Chemical Control

Authors Notes:

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Content Warning:

This is a mind control story, almost all consent will be dubious at best, and some degree of misogyny is baked into the premise. This story will involve frequent mentions of illegal **** use, and themes of addiction. Mental illnesses like ADHD, anxiety disorder, and bipolar disorder will be mentioned, but will hopefully not feature in any ways that are disrespectful. This will be reminiscent of a lot of “Bimbofication,” stories, but will differ in the crucial point that the women’s intelligence is not reduced. Frankly, I don’t find dumber women sexier, and I think it also cheapens the impact of mind control if there’s not much of a mind left to control.

This tale is very near and dear to my heart, because it's heavily inspired by my real life experiences living in a run down house with a bunch of sex workers, partying, and doing a lot of **** with those girls. Names and backstories have been changed.

The fetish half of the story was primarily inspired by tales such as those written by the wonderful limerick, Menoetes, and stories like the "Cum Addiction" Lesbian Aunt Branch, "Last Bridge In Pittsburgh," "Good to the Last Drop," and the incredible "WICKed Hormones."

Obviously this story will not be “realistic” in the sense nothing in here can happen IRL, but I want everything in this story to at least follow the laws of physics and a moderate understanding of human anatomy. What that means is no inflation; dicks will stay within porn sizes, tits will weigh as much as they should for the size they are described as being, and will sag realistically. Characters will still need to eat and drink as much as they would need to lactate and cum huge amounts. Growth will be on the slower side.

This is the first erotic story I've ever written, so feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Alkim

Alkim finally made it home from his job at Benihana. Fuck hibachi, and fuck everyone who eats there! He’d only had the job for a few weeks, but he was more than ready to move on. The money had been good enough at the start, but lately it wasn’t worth the aggravation that came with the territory.

Ten hours of high stress interactions, juggling tables, remembering idiotic requests, and following through on those idiotic requests quickly enough to please shithead customers. His three-hundred dollars in tips last Friday was an amazing haul, but some days went as low as five dollars. Today was a three-dollar day. The day’s greatest humiliation was chasing down a customer to return their forgotten credit card, only to discover that the rich bastard hadn’t even tipped.

With every shift, Alkim could feel his sanity being chipped away, piece by piece, much like the paint job on his used BMW. The great city of Los Angeles had not been very kind to either of them since Alkim had graduated with his bachelor’s in biology and found himself with no clear direction to go with it. Several months of volunteering at a hospital only taught him that he didn’t want to go into medicine, and the admission resulted in his family cutting him off financially. Waiting tables had been the first job he could get, a stopgap at best.

Fortunately Alkim had managed to get the next week off from work, and was going to make the most of it by applying to better jobs; lab assistant gigs, TA positions, tutoring, SAT prep, even a fucking medical scribe job if he could find one. Anything that would let him use his scientific expertise and get the fuck away from customer service.

Seven days of adderall induced focus would ensure he’d check enough listings, write those emails, and find something that would get his life on the right track. Maybe he could ask Alyssa about any openings in her lab. He’d call her about it, tomorrow.

Starting tomorrow, for sure. Tonight, Alkim was going to unwind, de-stress from the week, and get fucked up with a beautiful woman.

He parked in the driveway, fumbled around for the right key, entered and hurriedly removed his shoes, discarding them by the front door. He rushed to his room, throwing off his uniform, piece by piece. Each uncomfortable article removed was another memory of work-induced stress discarded. He selected some cheap, breathable shirt, and a pair of performance shorts, which was all he could comfortably wear in this late summer heatwave, and changed into them.

"Alkim, is that you?" Kate asked from her bedroom on the other side of the house. "How was work?"

Alkim made his way over to her room, "Bad, money was really shitty today, and my customers were all morons. I swear to Godzilla, if just one more person asks me for ranch-fucking-dressing in a fucking Japanese restaurant, I will start snapping necks!"

She laughed. "Tsk, tsk, **** will cost you tips."

"But it would increase my job satisfaction, a solid trade-off. Besides, customers might tip more if they feared retaliation." Alkim joked as he walked into his best friend’s room.

There he found Kate in her usual state, lying prone on her bed, ass up, staring at her phone. He took the opportunity to ogle her from behind, as he often did.

Kate was five-foot-five-inches of primo Chinese e-thot material. Her pert, heart-shaped ass was only half covered by red booty shorts that read “STAY BACK 200 FEET,” a warning which Alkim never heeded. The half-globes stuck out so alluringly high above the gentle curve of her spine: a genuine bubble butt. Kate sat up to grab her vape, eyes still glued to her phone, allowing Alkim to take in her front half.

Fuck, it's like she's photoshopped.

In a way, she kinda was; her tattoos, piercings, purple hair, nose job, and double-eyelid surgery were far from natural. None of that made her any less attractive to Alkim, and it definitely didn't detract from her natural assets, those being her huge, natural, F-cup tits. Big, round, perky, and all around photogenic. Her nipples were poking into the thin white fabric of her shirt, this one featuring a Japanese, cartoon drawing of a milk carton on it, because of course it did.

Alkim thought Kate was a thoroughly ridiculous person, and that was a good portion of her appeal. A self-proclaimed “Big-titty goth GF.” Though Kate was painfully single, she fit the rest of that description perfectly; she had ear, lip, belly button, and nipple piercings; tattoos of anime girls and flowers; ever-shifting hair colors; and of course, her mouth-wateringly huge jugs. One time, before a party, Kate asked Alkim how she looked in her outfit, to which he answered, “Like you sell bathwater online,” which she could not dispute. She could probably make a killing if she could tolerate talking to horny men online.

Alkim quickly took in Kate's casual sexiness before pretending to check his phone. They both knew each other well enough by now that Alkim wasn't really worried about her catching him looking, but he tried not to jeopardize his position here by crossing any lines. She knew he was straight, and that she was his type, but he definitely didn’t want to stare so much that she felt self-conscious and started to dress more conservatively. That would be fucking heartbreaking.

A self-conscious Kate might notice how often her nipples slipped out of her tops, or she might check that she was wearing panties underneath the long men's shirts she’d pilfered from Alkim’s wardrobe. Truthfully, it was hard to imagine Kate ever changing her wardrobe just because of his staring, but why take the risk?

Fucking hell, what a body.

Those tits have been a constant obsession of Alkim’s ever since they’d met, and what a meeting that was.