The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Joshua almost didn’t see the girl getting erased. Getting turned into a sex toy. He’d been looking the other way. One arm out the window, listening to a podcast about fantasy football, and telling the hosts his own opinions. It was seventy-six degrees out and he’d been planning to go home and make a pizza in the gas powered pizza oven he had just bought. It was by far the most expensive splurge he’d ever indulged in.

He was twenty-eight and—‘single’ wasn’t the word anyone used anymore. ‘Owner’. He didn’t own anyone. Dog, or cat, or girls.

This girl was standing on the sidewalk and getting mind wiped. She held a phone in the palm of her hand, a little bit too close. About two months ago this had become a deeply alarming pose.

Joshua drummed his hands on the wheel and slowed down, to think. He turned down the loud discussion of wide receiver tiers. It felt disrespectful.

He had the option of driving on.

He said out loud: ‘Fuck. Fuck!’ This was a main boulevard with poor sight lines, and girls getting turned into pussy dolls tended to stumble around while their libidos were hardwired, in the initial stages of becoming a plaything. And he’d seen the debates, by men, about what to do. What the responsibility was. He’d scrolled through reddit debates on his phone, late at night, on his rental bed.

At the time, it had been easy to upvote noble comments about what being a MAN now meant, in a sea of easy cooze.

Joshua put his hazards on and got out of the car. “MIss!” he told the slave-to-be. “Miss, you’re—I mean—yeah. You’re being turned into a fuck toy. Yeah.”

The fuck-toy-to-be couldn’t really hear him. Or maybe she could, but it was swiftly scattered into mere incoherent noise, along with everything else. Her phone was doing wild things to her. It was a very well designed program. Apparently it had been slowly prepping girls the world over for several years already. All primed, to become breed meat for men. She, also, was becoming an object for him to enjoy.

The snatch was younger than him—mid-20s? Twenty-four? She wore oversized glasses, and might’ve been a nerd, and might not’ve been. She wore pink glossy lipstick and had very pale cheeks. Her hair was pulled back in a businesslike bun. She had prominent, pouting lips set off by a jutting chin, and her frame was a bit too small for her face. The girl wore too-big jean shorts and a black hoodie that read THE MENZINGERS on the back.

No purse. Joshua circled her. He had free rights to her body, so he could check her butt pocket for ID. He didn’t want to do that. He didn’t own a house, or a boat, or a girl.

She’d just gotten started on her sluttification, maybe even in the past ten to fifteen minutes. Joshua could tell because she was fighting it. The girl was shaking her head, and her puffy lips were murmuring what had to be ‘no’, or ‘no I’m not’. And she wasn’t masturbating yet, or shaking with the incredible pleasure of being reduced to a fuck puppet. So it was right away.

“Why are you here?” Joshua asked, genuinely confused. “What are you doing?” She was dressed for a casual night out, and girls didn’t do nights out. There were too many screens in the world. There were two types of girls—the action figures for men, and the ones in basements and high floors reading paperback novels. And not a lot of the latter.

Joshua had signed the 2006 Petition, to go back to a pre-smartphone world. But it didn’t look like it was going to the Senate.

“Ohhhhhhh,” the girl moaned, and licked her lips. Joshua averted his eyes from the lips. They were her best feature, and very distracting. Did she have fillers? No, some girls just naturally had big pillowy lips. “Ohhhhhno. No no no. No. Me. I.”

The screen showed triple-colored spirals and a multitude of pretty shapes and colors. It did nothing to Joshua. So strange that it turned girl minds into horny, simplified tabula rasa. Eventually. Right now the girl was pointlessly contesting her own inevitable transformation into a sex-obsessed fuck slut. She even had her hand clenched, the one not holding the phone. And yet. He could feel her tits, if he wanted to. He could rub her pussy, if he wanted to. Already she’d probably already push into it, pre-programmed to respond to male touch with enthusiasm.

Joshua put his hands underneath his armpits.

The hand not holding the phone started to sneak towards her waistband. She was definitely going to start masturbating soon. They all did. Loud, noisy masturbation. Soon she’d have trouble standing up, and the sidewalk was not very clean. They were close to the road.

Joshua tried the hotline. He had the number saved on his phone.

“All operators are busy,” a girl voice said. “You will receive an automated callback in...” and then a rough male voice broke in. “thirty-five minutes.”

“Fuck,” Joshua said, softly. “Fuuuuuuck. Fuck!”

He’d been trying to sit this one out. Science would find a cure. Network s would purge the web. Statesmen would dump the phones. And now a girl was becoming a greedy cock whore next to him.

He’d been intending to make a pizza. It was going to be his first fancy homemade pizza.

“Alright. Lets—go. You. Girl.” What should he call her? It was common to rename the girl. And, honestly, thereby dehumanize her. There were lots of Pussies now, and Titanias, and Clitty, and any number of other silly dimunitives to address the panting bimbos they became.

Lipps. He could name her Lipps. Or Blowie. For all the blowjobs she’d—

Joshua put a hand on her hip. “Girl,” he said. “C’mon. Lets go. Car. Mine. House. Pizzas. Is that getting through to you?”

She was obedient to his touch. They all were. She was submissive to his wants and needs. She was becoming a tool for his enjoyment and pleasure. If he knocked her up, she’d bond to his scent.

It was a very well-thought-out program of total enslavement and it left nothing in its wake.

Not even a name.

“Not horny,” the girl mumbled. But she was. Her skin was hot, and already she was developing that characteristic scent, of a girl who was always wet and ready.

She got even more aroused in the car.

Joshua was aware of how it all worked. It was all very clever. Wherever she was resisting, whatever deep pockets of herself thrummed with ego, or id, or some more primal resistance, that was what got flooded with a dissolving rush of hormones. All that was left behind was a wash of horny, quivering, singular neurons. Unconnected. Alone. And then on to the next area of the brain. The girls got desperately horny. A total and fully-encoming need for sex, for stimulation, for anything.

His car smelled like wet pussy right away. Even wearing jean shorts she was gushing. There was a big damp patch, there would certainly be one on the seat.

And yet the girl was still fighting. Pointlessly. The phone was latched to her line of sight. She had her legs wide open, but angled, trying to keep additional stimulation from her needy, burning cunt. She was trying not to moan, and failing. Her hips were gyrating, but softly, in little circles. Most of all, she had her left hand jammed underneath her butt, although it was clearly trying to touch things, where it was.

His car smelled like pussy and was playing soft pop music. Her phone had hooked into his bluetooth and was playing a song to brainwash her by. To Joshua it sounded like generic twangy country-pop, to the girl it clearly sounded like raw sex. She rocked her hips to the beat. It was doing irreversible things to her IQ, apparently.

“Sorry you got caught,” Joshua said. The girl paid him no attention at all. She had, however, reacted with shocked delight when he’d buckled her in. A loud, surprised “oh, my god!” when he’d brushed her tits, just barely, getting the seatbelt secured. The sound recycled in his head. It had perhaps been intended as—shock, and dismay. But it had ed as warm delight. Pure joy.

The girl smelled so ready, already.

When his phone rang Joshua at first took it for some new form of mind alteration. No—his phone was actually ringing, in that special government alarm usually used for wildfires and hurricane notifications. They’d let the hotline use it.

“Joshua! This is Joshua!” he said. It had to be—

“Melissa here, from the BLOT Hotline. Do NOT interrupt a girl undergoing involuntary sluttification. Are you in a safe place to talk?”

Melissa’s voice was crisp, soft, and throaty. A girl on the line was the last thing Joshua had expected. He pulled into his driveway.

“I have a girl here that got caught and she’s—okay, she’s starting to masturbate. She’s touching herself.”

The girl’s resistance to fingering herself had abruptly crumbled. She’d pulled her free arm, her left arm, from underneath her own ass, and had shoved it roughly down the front of her jean shorts. She was making a lot of noise.

“Sir,” the hotline technician said. “are you in a safe place to discuss? I gather you’ve acquired a girl undergoing the cum whore process?”

“Yeah, she’s... she’s really going at it.” Joshua watched, eyes wide. He’d never seen a girl masturbate before. It wasn’t his kind of porn, it wasn’t his meager sex life, either. It was much more forceful than he’d imagined. All five fingers were working. The girl’s tits were shaking. They were pretty well-sized, he could tell, from the way the seatbelt rounded them. The only thing placid were her eyes, which kept watching the bubbles and ripples on her phone screen.

“Okay. Okay, sir. We’ll walk you through this. You understand you cannot interrupt the process halfway through?”

“She’ll die, right?”

“There are a variety of negative outcomes. The FDA strongly, strongly advises not to interrupt an in-process bimbofication.”

Everyone knew that, but it was still a relief to have the government say it. Nothing to be done, girl. You’re a slut-to-be.

“I think she’s gonna cum. Do I do anything?” Joshua said. She was right next to him, making puddles on his car seat. The girl was doing a lot of things outside his personal experience. It had been awhile for him. And even when he’d been working his hardest, pumping and thrusting, he’d gotten not much more back than twitching and some light moaning. This was a full erotic experience, throaty, loud moaning, hips pumping against her hand. She was sweating. And the scent—she smelled available, some sort of pheromone bloom mixed with unabashed lubricant leakage.

“Okay, she’s—”

“Oh god. God. Yes. Yes!”

The girl orgasmed.

It was too much. Girls weren’t supposed to cum like that, or make noises like that, a sound of happy, overwhelmed joy from a mind soaked in generated lust. The girl slammed her body into the enger seat, straining against the restraint, in a state of euphoria so overwhelming it was surprising her eyes didn’t roll back in her head. But they were locked on the screen, which had crescendoed to a rapid-fire pink blast of cascading circles. The orgasm also went on too long, wringing every possible neuron fire from her psyche, pinging every nerve in her clit. It was an orgasm of consequences.

Finally, eventually, she collapsed. With one hand still down her shorts, and clearly still stroking away. She had barely breathed for a long time, and took gasping, recovery breaths.

Joshua’s elderly neighbor poked his head out, curious, and gave a cautious wave. Hi Walter, Joshua thought. Go away Walter.

“She—”

“I heard,” Melissa said. “I definitely heard. Well. You wouldn’t believe what that looks like, on an MRI. We call it the rainbow. You’re home? Carry her inside. We should have a moment before her first Recess. What’s this girl’s name?”

Lipps, Joshua thought. He had a shameful erection. There was just so much sex in the air. His ears still rang with it. He could smell her, practically taste her. Her lips were soaked, and she’d drooled at some point. Lipps, or—what street had he found her on? Sheridan, just south of Pine.

“I don’t know. How about Sheri?”

“Alright,” Melissa said. “The girl is in a safe place while she becomes a brainless fuck doll. Confirmed?”

“Uh,” Joshua took a look around the rental house. 1200 square feet on east 28th. He owned two chairs—a camp chair and his Dad’s old armchair, the faux leather half-scraped off. The chair was a huge problem—he had to ship it—but a man needed something permanent in his life, right? He’d put Sheri in that chair, and then put her feet up. He’d thought about putting a towel underneath her. She definitely needed a towel.

The room now contained a TV, his Playstation, the two chairs, a coffee table he’d gotten off the street, a girl turning into a toy for male pleasure, and himself. And several dirty glasses. He always intended to decorate. It just never happened.

“Yes. Safe,” he reported.

“Okay, good. Girl just went through the Rainbow Orgasm... I can confirm that... I can definitely confirm that... at least they made getting smoothed out a lot of fun. Name?”

“Joshua.”

Melissa paused a little too long. “The girl’s name. I put your name down under, taxpayer caller.”

“Oh,” Joshua said. “I don’t know. I found her on the street just—looking at a phone. Strange, right? What girl would look at a phone? It’s like—” he hesitated. It made things sound too serious. “It’s like girl suicide, right?”

“You’d be surprised,” Melissa said. “My gender wasn’t as smart as they liked to think. And now we’re just dumb and hot. Can you check her for ID? You should probably undress her anyway.”

Another problem was that the floor was carpeted. After they were done being stripped down to tits and ass, and there was nothing but daylight and sunbeams between their ears, the girls still dripped all the time. They were always wet and ready. It was hard on floors.

Sheri looked comfortable, gazing at her phone, its pale-green-yellow coloration. She’d hitched up her shirt, which showed off a white, pale belly. She was a little bit chubby, not at all in a way Joshua would dislike. It went along with the lips. It all boded well for what kind of figure was still hiding under there. “She doesn’t have a purse or anything,” Joshua reported.

“Check her pockets, check for a tattoo, okay?” Melissa said. “Anything that might ID her. We can run her fingerprints but sometimes you get lucky. Girls are told to carry ID, these days. It might be the only thing left of her. We really do try to keep girls out of the Girl Pound.”

Right, the pound. It was just outside of the airport. Apparently they sorted the girls by hair color, and there was a limit of three, but if you brought a big truck, they might let you take four. Joshua was part of the crew putting up extra wireless towers for the facility. Not that close to it, not close enough to hear it or smell it. Close enough to see the trucks bringing in air conditioning units, plumbing, electricity, wiring, a vast industrial effort for the management of a large population of excited sexbots. Formerly people.

“So I just—touch her?” Joshua said.

He could sense Melissa’s annoyance in the way she used little pauses.

“You carried her in,” she pointed out.

“That was—like, emergency rescue. This is her butt pocket. And I’d have to—turn her over.”

“She’s turning into a needy cock whore, Joshua. You can touch her ass. You can stick your entire finger up her asshole. She’ll enjoy it. And when she’s done? Gets those new nerve endings? Every hole is a party, mister?”

Joshua tossed a little pause right back at Melissa.

“Is there a problem, taxpayer?” Melissa said, eventually.

“I wasn’t expecting a government hotline lady to be like, stick your thumb up her butt,” Joshua said. “Am I supposed to fondle her too? Like, what does the state want me to do to her pussy? Fist her? She’s being—look, this is a someone with some sort of life, I don’t know, and you want me to strip and fuck her? Is that what you want me to do?”

“Just—check her for ID. That’s all. I—we recognize this is hard on all sides, male and female,” Melissa said.

He also was breathing hard, even harder than Sheri, who was just zoned out. Her own breathing was very shallow. Joshua put a hand on her hip, and eased her onto her side. From this vantage point he got his first good look at her ass. It was everything he could have hoped for, amply filling out even too-big stiff jean shorts. There were plush and generous curves in there. He had to feel them, to check her oversized pockets for a driver’s license.

“Nothing,” he reported, just as Sheri moaned again. Words, this time, in a kittenish voice. “Soooo gooooood,” she said. “Ohhhhh right there, yes!”

“It’d be nice to know what’s normal,” Joshua said. “I mean. Normal-ish.”

“She’ll be entering Recess soon,” Melissa said, stiffly. “The process is, compliance, agglomeration, erasure, imprinting. We are in compliance. Her resistance, and the parts of her brain that are used in resistance, are being turned into a hot, horny—into an erotically charged jumble.”

“Fine. Great,” Joshua said. He rolled up a sleeve, to fresh, happy squeals from the girl. “There’s a tattoo on her upper right arm. It’s a flag. Oh. It says Minnesota on the flag. I guess it’s the Minnesota state flag. Should I grope her tits next?”

“Sir—”

“Look, if I have to rub her pussy to get tax deductions now you can just—”

“Uhhhh?”

It was the girl. She’d looked up and away from the phone. There was a hint of the spiral, the hypnotizing shapes, the terrible patterns, across her brown-black eyes.

Joshua looked into her eyes for the first time.

“Oh,” she said, and frowned. She examined his bachelor pad, the mismatched furniture, the dusty window blinds carrying a late afternoon sun. “I got—I got caught. I’m—I’m getting fucky. I’m getting all fucked up and horny. I’m turning into a sex toy. Shoot. I mean—”

Joshua watched her try to work up anger, or regret, or some other emotion, and deflate. There were too many leaks in the balloon. Instead she blinked, and a brief moment of focus turned into the same quizzical stare.

“Who the heck are you?” she said, to him.

“This is Recess,” Melissa said. The agent’s voice still had an edge to it. “Don’t take it too seriously. The things she says. It’s just a waystation on the way to whoredom. It’s mostly so she goes and pees and drinks water. She’s going to ask where the bathroom is.”

“Do you have to—use the bathroom?” Joshua said, to this girl. She was present, suddenly, in a way she wasn’t before. She was looking at him, at the room. He was aware, for the first time, that he was wearing slides and basketball shorts, not even his good ones. The shorts had cost him $5, in the sense that a four-pack had cost him $20. Joshua had to look down to what shirt he was wearing. His COOKOUT shirt, from North Carolina. It wasn’t a great t-shirt.

“Can I go pee, sir?” the girl said. She cocked her head. “Sir sir sir. Every time I say it it feels... Erika said it felt the best. But its... even better then that. Oh god. I’m becoming a SLUT! What’s better than best, sir?”

“Help her find the bathroom. She’s not exactly steady,” Melissa coached. “Her libido... like, the physical portion of the brain that handles arousal... is very actually swelling in size. To the detriment of surrounding areas. Its tough on balance.”

“Who is that?” Sheri said, curious. She still held the phone very tightly. Her eyes flickered over to it, from time to time. “Where am I, actually? Shouldn’t I be scared? Gosh, I used to be so... ummm.... I really have to pee. I already feel kinda dumb and slutty. Really slutty. I should pee. I’m really wet and ready to be fucked.”

“Here,” Joshua took her hand. She swayed, unsteady. Having her actually look at him was unsettling. He’d only really seen her in profile, her puffy pink lips pooched out. And the phone so close to her face was distracting—too much a reminder that she was being reworked. This came across more like a ditzy drunk co-ed. Totally in his control.

Completely in his control.

“Ummmmm wow,” Sheri reported. “It feels like you’re touching my pussy-puss, even when—what did I just call it? Pussy-puss? Really?”

“Bathroom,” Joshua guided her over, nudged her inside, and then shut the door.

“You need to help her with her bottom buttons, if she has any. One hand has the phone,” Melissa said. “Also, important, number one thing right now, do NOT ask her her name.”

“The number one thing I need to know? Why wouldn’t I—” there was a very loud banging noise from inside the bathroom. Joshua pushed a number of other comments away.

When he opened the door Sheri gave him a heartrending look of goofy apology. She’d knocked down the shower curtain somehow.

“It’s like being drunk, but with sex,” she reported. “It’s like I’m drinking but its wanting dicks in my pussy-puss. Brain damage feels super good. Why do I keep calling it my pussy-puss? Its not even hot. Can you help me, sir?”

She presented her shorts. Sheri had an adorable belly button. It had surprising depth to it. Joshua undid her button, and unzipped her fly. Before he could pull his hand away her free hand swooped in, and pushed his fingers up against her. She leaned forwards. Her breath was very warm. Her very mild eyes drank him in.

“It feels super good to call you sir,” she whispered. “I’m being resist-y but its like, it feels good to resist, it feels soooooo good, so am I even resisting if it makes me feel super-duper good? Is it even more resist-y to give in?”

“That sounds like—philosophy,” Joshua stuttered. His hand was right up against her snatch. He could do anything to her, with federal and state approval, no less. Did he really have a moral/ethical objection? She was grinding against his palm, and his fingers were tingling.

“Go pee,” he instructed, and pulled his hand back. “Pee. Go—go pee. Please. Pee.”

“Go pee,” Sheri echoed. She took her waistband and yanked it down. Joshua looked away a moment too slow. He had a great view of the fresh peach of her pussy. Sheri wasn’t shaved down, exactly, but she put some care and attention into her thatch. She had a landing strip that matched her hair color, not recently pruned, but sparkling with juice. She pushed her glasses back up, and giggled, helpless and hot.

He closed the door.

“Pussy-puss?” he said, to the federal employee.

“The program finds where sexual are stored and—gets to work,” Melissa said. “Whatever is most feminine and most degrading, and if its a tie, degrading wins. She won’t even call it pee, soon. It’ll be tinkle. And she won’t first-person pronouns. Third-person only.”

“Why is that hotter? Referring to herself in the third person is hotter?”

“It’s because she’s not a person. Or won’t be,” Melissa said. “That’s why you don’t—”

“All done tinkling out of my pussy-puss!” Sheri said. She’d only drawn her shorts up halfway. The same pubic hairs poked out of the top of her undies. They were black boxers, Joshua noticed. An unusual choice, and not associated with girls who talked in a sing-song. “I mean, not really! I don’t know why I said that, I have a—a—a—”

She was really trying, scrunching up her nose and eyes. The hand that held the phone was creeping up. Recess was almost over.

“Urethra,” Joshua prompted. “You have a urethra. You pee out of your urethra.” Joshua couldn’t really imagine what was happening, inside her head. She certainly wasn’t alone in there. There was a babbling bimbo, dancing in a mind that had state flag tattoos and wore men’s underpants. Kicking things over, burning things up.

“Tinkle-hole!” Sheri said, and clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, fuck. Oh, I can still say fuck! That’s something!”

“Miss,” Joshua said. “Your name. What’s your name. Tell me your name. I’m—male.” Would masculine authority help?

‘Sheri’ wasn’t affixing itself to this person. It slid off her, trickled down to the floor. What was her name? It would be so much better if he just knew her name.

“Oh, no,” Melissa said, from his phone. “No no. Sir—damn it—”

“My name is Pretty Pussy Princess!” Sheri announced. This time her eyes went wide, with shock. Actual upset hit her.

She’d reached for her name, and hadn’t found it.

It wasn’t in there. It had been replaced with a bunch of humiliating for her own breasts. “Titty Sucknipples! Clitty-clit! No. Sucky Teats!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Joshua said, but it was too late. Sheri was vibrating in place. Her shorts started to inch down again. The girl hardly noticed. “Ms. Mammaries!” she said, blinking rapidly. “Slave Number One! No. It’s—it’s in there—it’s—my name is Bimbo Boobies! My name is Mommy Milker Minnesota!”

“Show her the phone,” Melissa broke in. “Just show her the phone. Just—this doesn’t end well, show her the phone.”

“I’m not HELPING this—”

“Show her the fucking phone, Joshua!”

He grabbed Sheri’s hand and pulled the phone into her line of sight. It was currently an urgent tangerine color, echoing with repeated trapezoids, and issuing a neglected set of beeps and boops. The image perked up when Sheri’s desperate, confused eyes settled on it. The shapes flew more swiftly, shimmering at a hertz that only made sense to girl brains. The effect on Sheri was immediate and narcotic. Her shoulders slumped, and she swooned forwards. Joshua had to catch her. Her tits buried into his chest. She was nearly deadweight. She was so, so soft, and already smelled—familiar. He knew her scent now.

Joshua put her back in her bimbofication chair. He adjusted his cock. It was iron hard. Sheri settled back into a relaxed state, very trance-like. There was still plenty of pubic hair on view, and the way she was settled, the curve and upper crack of her ass. She had a clear bubble butt. He’d caught himself a cutie.

“I showed her the phone,” he reported. Joshua fought back a surge of irritation. It was too irreconcilable, one girl giving him orders, the other utterly submissive on his chair, hungry for his touch, eager to please him, and getting more eager every moment. A lifetime of vocabulary being replaced with male-friendly alternatives, her vocal patterns turning sing-song sappy, her name replaced by her tits, her ass. Her lips.

Succ Lipps, he thought.

“Did she drink any water?” Melissa said.

“No, she didn’t drink any fucking water!” he yelled.

“Alright,” Melissa said. In a soothing tone of voice. “Alright. I know this is a—lot.”

It did make Joshua feel better. She was talking on a phone. He was the one dealing with a girl getting her brains scrambled. The federal employee could show more respect for the situation. “Alright, that’s fine. That’s not a big deal. We’ll get it at the next Recess for sure. She’ll be in Compliance for another... two to four hours, depending on how smart she was, and then we’ll enter Agglomeration. You’re familiar with it?”

“Sure,” Joshua said. “Calorie-loading.” The grow-tits-and-ass part.

“It’s more about breeding. She’ll need certain vitamins and minerals. I’ll talk you through it. Why don’t you—” Melissa stopped. That’s right, Joshua thought. You don’t need to tell me to go take a piss myself. I can handle that. He closed his eyes. No. He was not angry. 4-7-8. He was lucky to be angry, angry was easier than anxiety, or depression. Anger was a part of himself he could control.

“Why don’t I wha—” No, no. This he could do. “Alright. Okay. I’m—sorry. I wasn’t ready for this. I—I’m ready for advice. I definitely need advice. Give me all the advice. Lets see what I can do.”

“I would get food delivered.”

“No need,” Joshua told Melissa. “That I can handle. At least. I’m making some damn pizzas.”

After the third hour he stepped out to smoke.

Joshua smoked Burtons. That was a good way to keep the cancer chance down—Burton was hard to find in this town. It was hard to find in almost every town. He’d added a number of other rules—only outdoors, only during the day, only alone. He lit up.

Sheri was really going through it.

She evidently had a whole lot of moxie and spunk to get methodically erased, seeing as how it was taking so long. She’d cum all over his chair, and screamed all over his house, five times. If anything the orgasms were getting stronger and noisier, which didn’t seem possible, but it appeared to be the case. After the fourth one her eyes had rolled around. Her glasses had fallen off, and he’d picked them up off the floor, and wiped the frothy pussy juice off them, and put them back on her. So she was efficiently brainwashed.

There was a puddle on the carpet. It had followed a complicated route—trickling down Sheri’s inner thigh, then into a set of crevices in the leather, and then through the inside of the chair foam until emerging at the bottom, via pussy juice gravity. Joshua had tossed a towel underneath it.

He finished the cigarette and started another.

He’d given serious thought to jerking off in the bathroom. His erection was persistent and pounding. There were tons of rumors about that—that the men were affected too, that the circles and triangles and squares made slight but real adjustments to masculine libidos. That was why ordinary, mild-mannered men were so willing to throat-fuck their willing new slaves, were happy to blast babies into their extra-fertile wombs. Medical science had found no evidence for it. The obvious answer was, he had a randy fuck slave in his house, he’d fuck her.

Would he?

“Fuck,” Joshua said. He stared at his car. It had bald patches of paint on both sides. He really needed to air out the upholstery or it was going to smell like wet cunt in there forever.

The truth was, he wasn’t good to his possessions.

“You go over to the girl pound?” the neighbor said. Walter. Yes. Walter was in his mid-60s, and had a very Walter-like mustache. He wore blue jeans every day, and sat on the porch every day as well.

“No, no,” Joshua said. Did he feel like talking? Yes, he did. “I found her. Just on the street, if you can believe it. Like it was March 8th. Staring at a phone. Who knows.”

“Huh!” Walter considered this, from his side of the fence. White picket, very classic, especially in a neighborhood that was mostly chain link. “You keeping her?”

“Probably not,” Joshua said, too quickly. But—yes. He wasn’t really planning on keeping her, right? She was somebody’s someone. Melissa had given him direction on how to take her fingerprints via Joshua’s phone, and he’d done that. Hopefully it would come up, and someone would show up to get her, and Joshua would feel good about doing the right thing. Best case scenario. “I mean—no. No, I’m not. Don’t even know her name, you know?”

“Ahh, you should rename her anyway. I got rid of my wife’s name when she got caught. She was named Loreen,” Walter said. He had a perfect old-man snort. “Hated that name. That’s a name for a realtor. Lori wasn’t any better. Dental hygenist name. Anyway neither fit her after she—I mean, she looks twenty-nine now.”

Joshua had never even seen Walter’s wife. No—he must’ve. He’d moved in in February, and the global pussification event was March 8th. He must’ve seen some middle-aged housefrau taking out the trash, or similar. “What is she now? Cummybear? Teats McGee?”

Walter laughed an old man laugh. He must’ve been a smoker at some point, with his growl and nicotine-stained skin. Maybe a former trucker. His lawn made Joshua’s look like complete shit. “I hate that shit—I mean, come on, right? I can’t be married to a Cummybear. Roxi! You gotta give them a little dignity, they don’t got much else. Roxi! Let this guy look at you! He wants to see your tits! Wear the bra we made!”

Roxi took a moment.

When she sashayed out, through the screen door, it was tits-first. All of her was tits-first. She was mostly tits. She wore what looked like a handmade kind of—bra didn’t do it justice. Joshua, used to putting up monuments and heavy equipment, thought about cranes and forklifts. It was made out of thin black interlaced pleather, creating a kind of boob shelf. Her nipples stuck out even farther. They weren’t just tits to motorboat. A man could yacht in there.

“You’re lucky I’m already wearing it, it takes awhile!” she tittered. She looked no older than Joshua, with sun-shot light brown hair. It looked like it had tried as hard as it could to be blonde, but apparently even brain rewiring commands had some limits.

Walter put his arm around his bride. He was stiff and weathered up against her. She looked unbothered by time, remade into a young, fertile hottie. His hand sunk into her oversized chest. Roxi’s smile became wider and sillier. “I got a little—you know you can influence them, in one of the stages. I don’t—Roxi do you—well, hell, of course not. I gotta say, Anyway, I was keeping my memory in her, you know? Old man style. Birthdays and doctor appointments and all that. All wiped out. Anyway you can push her during one of the stages, and I kept saying—”

‘Big ’ol titties! Big ’ol titties!” Roxi chirped. They both laughed. She wore a necklace, and although whatever was on it was lost, deeply lost, inside a trench of cleavage, Joshua guessed it was a wedding ring.

Walter withdrew his arm, and gave his wife of thirty-six years a fond slap on her pert, perfect rear. Roxi made a sound of kittenish arousal. “Well, I gotta go deal with her now. But hey, serious, good on you if you keep her out of the girl pound. I went with a buddy down there. Not a great place. It smells like sex, it looks like sex, but—well. It’s just—it ain’t hygenic. And we were in the Asians section!”

“Okay?” Joshua managed. He heard a noise from inside, and turned. Three and a half hours. What had the girl lost, in that time?

What had he gained?

“Yeah, you gotta get back to her. Oh! Hold on a second, I got something for you.” Walter jogged inside. He looked spry. Fucking his busty new spouse agreed with him. Joshua could hear him brushing her off, to disappointed coos. He was back outside quickly, carrying a bottle of pills, and handed them over.

“Prenatals! Got all sorts of stuff girls need. Folic acid, especially, that’s the big one. Makes them extra-sensitive! All sorts of nerve endings! Go have fun with her! , one of the phases, you can get your own stuff in! Big ’ol titties, never fails!”

His phone rang just as he came in. He’d plugged it in to charge. Sheri’s phone, also, he’d plugged in. Melissa had directed him to online written instructions that had been reassuringly governmental, that had a patina of committees and thoughtful experts behind it. The FAQ section had strongly recommended phone charging. It wasn’t totally clear what happened to girls who had their brainwashing interrupted, but it was clearly very bad. Really bad. Once the train was on the tracks, derailing it was not a better option. It was a one way to Slut Station, and becoming a dick sucking dumbo was the best remaining outcome.

Except he’d only had three-foot chargers. Ironic, since he was in the literal cell phone business.

Joshua tamped down the guilt on that front. Road engineers didn’t feel bad about traffic accidents. Linesmen didn’t feel bad about downed wires. He didn’t need to feel bad that his cell towers had turned the vast majority of girls into needy breeder bimbos. They’d turned the towers off, early on. It had been too late. Devices the world over had been preloaded.

Eventually he’d moved the entire chair, with Sheri in it, right up against the wall, and plugged her phone in.

“She’s waking up,” he said.

“She’s not awake already?” Melissa sounded startled. “How much was in her?”

“So what does that mean? She’s a genius?”

“Was. Everything is—past tense,” Melissa said. “And not even that. It probably means she had a very good memory. Again, had. Or a lot of life experiences. It can be a few things. It’s the difference between erasing graffiti and erasing the Mona Lisa. You can do both. One just requires more lye.”

Mona.

Joshua liked that. It fit better than Sheri, which continued to slip and slide around, eluding the girl in front of her. And it was porn-y. Moan-ahhhh.

Mona cracked her eyes away from the phone. “Water,” she mouthed, and Joshua hurried to get the bottle to her lips. He’d left three open water bottles by her side. Her beautiful, cock-smoking lips had gotten pale and parched, and it had distressed him. Mona pulled the bottle in, tilted her head, and chugged. After she finished the first bottle he handed her the second. This time she wrapped her moist lips around the plastic, and pulled at the water. For the third one, she locked eyes with him while she did it. He could see her tongue twirl inside the bottle.

“Next is the—” Melissa said.

“I’m SO SORRY!” Mona said. She spilled forwards, onto her knees. More of a stumble. Her shorts were still half-off. “I’ll never ever ever disobey again, sir! I’m sorry for—for everything! Every single thing! Please fuck my stupid mouth!”

She touched her forehead to the carpet. All that water was going, Joshua realized, into immediate, apologetic tears.

“Just let her get it out,” Melissa counseled.

“I realize now that I’m a dumb bunny slut and a big sexy moron! I exist to serve you! I should’ve been sucking and fucking you all this time! I’m really really sorry I wasn’t making you cum whenever you felt a little horny! I won’t do it again! I’m gonna be the best slut-slave there ever was!”

“Tell her she’s a good girl,” Melissa said. “And pat her head.”

“She’s a—really?” Joshua said. The instructional guide had touched on this, but the wording had been so much better. He was to encourage her new feelings in a gentle manner. Not—approach her, cock hard, so hard, and lord over her. The working plan was still—find her actual people, and turn her over.

“If you don’t, then—”

“No. I’ll do it. Fine,” Joshua said. He put his hand out and touched her hair for the first time. It was damp. All of her was damp. The process of getting bimbofied was a sweaty one. He patted once, twice. “Good... girl. Girl. You are a good girl.”

“Ohhhhh I’m submissive now!” Mona said. She looked up, eyes wide. She giggled at him. “Wow. I’m submissive! I like praise, and being told I’m a good girl! I want to be a good girl and—” she thought about it. “I want to even like, lick the floor you walk on. And your feet, I want to lick those. I’m SO hungry.”

“Yes. Right!” Joshua straightened up. “Good! We are going to make pizzas!”

He swept his hand grandly.

“That’s a door?” Mona said. Her tone of voice said a lot. It read: you said something I don’t understand, sir, but it’s me the problem is me I don’t understand but it’s me me me and not you. Never you.

Never you, master.

“THROUGH the door is my pizza oven,” Joshua said. “In the backyard. We’re making pizzas. I’ve already got four set up and ready to fire. Pepperoni, hot honey pepperoni, extra cheese, that one is for you, lots of carbs, and triple meats. That one is for me.”

The Ooni Karu 16 Outdoor Pizza Oven was a very big deal for Joshua.

He had set it up on a patch of concrete, and carefully trimmed away all nearby weeds and errant blades of grass. The spot was a cleverly sheltered one, away from any possible wind. The oven itself was stainless, stainless steel, a collection of simple geometric shapes topped with a real smokestack. He’d bought it the previous Sunday. On Saturday he’d bought hardwood charcoal and a number of ingredients. It was Sunday.

Now he had a slave with him, following him outdoors.

‘I still have to light the charcoal,” he said. “Shouldn’t take too long. It gets all the way up to 950 degrees. So. You’re. A sex slave? Like, already? How far along are you? I thought this was just part two of four?”

“Oh, it is! But I’m not fighting anymore, that’s the thing,” Mona said. “Gosh, I’m so sticky and wet, aren’t I? No, I... I guess I do have a long ways to go, don’t I? I’m way too smart, I still know stuff about drums and coffee and books, but I’m not fighting. I’m not gonna fight it. I’m done with that, I want it now. I want to to be a stupid fuck slut and not a person. That’s what I want. So. Yeah.”

Joshua glanced backwards. Mostly to make sure she watched him deftly light the charcoal. He’d gotten a small blowtorch as well, and it was going to look extremely cool. Mona, outdoors again, looked very small. She was maybe five foot one. The glasses added a lot of personality, even as the phone sucked it out of her. She looked—more like a person. Right, the instructions mentioned this. Agglomeration was when all of that came to the forefront. One last time.

“What was it like?” he said. applying heat to carbon.

Unexpectedly Melissa spoke up. “It’s like...” she said, in a monotone, over the phone.

“It’s like...” Mona said. Her eyes unfocused, and she shivered.

“It’s like I was telling the phone...” Melissa said.

“It’s like I was telling the phone, no, not me. Please, not me. I don’t want to be a silly sexy slave that sounds like an airhead. I wanna get tattoos and wear black clothes and say mean boy words like—like—I don’t know anymore. Starts with an F?”

“Fuck?” Joshua said, uncertain himself.

“Oh, right, yes, but in a mean way! Not just in a, please fuck me way.” Mona said. She sat down in his camp chair, and for a moment was—whatever she’d been. In how she sat, back straight, legs uncrossed, thick thighs over the edge of the nylon.

“And I kept saying...” Melissa said, softly, very softly, in the same emotionless tone.

“And I kept saying, I don’t want the pleasure, its too much, please. And it kept coming and I kept cumming! It was like—like—I was turning into goo. It was like—you stop being a person, and you start being a clit who can move. It was the... bestest ever. And I couldn’t just—gosh, I’m so hungry!—I couldn’t just sit there and turn into horny girl syrup, so I started.... um... tummy really rumbly... I started...”

“She fought back,” Melissa said, still softly, still quietly.

“I started coming up with like, um, arguments! Like, if your lil’ cunny is always wet and drooly you’ll get thirsty! But then I was like, I can drink more water. And you know. If my titties are nice and out for men to stroke they’ll get sunburned, but it was like, duh, there’s sunblock. And like, the shade. And this kept going on and on and I realized... I realized...”

“It was her, doing the fighting. She switched,” Mona said.

“It was ME!” Mona laughed. “I was the one brainwashing myself, coming up with all these smarty-smart arguments! And then I came again and again and again I was like, better stop thinking! So I did. Oh FUCK!”

“What? What?” Joshua said. He’d been watching the temperature tick up with poorly concealed impatience. The machine was just metal and fire. There was no reason it should calmly heat up to a cherry red. It should burst with fire, the mouth of the oven eager for pizzas.

“She now wants you to ire her body,” Melissa said.

‘You haven’t seen my tits yet! Oh, and I’m still wearing a bra! Why?”

Mona flipped up her hoodie, classic Girls Gone Wild flasher style. Joshua got his first, hungry look at her tits. He’d suspected that they were really good, that there were fat goth girlfriend pillows lurking in there. Slutty big nipples with low-slung teardrops that wanted to be held. He liked his titties not just big, but stupid. Impractical for everyday life, unnecessary for having a kid, just a pure genetic mistake that meant backaches and comments at the beach.

And there they were.

Too big for her bra. Creamy and perfect. Encouraged, Mona stripped out of her hoodie and dropped a big, abused brassiere. She scooched her chair back to get them out of the sunlight. “It feels good to have my titties on view,” she said. “I hope you enjoy them, I never did. Until now. Now I love my big fat titties. I realized that too, I was like, you get this entire set of happy zones that men don’t get, you lucky girl. How are the pizzas going?”

“They’re—”

The oven smelled—off.

Very odd. A melange of outgassing chemicals, like disinfectant under fire.

Joshua stared at the raging fire, instead of the beautiful porcelain orbs on display. “Uh. Hold on. Hold on a second.”

He thumbed through the manual. No troubleshooting section. It was just forty pages of construction and assembly, and he’d followed that rigorously. So why—

Fuck. Fuck. There was a second manual. The operating one. Fuck. Non-sexual fuck, Joshua thought.

“She really, really needs to eat,” Melissa warned. “You get—she’ll cannibalize other parts of the body to build herself out as a bimbo. It’s not good.”

“Okay, okay!” Joshua said. He flipped through Manual Two.

Page five read, in the middle of a different paragraph: “allow your oven to heat up and completely cool before use, to burn off manufacturing grease and oils.”

Mona must’ve seen his face. “It’s—good,” she said, and then, quickly. “Touch my titties if you’re unhappy! Just—use me until—” she shivered and winced. It was the first time he’d seen discomfort, the facial expression she used for that. And she was still trying to comfort him.

“Microwave!” Joshua said. “We’ll microwave the dough... maybe roll it into a ball.... making like, a pizza burrito. And I have some rice that the last owner left in a bin. We can microwave that—”

“The food delivery person will be here in three,” Melissa said, loudly this time.

Even Mona heard.

“FUCK!” Joshua said. Nonsexual fucking fucking fuck.

Loud enough for Melissa to hear, for Mona to hear. He raked his hair back. He could backhand the stovepipe, knocking it off its platform and down to the ground, shattering it into red-hot shards. It would definitely burn his hand, and that was exactly what he deserved.

Joshua pushed it back. He’d grown up around a man who hit. It had made his previous relationships terrifying, unstable, casual. He stuck his arms underneath his armpits. He’d worked so hard on this. The line was—they must never wonder, never even consider, if you’ll maybe hit them. It might be nice to be brainwashed, he thought. There wasn’t an ounce of anger in Mona. Just dumb, soft, happy thoughts.

“Aren’t my titties soft and fuckable?” Mona said.

He opened his eyes. They were. They really were. He wanted to squeeze them. He wanted to empty out into her soft lips, that said such nice things. Her hands had trouble holding all of her—no, that was an illusion. She only used three fingers to hold each tit, making them look even bigger. Smart.

You don’t get to have this, Joshua thought. No fucking way.

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Joshua said. He took the phone with him. “Thank you for ordering.”

“YOU ordered it, taxpayer,” Melissa said. “Three pizzas wouldn’t be enough, anyway. She’s really going to eat and eat. How big are her tits?”

“They’re big and beautiful,” Joshua reported. He opened the door, took three large bags from a deliveryman. Who seemed to know the score, looking past him for a girl halfway remade, halfway transformed into the perfect sex slave. “How much longer is this going to take?”

“Eight to ten hours,” Melissa said.

“When it’s done, I’m taking her to the girl pound, if we can’t find her people. At least they’ll be able to feed her.”

Joshua watched her eat. It was very, very good. Her lips were so nimble. She kept putting everything away, no trouble at all.

The food itself was bland, almost troublingly so. It felt like a feedbag. Not something people would eat. It was government-issue calories. Four meal replacement shakes, which Mona had chugged, a sealed baggie full of a mealy, beige substance that she’d dug into with his largest spoon. For dessert, a shelf-stable substance that looked like chocolate pudding. And the prenatal vitamins. Four of them. Her wobbly, proud titties shook with the speed she was downing everything. Mona just wore a skirt now. He stared at her tattoo. Would that, too, get worn away?

“Most girls add about two cup sizes,” Melissa said. He hated how tentatively she talked to him. Was this a script, marked ‘when male is aggressive’?

“I hear you can do more,” Joshua said. He sat on the floor. His only good chair was soaked in girl juices.

“Oh, much more. Yes, we haven’t talked about the... customization... phase. The government doesn’t... recommend anything. Officially.”

“Uh-huh. And unofficially? And I’m not doing anything, don’t worry,” Joshua said. “I’m not keeping her.”

Melissa was silent.

“Melissa, just tell me,” Joshua said. He sighed, sour. Mona had found a way to start masturbating herself again, while eating. That probably meant that the agglomeration was ending, and it was time for more brainwashing. “You even called her little speech out in advance. You know more about this than I do.”

“Every single girl has some variant on that speech. I will too, someday,” Melissa said. “It’s because she’s not done yet. So here’s the thing. She—every girl—thinks she’s found a loophole. Every single girl thinks she’s found a loophole. If you cooperate, if you act ditzy, and sex-obsessed, and show off your titties, there’ll be no reason to erase everything. Bargaining stage. That’s what Mona is thinking. Every girl thinks it. I’ll think it. Eventually.”

Joshua’s mouth dried up. Right. Mona was fighting a war to hold on to—something.

And he was whining about his pizzas.

“But there’s no loophole,” he said.

“Oh, no. We’re pretty sure coming up with the loophole is actually part of the erasing process. The girl sort of... fits herself into this slutty, bimbo role, and it makes it easier to rub out what isn’t there, something like that. I’m not a scientist, I’m just a silly girl.”

The bimbo-to-be was finishing up. She didn’t eat like a person, either. She ate like an animal. Face close to the plate, concerned with caloric intake, and nothing else. Joshua just had to be honest with himself—it was a turn-on. This girl was gearing up to become so hot, so fuckable, so devoted. He already liked his girls a little plump. There was a vibrancy and health to girls with rounded rears and belling tits that he really liked. And to see a former-possible-maybe goth girl eating her way to fertile sex toy status? It was enjoyable.

“Who are you, Melissa?” Joshua said.

“I’m a volunteer for the Slut Hotline, taxpayer” Melissa said, after another one of her trademark pauses. “This is an analog phone I was fedex’d. This is my four hundred and thirty-third girl I’ve helped become a sex bot.”

“Bottom third?”

“Sorry?” Melissa said.

“Where does this one rank? Counseling some dumb guy who doesn’t even—” Doesn’t even, what? He could see Mona’s fingers arched up against the jean shorts, which had to be thinning out from all the friction. “—doesn’t even have any connection to the girl.”

“Oh. Oh no,” Melissa said. “This is one of the easy ones. I’ve been through—well—sometimes—anyway, lets not get into it.”

“Tell me. Tell me one. This is—this is taking longer than I thought.” Although Mona’s hand, its death-grip on the phone turning her into a cum guzzling obedient tool, was inching back up towards her eyes. It wouldn’t be that much longer.

Melissa deliberated.

“Come onnnnn,” Joshua said.

“Alright. How about this. Yes. Usually men call. I had this college co-ed call me. A girl. Because she came home and found her Mom getting erased.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. And I’m telling her, first thing, must urgent thing,—find a male to handle this. Find a man. Any man. It’s not the same effect when a girl looks at someone else’s entrancement, the staging is wrong, but it doesn’t NOT have an effect. Plus it’s her MOM. Dutiful daughter does not need to watch Mommy become a fuck toy.”

“Fair.”

“But she insists, they look after each other, men are pigs, blah blah blah, she gets Mom undressed and shoves a throw pillow between Mom’s legs so Mom has something to hump. She’s twenty-two. I’m urging her to get out because she’s starting to slur her words and starting to echo Mom when Mom goes on about being a good, happy fuck. She tells me that “Mommy had a nice cummy” and I know it’s going off the rails. And then the call drops.”

“Uh-huh. That is rough.”

“Oh, we aren’t done,” Melissa said. She laughed, for the first time. Maybe a little smoker in there, just like him? It had timbre.

“Two hours later I get a call routed to me, we have a tool that—anyway—and it’s Mom’s OTHER daughter. THIS one is twenty-four. Mom is fingering herself on the floor, and the first daughter is getting programmed into a fuck slut by the TV. Which she almost certainly turned on because she was getting done over by Mom’s phone. So now Daughter One is sitting on the couch with her hand up her pussy, telling the TV she’s a good girl, Mom is mostly a fuck doll, and Daughter Two is ALSO ignoring me telling her to leave the premises. Quite a family. Guess what happens next.”

“No way,” Joshua said. “Really? Where was she living, a Best Buy? How many screens were in this house?”

“At least three. I know that because I got yet another call, finally from a man, the postman of all people. Mom is sticking her ass in the air begging for him to fuck her tight little asshole. Daughter One is using Mom’s hump pillow to get herself off. And Daughter Two got herself caught on the smart screen on the Mom’s fridge. She’s getting mindwiped and turned into a whore by the fridge. She, at least, gets picked up by her husband. Mom and Daughter One go to the girl pound.”

“And this is—what. Top ten worst story?”

“No,” Melissa said. “No, no, no. That’s one of the funny stories. That one is hilarious. Turned into a cumslut by a Samsung freezer. Amazing. Alright. Story time is over. I’m a disionate government volunteer. Now, in a few minutes she’s going to finish eating. And before she slips back into trance, you need to use her sexually. And really use her. Uncompromising. Enjoy yourself. Okay?”

“Sorry?”

“I don’t know about this. I’m throwing her back,” Joshua said. Mona was slurping and drooling and it was all fuel to his cock. “You don’t throw a fish back into the river with a quart of jizz in them. Hold on. Let me go outside.”

Outside, his pizza oven was still very hot. The charcoal glowed on, scouring the inside of the oven, rigorously outgassing whatever old chemicals remained. Scouring everything but the metal. Every so often a sworl of black-grey smoke escaped from the chimney, carrying away a subtle rainbow patina.

“Do I really have to talk you into fucking this girl, taxpayer?” Melissa said.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here, Melissa. That’s what it is. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. I couldn’t even feed her. You haven’t seen my house but I have five pieces of furniture, including the pizza oven. My sixth piece is a towel. Everything I touch—”

“Joshua,” Melissa said. “I need you. To stop. And listen to me.”

Joshua stopped. This is fair, he thought. Fair enough.

“I have been through this before. So many times. So many men who go on and on about doing the right thing. It should be heartwarming, and it isn’t. I had that postman fuck all three family . Mom to daughter to daughter. I had all three of them slobbering on his cock at the same time. I’ve told brothers to fuck sisters. I’ve had to tell husbands how to fuck their wives up the ass because they’ve never done it before and they need me to walk them through anal sex mechanics. I’ve listened to more heavy breathing than you can imagine. I know what I am doing. I am a forty-three Mom in Portland who lives in a basement. You need to fuck this girl. Just—get it done. No pathos. Fuck her. Just, fuck her.”

“Listen, I’ve seen the videos. They literally cum their brains out on their first dick,” Joshua said. “They—” he glanced at the roiling oven. Getting scoured. “I don’t want to break her, alright?”

“Joshua. I am doing this for the girl, and the best thing for the girl is she services you sexually. Do you want to know why?”

“Yes,” Joshua said. “I do.”

“Because she’ll think she’s won a little victory. She’ll think she can be a perfect little doll, for male enjoyment, and preserve some interiority free from the need to please and breed. She’s going to think there’s something left, like she’ll still be able to play the guitar, I don’t know. And that’s not true. But it’s a nice moment for her. Now, tell her to come get you off. Be crude about it. Alright, Joshua?”

But I’ll mess it up, Joshua thought. He walked inside. The videos he’d seen were very hot and very wrong. They started out as sex, the glassy-eyed girl doing normal sex moves and grinding in a standard way, creating mutual friction. A little bit porn-y, grabbing her tits and usually with a stream of high-pitched dirty talk, babbling on about how she was creaming on his nice big cock. And then, inevitably, she got quiet. Something in her brain was—altered—and then it became fevered, desperate, animal. The girl was just nerve endings and clitty, shaking from the overwhelming pleasure. When she came, it was fireworks. Loud, bright, and burning up.

“Girl,” he said. Mona looked up from the feed bag, eyes just on the other side of vacant. Those beautiful lips. So sloppy.

“Come blow me,” he said.

“Oh!” Mona looked at him, her plate, and back again. “Y-yes! Yes, I will be your obedient fuck toy! That’s what I am. Of course I’ll put your penis in my mouth, that’s what girls are for! You’ve probably noticed my sweet, fuckable lips. Funny, I never—”

“Just—blow me, okay?” Joshua said.

“Can you put me on mute for this?” Melissa said.

Mona hopped off the chair. She hummed a ditty as she approached, a tune he felt like he should recognize. Joshua decided to stand for this. Too late he thought about checking the government instruction manual on this topic. It would probably say the same thing in nicer —Accept Sexual Advances With Gratitude. Direct Your Jizz Down Her Throat.

“Why do you want me to BLOW you, sir?” she said, pausing. Melissa was right, was his first thought. She wasn’t done yet. Once done, all that mattered was getting cock. And she’d never imagine questioning him. Ever.

“Your lips. You have amazing lips,” Joshua said. “I want them wrapped around my cock.”

She knelt, and spread her knees apart. “I didn’t use to like this,” Mona said. No, Mona was slipping off her as well. What was this girl’s name? Lipps, Joshua thought. A girl that he could order to suck his cock, and she’d do it, that was a Lipps. “It feels so natural now. I guess it isn’t so bad. It’s just salty.”

“Wait,” Joshua said, with her plump, fat pillows a half-inch from his cock. “The song. What was the song you were singing? Do you that?”

“I—” she hesitated. On impulse he surged forwards, crude as ordered, rubbing his cockhead against her face. She flinched. “Tell me, slut!” he ordered. Putting some authority into it.

“Skyway!” she said, and brightened. “Oh! The Replacements!” And then she couldn’t last any longer, and started to suck his cock.

It was a slobbery, wet, warm kind of blowjob. Pent up, frustrated, Joshua felt an immediate urge to cum. He put a reflexive hand on the back of Lipps’ head, stopped her from going back up. She was trying to make him blow his load as fast as she could. Putting his hand on her hair, controlling her, felt good and right. Especially the way she gentled, looked up for orders, eyes soft and ready for orders. Both hands held her phone, which had switched to a more urgent pink beat of cascading circles. Did it really do nothing to men? He wanted to grip her hair, slide her up and down his dick.

“You forgot to mute me,” Melissa muttered.

“Slower,” Joshua told Lipps. Lipps—what should her last name be? His? Lipps Loadstaker? Lipps Jizzdrinker? Both were attractive.

Joshua reminded himself—she was going back. She wasn’t his to ruin.

He could feel her transformation in her tongue. Some of her licks were eager but hesitant, exploratory, reacting to the tang of his precum now steadily leaking out of his dick. Amateurish if enthusiastic. These licks had personality behind them, someone that didn’t suck a lot of cock, perhaps never did, who was responding to a drumbeat of endorphins and oxytocin across the brain-blood barrier. And then that would slip away, and what was left was methodical, diligent. A metronome kind of blowjob, totally focused on his pleasure, on the rhythm of making him cum. A practiced cumslut blowjob, like she’d sucked a man off every morning. A reliable, battery-operated blowjob. And then back again, to the sly work of her tongue.

It was very hot. Joshua groaned. It didn’t matter that a tetchy Mom was listening to him get sucked off, or that the girl at his knees was halfway done getting rubbed out. He wanted to nut in her. She can be yours, his cock whispered. You have so few possessions. Why not a girl? Tell her to have enormous tits, a perfect face for fucking. You could use more furniture. A piece that gave delicate kisses up and down the length of your penis. And it wasn’t like she was a pricey piece. She was on the side of the road. Secondhand.

“I’m gonna cum,” Joshua said. He wasn’t sure why he verbalized it, but Sheri... no... Mona... Lipps? She paused, uncertain. For a moment Joshua wanted to shove the bimbo box in her face, instruct her to never stop in the middle of a suck. He needed to cum. But that was—

“Let him cum in your mouth!” Melissa commanded.

“Ahh,” Joshua whispered. That did it. She was licking again, on the underside. It was wonderful. He tensed, and then spurted. In her mouth. The girl paused again. Heavy, creamy loads spilled out of him.

“Swallow, slut!” Melissa said.

The girl swallowed it. All of it. Glorious. Joshua watched her cheeks quiver, her eyes squeeze shut. Oxytocin flooded him, too. She was so vulnerable. He’d rescued her, he deserved to squirt down her throat. She could dirty his carpet every day, soaking it in her juices, waiting for him to come home. Back from the towers, with lots of sweat to lick off.

The girl brought the phone up to her eyes.

It was hard to sleep, with a girl getting rinsed and sieved, in the next room over. A girl who now smelled like him, had part of him in her. He’d cum in her, lots of it, and she’d swallowed. She’d swallowed all of it. Not a single bubble of jizz had escaped her lips.

He’d put her in the bed, and hung up on Melissa. He’d asked if he could text her, but, duh, she was completely analog. Not a screen in the house. Her husband stayed at the office to watch shows, and then described them to her. The kids got a pat-down before going in the house—one of her clients had gotten caught that way, on an Amazon Fire 8 with blue plastic child-proof cladding. Turned into a bimbo doll by the same device used to watch Bluey episodes.

It was just him, lying on the carpet. In the morning—what? She’d finish up. Lipps. She’d be done. He’d ride her to the girl pound. They had 24/7 dropoff, and it was no questions asked. He’d forgotten to ask if Melissa’s fingerprinting had gotten anywhere.

Joshua went outside. It really wasn’t that late. Just after ten. He lit up.

“How’s the girl?” Walter said. He was on the porch swinging chair, drinking a beer. It was dark and the streetlight was off—power was being conserved. They were both lit only by the moon.

“Final bit,” Joshua said. The final stage was soft. No loud orgasms or fevered masturbation. He’d put one of his two pillows between her legs, to grind against, but Lipps was placid, slack-jawed. And yet she’d swallowed all of him. No complaints.

“Ahhh yeah. Final bit,” Walter said. Contemplative sip of beer. “ the last hour, that’s the Golden Hour. That’s when you can tell her what she’s gonna be. You’ll know when she’s—”

“Drooling. Yeah,” Joshua said. “I did a lot of reading. Apparently I’m gonna need new sheets. It gets messy.”

“It does get messy,” Walter said, nodding. Puff puff, sip sip. “So what’re you gonna do? You keeping her? Finders keepers.”

“It’s a six month lease,” Joshua said, nodding at the house. “Then I’m off to—I don’t know. Hopefully somewhere warm. And the car is already full of junk.”

“Put her in the trunk,” Walter offered. “Hell, have her sit in your lap the whole way. She’ll fit wherever you like.”

What if she saw him getting cut off in traffic? No. No. “I’m not keeping her, really,” Joshua said. “I mean, Walter, seriously, I don’t even have a second toothbrush for her. I don’t have any—you know—girl clothes. Skirts. I don’t own any skirts. I haven’t emptied out the trash from the backseat of the car from my last job. It’s full of Lubbock receipts back there. I’m not doing a slave girl.”

“She’s doing you!” Walter said. “Look, fine. None of my business. But if you need clothes, there’s Goodwill down the street. They just keep them open now, since so much clothes is changing hands. I dumped all of Roxi’s old stuff there. You need panties, go get her some panties. And don’t do this, I don’t deserve her shit. Come on. It’s a rental house, and you mow the lawn. What’s that say. Hey, we can make a foursome with me and Roxi!”

“Uh,” Joshua said.

Walter roared with old man laughter. “We’ll play hearts, buddy! You don’t need to see my junk. You can sort of teach them cards and stuff like that, if you reward them afterwards. Motivate them.”

“It’s—she’s not a lawn, you know? She’s more than a car, and I can’t even keep the car clean.”

“No,” Walter said. He pointed an unsteady hand. “You don’t get it. When they’re done, they’re nothing. They’re toys. They’re dolls. You don’t have to worry about breaking them. Best case scenario, for them, their owner gives a shit. I think you can give a shit. Really low bar. Alright? Go get her some nice underpants. I’ll watch the house for you, until I fall asleep, drinking all these beers.”

“Where’s Roxi?” Joshua said.

“Oh, she’s giving me a titjob right now!” Walter said. “I guess she’s real quiet. Roxi, put a hand up.”

A hand raised up over the side of the porch. Joshua blinked. And he’d seen Walter rocking back and forth in the chair. Whatever position Roxi was in, it was complicated.

Goodwill was open, and busy.

He’d avoided places with lots of girls. There were places in the big cities, Joshua knew, that were non-stop orgies. Times Square was apparently home to hundreds of girls, sleeping on mattresses brought in by the kind-hearted, a nonstop suck and fuck open-air factory quickly becoming a tourist attraction. After repeated sweeps the municipal authorities had just semi-organized it. The tourist industry was changing fast, and fun places to fuck was high on the priority list of the new kind of traveler.

The viral thing to do, he’d heard, was construct daisy chains of the many nubile, willing, endlessly willing sex slaves. Complicated domino setups of girls licking pussy fingering clits and rimming assholes. All managed so that one man’s insertion of dick to cunt would set off a chain reaction of messy, squirting orgasms, all down a long line. Lube Goldberg Machine, he’d heard it called.

It seemed unlikely Tulsa would get to that point.

But the thrift store was open, and blazing with light, and there were bright-eyed girls in the parking lot. Wearing collars, most of them. The collar industry hadn’t been able to keep up with the sudden demand, so these were homemade, except one girl with a narrow neck had fitted a polyester dog collar. The others had phone numbers written on the cut-up leather with a sharpie. Two wore tube dresses, in burgundy and brown, and held hands, one resting her head on the other’s shoulder. A third was licking a lollipop. All three smiled at him. Inviting.

“Hello! Welcome! To this store! Whatever its name is! You can fuck our pussies or assholes!” Brown said. She had to stop and think. “And mouths!” she said, eventually.

“We’re employees, and you can fuck us!” said Lollipop. “Just so you know! Also welcome to Goodwill! We’re—what’s the word?”

“Pubic,” said Burgundy.

“Public,” Brown said, tugging on Burgundy’s dress. “Dummy.”

Up close what looked like fashion wear, nearly painted on to curvy bimbo bodies, was cleverly reworked clothing. Brown’s tube was a sewn-shut old men’s blazer, a slick polyester one, now fitted to just cover some of her ass and some of her butt. Burgundy wore a patchwork of clothes, similar wine-red colors, hewn together with thick thread and unexpert stitches. It looked like it would come apart if she breathed too hard, and she intended to.

“We’re equally stupid!” Burgundy protested. “Like, we’re like exactly the same kind of silly bimbo! That’s how it works!”

Lollipop giggled. “It’s true,” she told Joshua. “Except Lolly has the tightest cunny. Otherwise we’re almost ex-ACT-ly the same. Mr. Goodwill thought it’d be better if we were super-similar.”

“Mr. Goodwill?” Joshua said. “Mr. Goodwill.”

“Me,” a tired looking, very tall, very dark, man said, poking his head out. “They all got caught together. The security camera monitor. I’m Mr. Goodwill, now. I got renamed too.”

The girls giggled and clapped. Burgundy and Brown kissed, overcome with lust, and started tugging on each other. It looked like they were competing to put a hand up each other’s dress, to be the first to touch each other’s pussies. Like all girls who had been made raw and horny, they had a distinctive scent. It told Joshua’s dick that they had wet ready cunnies.

“Welcome to the store. Feel free to fuck the girls. Or get clothes.”

“I’m here for the clothes,” Joshua said.

“Yeah. Either is fine. That’s Lolly Housewares, that’s Honey Books, that’s Kisser Shoes.” Honey was in burgundy, Kisser was the brown dress. Although they were getting hard to tell apart. They both had dark black hair, and similar heights, and coffee-toned skin. “And that’s where they were standing, in the store, when they all got caught. By THAT television.”

Mr. Goodwill pointed at the ceiling, where a single, innocent looking TV flatscreen looked bashful. It had been unplugged.

“Actually it’d be helping me out if you did fuck them. Just don’t cum in Lolly there. The other two are fine to cum in. It’d be helping me out if you came in them.”

“Can Honey do her favorite thing?” Honey said.

“You have to ASK,” Mr. Goodwill said, severely.

“Honey will ask! Sir, can Honey bend over and show you Honey’s perfect pussy? There, Honey ASKED.” Honey said.

“Can you girls tell me something, actually?” Joshua said.

“They can’t do personal pronouns but they can do collective pronouns,” Mr. Goodwill said. “I don’t get it either. They can do we, but not, I.”

Honey had decided that Joshua did want to see her pussy. She turned around, slowly, on four-inch black heels that ticked against broken down asphalt. She took hold of her dress, cantilevered at the waist, and slowly brought a beautiful and glistening pussy into view. She even took into the lighting, the way the store track lights fell outside of the door. It really showed off how wet she was. Very wet. By design or luck, a trickle of lubricant slid down her inner thighs just as she moved the move.

“You gotta at LEAST finger her now,” Lolly said. She giggled.

What would Melissa say, Joshua thought. Probably, finger her. She was seeing farther than he was, for sure. What it meant to be a man was going to change. He could at least rub off some needy sluts. And the pussy was very tantalizing. It was pretty much perfect, especially with Honey slowing spreading her ass cheeks to improve the view.

Joshua put out his hand and rubbed it on the outside of her lips.

“What’s it like, being a... whatever you are now?” he said, to the two other girls. Honey was immediately out of touch, concentrating on rubbing her clit against his hand.

“Fuck toys! We’re fuck toys!” Lolly said, hopping up and down. “We’re very hot and stupid! We like to have sex and dress in cute clothes and that’s about it!”

“And get pregnant!” Kisser chimed in. “Mr. Goodwill made me the butt slut but guesssss what, I still got knocked up! And so’s that needy cunny you’re rubbing off!”

“Girls, he’s here to SHOP,” Mr. Goodwill said. He wore a nametag that read Akeyo Odhiambo, which explained why a bunch of dumb Tulsa girls had renamed him. Or, just maybe, it was a last vestige of revenge? No. These girls were too stupid. “Come inside. Tell the other two what you’re looking for.”

“What I’m looking for,” Joshua said. “Yeah.” He walked in. Honey came with him, backwards in heels, doing whatever she could to keep his palm up against the hot friction of her pussy. He put a second finger in, because he couldn’t think why not. It was velvety smooth in there. It wasn’t a very dignified walk for the girl. “Do they —anything?”

“Not really,” Mr. Goodwill said, from behind the counter. His was turned off. It appeared he was just overseeing it all, magisterial. “Flashes? Maybe? Like, she used to be the manager,” he indicated Kisser. “She was into knitting, like really into knitting, she won awards for quilts and really cleaned up at the County Fair. All gone. Just a butt fucker now. And Lolly, she was shift manager, she had a bunch of piercings, said she was going to claw her eyes out before she’d be a sex bot. So much for that. She’s the biggest whore I have. A miracle she isn’t knocked up.”

“Lolly kept her nipple piercings!” Lolly chimed in. She flipped up her shirt to show them off. Two stainless steel studs, now lost in the expanse of two beautiful tits.

“Seems kinda sad?” Joshua ventured.

“I mean,” Mr. Goodwill shrugged again. “you’ve got three girls there begging to take your loads. And they’re happy, you know? They really are happy. All you can do is move forward. Which does mean fucking them all the time. But I wouldn’t bang Lolly, unless you want to be a dad.”

“Maybe he does!” Lolly brightened. She turned herself over. Lolly wore a black and white skirt with converses, and if she didn’t have the picture-perfect fuckable slit of her friend, it wasn’t far off. This pussy was nearly lost in her crescent-moon ass, enclosed by two big curvy thighs. Kisser fiddled with herself, waiting for an opportunity.

The store was—it was nice, Joshua decided. Clearly a lot of work had gone into it. The store had been blanketed with donations, given the mounds of girl clothes still stacked at the front of the premises. But girls were working on it. At least two dozen, despite the late hour. They were in a loose and slutty assembly line, exerting what little brainpower they had to make hot and sexy outfits from discarded blouses, pants, skirts, and other clothes.

There was a table where a number of whores were diligently at work with needle and thread and scissors, cutting hems down to slutty size, making short-shorts out of pants, and loosening the straps on bras. And, of course, there were girls under the table, at work with their tongues.

As Joshua watched, the final bimbo, a very short asian girl in what looked like a liquid latex black outfit, finished a brand new outfit. A velvet mini-skirt that might’ve been salvaged from a throw blanket, and a tank top with mismatched elastic straps in neon green and neon yellow. A second table was putting together collars with cut up purses.

“I thought you said the girls couldn’t sew?” Joshua said. He’d almost forgotten he was fondling a girl’s pussy. Honey was doing all the work anyway, nearly throwing herself against his hand, eager to extract all the stimulation she could.

“You CAN teach them again. And if they’re motivated by some dick, all the better. You just gotta think of them as—new,” Mr. Goodwill said. He grabbed the back of Kisser’s dress. “Alright, I see those looks. Bend over the desk, missy. Lolly, you’re batting cleanup. Get under here. Actually, wait. Customer. You are here for clothes, right? What do you need? It’s all free. We’re all in this one together. I mean, half the town has been in this particular slut.”

What DID he need? It was a good question. Joshua rubbed his fingers together. They were pleasantly warm and gooey.

“Five outfits that look good while you’re blowing someone,” Joshua said. “And some girl underpants. Are they called panties or is that what guys call them?”

Honey nearly fell over, she was cumming so hard. Joshua grabbed the back of her dress, to keep her upright. She didn’t weigh all that much, he found.

“I’m back, I got girl undies,” Joshua said.

It was nearly six in the morning. Joshua had spent a longer time at Goodwill than he’d intended, but was richer for it. The girls had been very thorough in getting him outfits. There was one for blowjobs, another for blowjobs, a good one for giving blowies when it was cold out—a fur-lined jacket that would nevertheless “definitely wipe clean!” the bimbos promised. He’d gotten his hands very wet, and his cock ached. It wanted release.

Then he’d driven out to the girl pound, or close to it. To his jobsite, the Cat dozer sitting in the dark next to the comm equipment, the wiring and the backup circuitry. The girl pound was largely open air. It was kept very well lit. It was a long set of white tents, set apart with occasional chain fences. Even at three in the a.m. there were rippling, needy moans under the floodlights. Joshua sniffed, more than once, but couldn’t smell anything. The wind was going the wrong way.

Lipps was sprawled on his bed. As promised, by Melissa, it was completely destroyed. Soaked through, every bit of the sheets, every piece of the covers. His backup pillow was a mangled mess on the floor, kneaded to a tangle by Lipps’ thighs. And she’d somehow gotten his actual, regular pillow between her legs, and was in the process of ruining that, as well.

Lipps was naked, except for the phone that was making her into a cumslut. Her eyes were on it, but she was very quiet, otherwise. It was all very rhythmic, the scene. Her breath rose and fell. She was drooling at a steady rate, mouth open. As Joshua watched her eyes came to a slow shut, and then reopened, just as slowly. She was nearly done.

He ran his hand along her. Cupped her breasts, pinched her butt. Lipps smiled at the . She had a hairy pussy, unlike all the Goodwill girls. They did each other’s makeup, too, and could use certain pronouns, when together.

At six a.m. his phone rang.

“Isn’t it four in the morning where you are?” Joshua said.

“It is,” Melissa said. “I’m going back to bed after we wrap this one. Any updates?”

“I got her girl underpants.”

“Panties? Great.”

“Ah. They are called panties. And a bunch of other outfits,” Joshua said.

Melissa Pause. “So, you’ve decided to keep her. We can get the paperwork handled for that. You’ll just need to verbally affirm—”

“Melissa, you know who she is, right? You ran her fingerprints. You know her name. What’s the story?”

The longest Melissa Pause yet.

“Her name was. WAS. Minnesota Blomberg.”

Minnesota. He was rubbing Minnesota’s thighs, he was watching Minnesota drool.

“Kind of a weird name,” Joshua said. “Any particular reason you didn’t tell me? Melissa? Speaking of weird, do you think it’s weird that you want me to keep her and also, at the exact same time, don’t trust me? At all?”

He ran his finger along Minnesota’s considerable cock-pillow lips, and slipped his finger in her mouth. She sucked on it, content. Her mouth was very wet, and her nose was running.

“I called around,” Melissa said “Her... partner... didn’t seem overly concerned about her. He was arrested a year ago for a DUI. Per social media they’ve been dating for four months.”

“I’m a guy who found her on the street, Melissa! What, do I have a higher credit score? What could you possibly see in me—my pizza-making skills?”

“Girls don’t just end up, on the street, with a phone. Unless something is wrong,” Melissa sighed. “All I have, in this basement, is my gut. I had to have a man read all that background investigation to me. I can’t do anything, but talk on the phone. And I went with my gut.”

“Your GUT,” Joshua said. There was so much of Minnesota to touch. She helped keep his voice level. Her hand was half the size of his. She was so curvy it was easy to not realize how short she was. “You live in a basement, Melissa. You know NOTHING about me. NOTHING. I am a voice to you. That is it. And you’re pairing us up. That’s why you kept calling her a—a cummy slut and a fucky doll and all that stuff, you wanted me to get into it. Into HER.”

“Taxpayer, are you done?” Melissa said.

“ Did the government tell you, whoever is fine? Just keep her off Whore Welfare? Is all you need to know is, do I have a bed? No criminal record?”

“Taxpayer, have you finished?” Melissa said. “It is four twelve a.m. where I am.”

Minnesota’s shoulder blades. Minnesota’s ears. So much surface area to have and enjoy.

“Yes. The taxpayer is done,” Joshua said. “Go ahead.”

Another lecture. He was ready for it, this time. The last time had taken him by surprise. This one, he was ready for. Looking forward to it. There weren’t many lectures left, from women, in the whole world, and he was going to get one.

This was a privilege, he felt.

“I am not doing this for you. I don’t care about you at all, Joshua. Not at all. All you fucking men. It kills me, it fucking—KILLS me—” Melissa unlocked a new tone of voice. Not a bit of government in it. “—that all this happened to you, and none of you are any happier. You’re the same whiny bullshit gender you were before. So I did this for the girl. Only for the girl. I talked up what a fun cummy cum slut she was. I made it sound like having a sex toy would be fun. It will be fun. And I lied to you. Yeah. She didn’t need to suck your dick. I did that because I knew once you rubbed your dick all over her, and shot your jizz down her throat, you’d get attached. And here’s the big secret, Joshua. Any girl—ANY girl—would know after two minutes of talking to you that you would care for her. Really care. So I tried to give you this new cocksucking bimbo. Sorry.”

Joshua flexed his fingers. He wasn’t angry at all. No breathing exercises or anything. Rubbing a personal slut, that turned out to be even better.

“Give me his number,” Joshua said. He smoothed back Minnesota’s hair, rubbed at her belly.

“It’s six fourteen in the morning where you are,” Melissa said.

This time he gave her a stony pause. For the first time.

She read it off to him.

“I’ll call you back,” Joshua said.

“It’s six in the morning, telemarketer guy. No, it can’t be that. There aren’t any telemarketers now. Who the f—”

“I found Minnesota,” Joshua said. “Do you want to come get her?”

He’d thought this through, sitting in the dark, watching the distant movement at the girl Pound. It was too far away to see what was happening, but there were stick figure legs, stick figure arms, silhouetted against the blaze of overhead incandescents. It had felt stupid to plan and anticipate, like he was capable of doing so, so soon after failing to read the instructions for how to make a pizza.

Another long silence. Joshua stuck his hand between Minnesota’s thighs. They were very warm. She murmured something bubbly through a thick sheen of spit. Drool words—that meant Golden Hour was starting.

“You should hurry if you’re getting her,” Joshua said. “She’s starting the—the impressionable period. Where you can make her grow impossibly big tits.”

“Oh,” the man said. Joshua wasn’t sure what to make of his voice. He’d expected either gravel-voiced chainsmoker or urbane soft-spoken cosmopolitan. This sounded like a guy who sold insurance in the midwest. “So she’s gone? The Minnesota of Minnesota is gone.”

“That’s really her name? Not Minnie? Not Mina?” Joshua said. “You call her, Minnesota. Like, good morning Minnesota.”

“Yeah. The full state,” the man said. More hesitation. “She okay? I mean, she’s not. It’s over, right? She’s over.”

Joshua tickled the inside of the girl’s legs. His pillow fell free. It had been mashed to a sodden pile. It would be impossible to sleep on, even as tired as he was. “I guess that’s one way to look at it,” he said. He inhaled her scent. Pleasant and floral. A contrast from the Goodwill Girls, who all smelled like spunk, as nice as they were.

“Alright,” the man said. “I’ll come over. Text me your address. Shoot. Her sister will be happy, I guess. Whole thing is fucked up, you know? Whole thing.”

“Sister? What’s the sister’s name? Wisconsin?”

“It’s—I mean, it’s Pussywillow now. No, man. Iris. It was Iris. Minnesota and Iris. Can you imagine? Hold on.” the man said. “Pussywillow, go make breakfast. Some guy found your sister. She’s a dumb slut like you now. Yeah, stop cheering, dummy. It’s sad.”

Joshua ran his fingers up Minnesota’s legs, and reached the tickle of her pubic hair. He rested his palm against her triangle. She was warm and wet. He took a breath.

“I mean, buddy, I’ll keep her, if that’s alright,” he said. “No need to get out of bed. I know its early.”

“Oh!” the man said.

Joshua waited, eyes tight and shut. He tousled his fingers in her pubes, rubbed a little pussy liquid against the top of her thighs.

“Oh, alright. I mean, yeah,” the man said. “Yeah, sure. Honestly, I could pull any girl out of the pound, it’d be the same, right? Really tough on the girls. I guess she does have those lips. Yeah, I’ll miss those lips. We weren’t really together very long.”

“Oh yeah, the lips are something,” Joshua said. He reached up and rubbed them. One and then the other. Got them glistening with her own cunny juice. “Alright, thanks. I’ll—I mean, I’ll try to take care of her. I’ll figure it out.” Did he say, thanks? No. No, this man didn’t deserve a thanks. None of them did.

“Oh, its easy, its easy,” the man said. “You just gotta get some of those contraceptives the government is handing out. They really do want to get knocked up. Other than that, they’re easy, literally easy. Yeah. Hey, thanks again. I’m glad to know what happened to her. So long, uh—”

You don’t know my name, and I don’t know yours, and neither of us know hers, anymore. Joshua thought. He hung up. This time he stuck a finger in the girl’s mouth, and just let her nuzzle it. Something was a little different, and it took him a moment to figure out what it was.

The girl wasn’t looking at the phone anymore.

The phone was dark and dead. They usually stopped, right after the mission. Turning a girl into a reliable floozy was hard on the circuitry. Instead she was looking at him, and still sucking gently on his finger. Were they bigger, those lips? Or was it just the glow of ownership, that first unboxing, when an object went from storefront to a personal acquisition? Joshua stood up.

“Suck,” he informed her.

The girl smiled at him, happy. She got into her knees like she’d done it a thousand times. She waited for him to pull out his own dick, which was, actually, what he wanted. Her pussy was drooling, and he inhaled, taking it all in. His cock strained in the open air, and then those soft, perfect pillows, wet with her pussy lubricant, were giving soft kisses to the tip. The girl pulled back only briefly before taking half his dick in her mouth at once. This time she was a pro from the start, and would never stop. Running her tongue along the underside, gentle, relaxed rhythm.

He dialed Melissa.

“I’m keeping her,” he said. “You win. I will keep and care for the bimbo doll.”

“Okay, good,” Melissa said. She didn’t sound as relieved as he’d secretly hoped. But it was four twenty-five in the morning where she was. And what was he expecting, applause? He’d acquired a sex slave. The girl grabbed his butt, and scooched closer, so she could fit more dick in her mouth. “Soon she’ll drop the phone. That means she’s done being turned into your personal fuck doll. For about an hour—”

“She’s already done. She’s sucking my cock right now,” Joshua said.

“Okay. Well. Great,” Melissa said. “I’ll call back when—”

“No, lets get it done,” Joshua said. “ her to me. Name, Minnie Bosko. Is it better, if she has my last name?”

“Yeah, it’s a good idea,” Melissa said. “I’m—I’m sorry I yelled at you. Twice. I suppose this was a harder one than I’d anticipated.”

“It’s fine, it’s okay to be angry sometimes,” Joshua said. “I get that. It’s a tough world.”

Minnie Bosko sped up. She was getting more fevered. Joshua’s life hadn’t been overflowing with blowjobs, but this was already at another tier. And he hadn’t needed to heat her up to outgas or anything. She came fully assembled, and ready to go. It was going to be great, he hoped. He already had her first outfit picked out. Red polka dot panties, a sort of black bolero shirt, and black thigh-highs. Kinda Minnie Mouse-ish, now that he thought about it. But, fine.

“Her prior property goes to the state. You get her body. You’ll get a deed in the mail,” Melissa said. Joshua was laboring to keep from cumming. “Well. On to the next one for me. You know it’s Golden Hour. You know what you’re going to say?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Joshua grabbed Minnie’s hair, to slow her down. There was no hurry. She seemed to pick up on what he wanted, and settled back to a more relaxed tongue bath. Such a good girl, he thought. He’d need to plan the day. Get some sleep. Call in sick. Fuck her mouth some more. He owed Walter a beer.

“Great,” Melissa said.

“Hey, you know, I travel a lot,” Joshua said. “You’re outside Portland? Maybe we’ll visit? Could just be a few more months, we’re usually in coastal states over the winter, where there’s no snow.”

“I don’t think I’m going to last that long,” Melissa said.

One last little Melissa pause.

“But thank you, taxpayer. Enjoy her mouth. I think you’ll do great with her.”

She hung up before Joshua could say anything. Joshua maxxed out. This time around, Minnie obediently went nearly still, with just a slight shiver betraying her own, delighted orgasm. She was cumming as well, from making master cum. It gave her overwhelming pleasure to make him happy. She dutifully swallowed very delicious drop, and although she was tired, she waited at his feet, to hear what he had to say.

“Okay, Golden Hour,” Joshua said. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. He’d worked on this. “Here goes. I, your new master, actually, not sure you know my name, it’s Joshua.”

“Master!” Minnie said, very happy.

“Right. Okay. Minnie. That’s your name. Be a good girl and a good cocksucker. That’s all.” Joshua put the paper away.

His fuck doll looked at him.

“Alright,” Joshua said, to his toy, that he owned. “We’re gonna dress you up, and then we’re making breakfast pizzas.”