientists kept it short. But it was weird looking boyish, lately. Even the basic ponytail was becoming vanishingly rare.

Sondgard examined the test results. They were an incidental finding. The lab was supposed to be conducting research on hormonal changes in couples following the birth of their first child. It wasn’t particularly groundbreaking stuff. Until about now.

Forty-three girls in the study. All of them with sharply spiked estrogen levels, which was a relic of Boob Flu. That was expected.

But there were trace marks of other chemicals, too. Many related to the vast family of pleasure-seekers: dopamine and that crowd. But a group of gonadotrophins had spiked off the charts.

Sondgard had to look them up. They were all central to puberty, sexual development… and, in animals, they caused the girls to go into heat. That unstoppable sexual mania that humans, happily, weren’t subject to.

* * *

“No plans to go back to work?” Dr. Sondgard asked, coolly. She had joked with Julie before about motherhood being just another item on the day planner.

“Nope!” Julie said, cheerfully. Motherhood agreed with her. Her udder-sized tits wobbled as she fidgeted on the examining room table. She wore big earrings with sparkling diamonds. They looked new. “Just happy to be at home! Just happy to be, you know, keeping everyone happy!”

“Of course,” Dr. Sondgard said. She smiled, putting on her best bedside manner. “Do you mind if I collect a sweat sample?”

“Does between the boobs work?” Julie said, pulling up her shirt. “Always a little moisture there!”

* * *

Dr. Sondgard scribbled on her notepad. The sweat came back swimming with pleasure hormones. No wonder Julie wasn’t looking to get back to the grind. She was awash in a stew of pleasure-inducing chemicals, perpetually drugged by her own endocrine system. The girl was perpetually five seconds away from her next orgasm.

Dr. Sondgard fidgeted with her dress. When you wore the white lab coat, it was nice to put something fun on, underneath. And if that something was a black leather skirt with a high waist, then years of work had paid off.

She checked another sample. The same stew of hormones.

Except… this wasn’t one of her new mommies.

This was a control sample. The concentration wasn’t as high, but this same girl was brimming with a warming stew of happy juice.

“What the hell is going on?” she whispered.

* * *

The next week was a blur of science. There was so much to pin down. The chemical markers all had to be tracked down and isolated, then carefully catalogued.

Sondgard took her bra off. Most girls didn’t need it, with the new muscles stimulated by virgin titflesh still taught and strong. And it was hot in the closed confines of the lab. She didn’t dare open a door. Her Nobel Prize in Chemistry might escape.

The doctor did take a break to do a little shopping. And put on a little makeup. Nothing major, just slip into some comfortable jean shorts, with five pockets and gold buttons.

She spent some time on that fantasy. She was in Sweden, collecting the Nobel, showing off for the assembled scientific elite in a gold and blue dress with a long metal zipper off the side. She hadn’t bothered to wear underwear. She was a Nobel Laureate, after all.

When the stress became nearly unbearable, she let her fingers dance in the oozing honeypot between her legs.

”Ohhh, that’s nice,” Dr. Sondgard said, letting them work inside her. She had already soaked two lab chairs with her own juice.

The report was nearly done, after all. She could… play a little.

* * *

Candy tossed her lab coat out the window. It was ugly, and covered in sweat, anyways. She felt so much better parading around in big blue heels with tiny straps, and letting the air slide up into the space between her legs.

She had gotten a short pleated print skirt somewhere. It was crayon colors, big primary greens and yellows and reds. She didn’t recall paying for it. Oh well. Big time doctor ladies didn’t need to do that.

Transmission.. ummm… vectors. That was the problem. WHY were these control girls getting all slutted up with big sex chemicals? Where were they getting it?

Candy couldn’t publish until she had an answer to that, most crucial of questions.

Also, it was getting really fun to go out there and tease boys.

But it wasn’t until she sneezed that she had an answer.

“Smell!” Candy said, stamping her heel on the floor. Of course. Smell was the perfect vector. You only needed to infect one girl. Then she would induce it in others. Sex was all about scent, it communicated any number of hidden factors from boy to girl and girl to boy.

Candy paused. She had been in a locked, closed room for at least a week, marinating in chemmy-cals.

Did she have any reason to be worried or whatever?

She would’ve thought more about it, but a bird chirped, and that threw her attention all over the place.

* * *

“Dr. Sondgard?” Barry said. The girl in front of him nodded, eagerly.

Plumes of richly scented air spewed out from her laboratory. It was sweltering in there, and the air was scented a rich, deep strawberry sweet. It was like carmelized sugar in there.

Dr. Sondgard was sugar herself. Her hair shone in rich blonde waves, glinting wherever the sun passed through a window. She had poured herself into a cheap blue minidress with all the style of a drive-thru window. Her tits bulged underneath the rayon.

“Barry! You gotta come in, I stumbled on something! And it was really important!”

Barry took a cautious step in. The scent inside was raw and sharp. His cock woke up fast. He took another deep breath.

“Go ahead and read!” the sex-drunk girl told him, pointing at the computer.

Barry took a seat. Heady waves of hormones bathed him, and he noted the drying puddle in Dr. Sondgard’s chair.

There was one .txt file on the desktop. It was entitled ‘cocks.txt.’ Barry opened it. It seemed to be a list of sexual conquests in the past week. It was a long list.

“Pretty impressive stuff, huh?” Dr. Sondgard said, eagerly.

Barry eyed her. Dr. Sondgard tittered, lightly, and uncrossed her legs. “Wanna fuck a Nobel Prize winner?” she asked him, and put her feet up in the air.

* * *

Dorm floor eight had gotten a heavy dose of nerds. On the first day of class they had all sat around the common room and marveled at the number of thick-rimmed glasses with magnifying lenses. There were way too many math majors for a single hallway, and way too many dorm doors with XKCD posted prominently.

Of course, it had been a… busy semester.

“Did you do your math homework?” Lisa asked her roommate.

“Mmmm. Let me think about it,” Erica said. “Does math homework have anything to do with super cute shoes? That are on sale? Somewhere on the internet?”

“So that’s a no,” Lisa said, accusing.

Erica half-turned. She still had the space shuttle posters up on the wall, but for the past two months the only rockets she was interested in came attached to boys.

“Don’t give me that look,” she said. “You’re the one that didn’t do it. You could’ve done it. You didn’t. I can see on your computer screen right now. You’re bra-shopping. I’m shoe shopping. It’s like perfect moral equivalency.”

“I NEED bras. You don’t need cute shoes,” Lisa complained. She cradled her tits as best she could in her hands. She wore a very black cowled sweater that was also very tight and very thin. It proclaimed “I’m a serious person but I have nice boobs.”

“I think they’re still growing,” she confessed.

“Look, go ask Leo. He’ll help you.”

“Leo is weird,” Lisa said.

“He’s a MATH MAJOR. Of course he’s off. Just ask him nice,” Erica said, patiently. She didn’t bother to keep her legs closed when she swiveled in her chair. Lisa hadn’t seen her wear the same underwear twice. Today it was rainbow sprites. Occasionally she just didn’t wear it.

Lisa groaned, inside her head. Why couldn’t she just DO the stupid homework? Every time she put pencil to paper she ended up spending two hours rating dresses and minis on clothing blogs. Her wardrobe was expanding like it led to Narnia. And she spent at least an hour each morning primping and fussing, just like every other girl. It used to a fraternity of jeans-wearing nerd-ladies.

She picked up the pen, and hesitated. “Okay, fine,” she said.

* * *

Leo had his own room. It wasn’t that he was disgusting or a slob. Actually, like most of the boys, he had picked up a healthy interest in lifting heavy things. But he only slept three hours a day and spent the rest of it working madly at two different desks.

“Please can you help, Leo?” Lisa asked. Her voice lilted. She smiled at him, tentatively, and tugged her turtleneck down so it would accentuate her body. “Some math major you are,” she told herself. “It’s just.. it’s just really hard stuff, you know?”

Leo gave her a baleful look. He was one of the few that didn’t wear glasses, which probably wouldn’t fit anyway on an oversized and bushy head. He encouraged the lion theme.

“I’m helping Karissa, I’m helping Tina, I’m helping Justine. I’m also helping Erica. This is getting ridiculous. What’s with you girls?”

“Maybe we’re all just dumb!” Oh boy, it was time for feminine wiles. Lisa teased at her hair. She had midnight curls and long lashes. “You didn’t have to get through puberty again and lug around five extra pounds on your chest.”

That did the trick. Leo looked at her chest with genuine interest. She let him stare. It didn’t feel bad. Maybe it should’ve.

“Okay,” he conceded. “I’ll do it. But this is the last time. The single and very last time.”

“Oh, you are awesome!” Lisa gushed, and rushed out the room. But she made sure to put an extra wiggle in her walk. It couldn’t hurt.

* * *

“Absolutely not,” Leo told her.

“Oh, but your last set got me an A!” Lisa pleaded. “You were perfect!”

“Those were the right answers,” Leo said. He folded his arms and wheeled around on his computer chair. “No more. You girls are taking up all of my time.”

Lisa huffed. She had really, really meant to do this week’s problem set. Really. The problem was that just staring at the work gave her the most awful, most terrible headache, one that could only be fixed by a round of facebook games or another episode of Fuck Yourself.

“How about for… for a kiss?” Lisa said.

“Yeah, I already got that from Tina,” Leo said. He bunched his eyebrows together. “I’m not sure I liked it more then she did. She was moaning the entire time.”

That slut Tina. “You can… ummm,” Lisa meekly raised the bottom of her shirt. She hadn’t worn a bra. It was a tactical decision. The underboob was the best part of her titties. “How about you get to know my ladies?” Lisa suggested.

Leo shrugged. “I’ve motorboated both Justine and Erica,” he said. “Justine’s were bigger, but Erica enjoyed it a lot more.”

Lisa counted the bases in her head. They both knew where this was going, and Leo knew that if she tried to do any more math homework her brains would start to leak out through her ears.

“How about a.. a h-handjob?” Lisa squeaked.

Leo grinned. He nudged his own legs apart, and waited for the slender girl to sit down between his legs. He wasn’t fat, exactly, but he was still massive, and Lisa felt lost and more then a little worried at the manly mass she had to deal with. She wore a white polyester skirt with a golden side zipper, and a yellow top with a sunburst flare of fabric up top. Both were rice paper-thin.

Leo had a massive cock. It was a primal, gnarly thing. It smelled like a different era. Not badly. A woodsy spunk that clouded Lisa’s head and replaced a few more equations. It started to drip cloudy white on her hand as soon she began to work it.

“How’s this?” she said.

“Karissa used both hands,” Leo rumbled.

Stupid bimbos! Lisa dutifully stroked the veiny shaft with both hands. It drizzled into her hands.

She worked silently. It wasn’t so bad. Actually, it was kind of hot. He was so… POWERFUL. And when he came, ropes of white pearls drizzled her face and chest.”

“Wow,” Leo said. “Even the other girls didn’t let me do that.”

* * *

“So what’s your favorite position?” the host asked.

“Oh, don’t make me choose!” Carmine said, laughing.

“No. Come on. You have to have a favorite,” the host told her, intent. “Every girl has a favorite.”

“Okay. Okay, fine. Is it cliché to say doggy-style? I mean, I know doggy-style is like the new black or whatever. But it’s such a perfect position. You got your titties swinging, you got your ass in the air, you’re PRESENTING, you know?” This was getting her hot. She eased her legs apart. Maybe not the host, he was a bit greasy, but Carmine had spotted plenty of eager boys on her way in.

“Doggy style is never cliché,” the host said. “And your honesty is refreshing. We had a girl in here say she liked double reverse cowgirl. That’s not even sex anymore, that’s gymnastics.”

“Right. Right!” Carmine said, nodding her head. “And you know, my feeling is that handjobs are not out of style. Girls should always be giving handjobs. Like it’s a handshake. It’s like, get to know me, here’s a handjob, here’s how I stroke.”

“I absolutely agree. We’re here with Carmine Michaels, up for an Oscar for Best Actress for her role in A Mood to Dream. Carmine, you’re well known for your views on swallowing…”

* * *

Rebecca’s new hobby was to take pictures of asses and titties. She had even purchased a brand new camera with a zoom lens for the job.

It was Sunday, and she had spent a half-hour outside of the local church, her shutter trained on the girls wafting out of the pews and through the doors.

About the only thing holy about these girls was a vague preference for white. Other then that, each and every nubile young parishioner was tarted up to please the boys. Rebecca’s camera worked furiously, immortalizing each deeply plunging V-neck sweater, each tennis skirt that bounced too high in every breeze. She had shot at least a dozen thongs and panties, without even trying hard, on a nearly breezeless day.

The boys weren’t shy. They casually squeezed and groped their girls like personal toys. And the girls just giggled and laughed. The parish priest had his arms around twins, and his wife just looked on, serene and unconcerned in a backless turquoise dress with a long, sweeping cowl.

Rebecca sweated in the car. She was the most nun-like of everyone at the scene, but she still felt that brainless urge to just let loose, to let her underwear fly free.

She had disabled her car stereo after catching herself singing along to some dumb pop song.

* * *

The next day Rebecca and John staked out main street.

It wasn’t easy. John had just gotten back from the gym. He had claimed that it was ground zero for The Weirdness, as they were calling it. But he swam with musk and sweat, and it made Rebecca concentrate on the way his biceps rippled with each easy movement.

They were opening a brand new Pink! store on main. There was already the big one at the mall, the epicenter of femininity that Rebecca didn’t dare go near. And the outlet out by the freeway. And now a little sex shop in the center of town.

“That’s Farrah Rogers,” John whispered, in a newly rough baritone. Rebecca’s heart thumped. “She weighed at least 200 pounds last fall. Look at her now.”

Farrah was downright svelte in a thin knitted sweater. The only thing oversized was her jugs, which cast a lot of shade on the ground underneath her.

“See, that doesn’t make sense,” John rumbled. “She’s got two frozen yogurt cones. Two. With toppings. Every time I see her she’s eating something.”

Farrah slurped on a chocolate cone. It looked exactly like a cock. “Oh geez,” Rebecca said. “She even got vanilla inside. It’s dribbling out.”

The formerly heavy girl let the white cream dribble on her tongue. The other cone was even larger, and she skipped to it without pause.

“And look at the front of the bookstore. They’re just selling sex books now,” John said. “It’s just sex books—oh, and there’s Anne coming out of the sewing shop. I think she said something about a new costume.”

“Oh, Anne,” Rebecca sighed.

Her friend was dressed in a light sundress that fell just beneath the curve of her still-substantial rear. It was yellow and blue, effortlessly floral, and she had even put a sunflower in her hair, which was shedding seeds all over her hair. Light yellow underwear flashed with each step. She had apparently gone out with Ryan and Martin, but carried all her own purchases.

“She’s blowing them like it’s an obligation,” John told her. “Seriously. They call her when they wake up. She rushes over there and sucks them so dry they can barely move. Then she makes the bed and tidies up. It’s like having a personal maid service.”

Anne did look so much more sunny and happy. Apparently guzzling a pint of cum every morning had given her a girlish glow.

Rebecca took another picture.

* * *

Boys just weren’t working customer service, anymore. Any boy applying for an entry-level job was pretty much automatically out-ranking any silly girl who happened to be working there, and a little fondling and petting was part of the perks.

John and Rebecca waited for the girl at the counter to figure out their order. She was a redhead, with lightly brushed curls that looked straight from the shower. Her tits hung, suspended in air, above the tight black apron. Cleavage was pretty much mandatory.

“I’m going in,” Rebecca told him. She drank her coffee straight black. All the other girls were guzzling the new Pink! brand sweetener available free by the sugar. 9/10s Pink! and 1/10 coffee was the new normal.

“It’s a bad idea,” John told her. He looked at her, earnestly, dark eyes boring into her body. Her slit rippled. “I think we should take more pictures. We’re collecting evidence from around the globe, now. We’re starting to get biologists and chemists involved.”

The coffee was reassuringly bitter and dark. Rebecca hadn’t drunk any milk in over a month, since her Mom had started to buy Pink! brand. Rebecca had found her standing in front of the refrigerator, guzzling it with her head tilted back.

“Yeah, well, it just seems too… calculated. Pink! was registered last July. JULY. And the CEO has one of those creepy salt and pepper beards, you know, the goatees? I have to find out what’s going on in there.”

John put his hand over hers. It should’ve been sweet and romantic. Instead, Rebecca fought an overpowering urge to fall under the table and flavor her coffee with something absolutely incredible.

* * *

“What should I write down here? For why I want this job?” Rebecca asked. “I’m desperate and need money?”

“That might actually be the right answer,” Molly said. “That might be what they’re looking for. I mean, they ask about next of kin. Relatives. That’s weird.”

They had met online, on one of the semi-clandestine groups worried about the increasing sexualization of the world. Molly wasn’t what Rebecca had expected. She had blonde hair so light it turned translucent in the sun.

Pink!’s main street boutique was just about ready to go. Not a lot of effort had gone into industrial design. The ownership had put in a cheap tile floor, painted the floors pink, and added a great deal of hangers. There was a big glass counter for the extensive selection of cosmetics.

There were a few other oddities. Such as the mannequins with huge oversized tits and already-painted pink lips.

The store manager came in. Even with the current male mania for musculature, Kenneth had managed to retain at least two-hundred and fifty pounds, all packed into a belly like the back of a whale. He wore a pink tie and white shirt.

The manager barely glanced at the applications. He ticked off a few items.

“Okay, girls, really just one question left. Why do you want to work at Pink? The only wrong answer is for the money.”

The two girls glanced at each other. “Because.. I love Pink?” Molly hazarded.

“No, no love,” Kenneth said, firmly. “You WANT Pink. You NEED Pink. But never that you LOVE Pink. We don’t want anything to do with that. We want people to NEED their Pink.”

“Like a drug,” Rebecca deadpanned, but Kenneth brightened.

“Exactly! Good, you’re getting it, that’s great. Okay, ladies, you are definitely hired. Lets get you oriented, and then we’ll have you work a training shift.”

And with that, he spritzed them both in the face with a bottle of Pink! perfume.

* * *

It was strong stuff, stronger then they seemed to retail out in the main store. It filled Rebecca and Molly both with a thick, cloying fuzz. A mist that drowned out the stress and worries of going undercover. And it reeked of strawberries.

“I’ll let you watch this training video, and then we’ll get you changed,” Kenneth said. He turned on the TV. It was already set up, with “PINK! INSTRUCTIONAL VIDEO” on pause. And it was turned on as loud as the little box could go.

A smiling, friendly brunette in a pale grey business suit appeared on screen.

“Sit back and relax as we explain how YOU can become a valued customer associate here at Pink!” she said. “It’s time for you to become acquainted with C-U-N-T, our Customer Understanding Nexus Training.”

Rebecca tried to stand up. This wasn’t safe. There was that pop music playing, she was.. drugged or something… but her legs weren’t listening. She sat back.

“But first, lets watch some colors and shapes while some music plays. No blinking!” the girl on screen said.

The shapes were bright and bouncy and colorful. The music and perfume and shapes and flashes were like a shower of sensation, washing Rebecca away.

Her and Molly’s thighs started to inch apart.

* * *

“The biggest mistake a girl can make is talking,” the girl said. “NO TALKING. When you talk, you can only talk. When you LISTEN, you can do all sorts of stuff!”

The video had a boy presenter, too. He was calm, handsome, with black wavy hair. He looked like he had a yacht. The two mocked up a sale. First, the girl yakked away, and the boy appeared increasingly bored.

But when she just listened, the girl on screen could purse her fat lips together, could tease a pencil up and down the middle of her tits, could titter and laugh at all of his stupid jokes. Until the boy had one hand on the girl’s thigh, and was letting her run a finger down his chest.

“As you can see, your real weapons in any sale are your tits, your ass, your smile, even your scent! Let him know how much you like having him around!”

Rebecca looked over, weakly. Molly was already gently stroking herself through the crotch of her jeans. That seemed like a good idea. She couldn’t think why it was a bad one.

She let her fingers dance under the waistband of her pants.

* * *

Kenneth peeked into the room, once he was comfortable the girls were safely under. The training video sequence was a little extreme, it was true. Girls afterwards tended to focus pretty heavily on where their next blowjob was coming from, and putting them on cashier was hopeless. But it was pretty fun to watch the haze settle across their eyes.

* * *

“Don’t think with your brain,” the girl said.

“Noooo,” Rebecca sighed, even as she frigged herself with two fingers.

“Your brain is risk-averse. Your brain likes to say no. A Pink! associate should always say yes, yes, yes!”

“Yes!” Molly said, clearly. Her eyelids drooped. It was the only word she had said in… how long had it been, now? Hours? Days?

“And that extends to when you’re at home. A Pink! girl is always selling. Sell to your Mom, your friends, all of the people you know!”

A sparkling array of Pink! products circulated on the screen. Rebecca hadn’t even seen many of them. Pink! household cleanser, Pink! soap, Pink! brand pasta, shaped like little penises.

“And remember, you are a Pink! girl. So let the world know! Are you wearing underwear right now? Ask yourself: why?”

Rebecca couldn’t think of a good reason. She stood up and pulled down her pants, her underwear going with. Molly smiled, smug. She had pulled hers down ten minutes ago.

* * *

“…The missionary position was actually invented so that boys would enjoy sex less,” the girl explained. She was wholly naked. The boy behind her slowly pumped a very long and wet cock into her slit.

“Pink! girls prefer the submissive position, or doggy-style. Unlike missionary, doggy-style can be enjoyed on desks, tables, copy machines, and wherever the boy prefers. All the girl needs to do is, well, bend over!”

Rebecca had both legs in the air. It WAS pretty tiring. It’d be much easier if she could just get on her hands and knees.

She looked to the left. Molly was trying to watch the video around Kenneth’s cock. The store manager had a stubby penis, which worked for Molly, since she could swallow all of it in one go.

“When you suck on a cock, for heaven’s sake, swallow,” the girl on the video explained. In a voiceover, since she was licking the guy’s dick on screen. “Cum is nutritious and delicious. It promotes a healthy sheen on skin and is excellent for hair. If there’s any left over, rub it on your tits, and see if they grow!”

“Molly, hold up, I need to.. seal in.. your friend here,” Kenneth said. But Molly had no intention of stopping. She redoubled her efforts, and was rewarded when the heavy-set manager grunted and spurted right into her throat. Pearls of jism rolled out around her lips.

Rebecca was suddenly, unbearably thirsty.

* * *

“And that’s it! Thank you for watching this instructional video, goodbye!” the girl said. She waved. So did the ten guys bathing her in juice.

Rebecca waved back.

Molly was gone. Kenneth had been very impressed with her, and taken her to back room for ‘extra training.’ It was just her.

Rebecca’s hands were sticky and warm with her own juice. She had leaked all over the couch. She was incredibly thirsty. She needed water, or cum. Whichever was fine.

Just enough was left that she could pull on her underwear. She had never taken off her blouse, although her bra had disappeared somehow. Which didn’t seem possible with a button-up, but it was nowhere to be found.

She stumbled out of the back room. Her mind wallowed in fucking. All skin, no clothes, nothing but senseless, grunting fucking.

A boy burst into the store. The three associates, in their skintight shorts, all converged on him, but he strode straight to the back of the room. Rebecca vaguely recognized him.

“Rebecca? Oh man,” he said, and took her hand. “C’mon. We’re going to Plan B. We’ve already got Candice and Anne. We’ll do this all at once.”

Her brain slowly and lazily served up some identities. This boy was John, she had dreamed of sucking his dick a hundred times. Candice and Anne were two sexy girls who she could play with.

He walked her out to the car, smiling, and she diddled herself on the drive. “Would you like to buy something?” she asked.

* * *

She got juicier when the boy took her into his room. Rebecca made a note of every flat surface, every handy wall, and the way she could squeeze and writhe into any number of positions.

“I’m thirsty,” she said, eventually. “Can I have something to drink?” she rubbed anxiously at his crotch. His dick was hard. Of course it was. She was a Pink! girl. Dicks were only hard when she was around.

John sighed. “Ah, hell, fuck it,” he said, and sat back on the bed.