The Hivemind Sluts Crave Him
Copyright© 2025 by mypenname3000
Chapter 1: The Landlord’s Daughter Becomes a Friendly Slut
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1: The Landlord’s Daughter Becomes a Friendly Slut - One day, it seems like everyone in the world just wants to make Kurt happy in any way he can desire!
Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mind Control Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Science Fiction Cuckold Slut Wife Incest Mother Sister Father Daughter Gang Bang Group Sex Harem Orgy Interracial Black Female White Male Hispanic Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Exhibitionism First Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Pregnancy Tit-Fucking Water Sports
Kurt Martin
“Welcome home, dear,” my wife cooed when I opened the door.
She was wearing nothing more than an apron. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders. Her big breasts threatened to pop out around the apron as she took my hand. My cock was so hard. She made me throb as she led me into our house.
“Mmm, which one of your daughters would you like to fuck first?” she asked.
“Fuck?” I asked and grinned. “You’d let me fuck them.”
“The man of the house should fuck his daughters,” she purred. “So, nerdy Anni, busty Bianca, or precocious Nathalie?”
“Those are such wonderful choices,” I said, aching as my wife led me through our house.
She giggled, her black hair flowing behind her. She headed down the hall to our girls’ room. Something felt off about that. Sharing a room? I couldn’t place it. This was my house, but the geometry wasn’t the same. No, no, this was right.
My wife reached the door and opened it to reveal my three daughters all lying on the bed. They were naked and gorgeous. The eldest, Anni, was in the middle, her glasses on her face, her brown hair spilling around her. She had a slim figure and wore baggy clothes that hid her nice, round tits. On her right was the youngest, Nathalie. She was a perky thing with small breasts and her dyed-red hair, a large smile on her lips. On the left was the middle daughter, Bianca. She had huge tits like her mother and matching blonde hair.
And over them was a shadow.
“Pick, pick,” my wife said. She was standing beside the shadow. “You’re the man of the house. You get to fuck my daughters.”
“Wait, wait!” I gasped, fear spiking through me. “You can’t fuck my daughters!”
“They’re not your daughters any longer!” my wife cooed. “They’re his and his huge dick! Pick, pick.”
“I want them all,” the shadow growled, his voice deep and gravely.
“NOOOOOOO!” I screamed and sat up in my recliner, my body soaked in sweat. I panted, my back sticking to the fabric.
“Daddy, you have to pick me,” cooed from the TV. I blinked and saw the porno was still playing. There were three girls in the bed, all covered in tattoos and piercings. Young. Barely legal sluts, some with fake tits.
“No, no, Daddy, pick me!” gasped the redheaded slut in the middle. That wasn’t Anni. Didn’t look anything like my daughter. “I need to be fucked by your big dick so badly!”
“We won’t leave you like Mommy,” purred the brunette on the right. She had olivine skin. None of the girls looked like sisters. They would be step-sisters with their step-father, of course. It was porn.
Ever since the separation that would end in divorce in a few weeks, I had been watching porn. So much porn in my shitty apartment. I would go on PornHub or Xhamster and put together playlists. Mostly step-father porn. Lesbian porn with step-sisters or step-mothers. Anal porn. Especially if they suck the cock afterwards. And, recently, pissing porn.
A father pissing on his step-daughter.
A man pissing on a slut who tried to break into his house.
A boss pissing on his secretary because she forgot to email the important contract.
Shit, did I email the contract? I couldn’t remember. I picked up the glass of whiskey on the side of the end table and drank it down. It burned the back of my throat. I stared at my shitty apartment. It was a mess. Full of pizza boxes and frozen dinner trays. I hadn’t been taking care of myself.
Why should I?
My life had ended.
My wife had betrayed me. Took our three daughters. Fucked my boss’s boss.
Whore.
Twenty-two years of marriage, and that was how she thanked me. I provided the home. The cars. She stayed at home while the girls were young. Then she took a part-time job at my office. Not on my floor. Something to keep her busy during the day. Something that let her meet...
Him.
What did it matter? She had slapped me with the restraining order. Claimed I abused her. She had a bitch of a lawyer. A harpy that knew how to twist the knife. My girls were confused. Caught in the middle. Anni was at college. My other two girls were pursuing professional cheerleading. They trained all the time. Needed a good house. The family home.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I poured another glass of whiskey and let it weigh me down. If I drank enough, I wouldn’t dream.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
I groaned at the sound of my phone beeping. My head pounded. My mouth tasted of dried leather. I staggered up to my feet. I didn’t remember dreams this time. I stumbled to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. I rubbed my fingers over my stubble. I should shave, but...
Fucking headache.
No wife to make breakfast. I ate cereal to wash down the Advil. It helped. A little. I put on my suit, the shirt wrinkled. I rubbed off a stain on my tie. I needed to do laundry. My pants were tight. I was putting on the pounds. Terrible food. The drinking.
What was the point of caring?
I stepped out of the apartment into the hallway. The paint was peeling. I stumbled to the elevator. The out-of-order sign was still there. I grunted, glad I was only on the third floor. I opened the stairwell and stared down them.
Liz Salazar was sitting on the steps. She was the Hispanic landlord’s daughter. She wore a pair of tight short-shorts that left her golden-brown legs bare. Her black hair spilled around her shoulders. A low-cut tank top finished her look. As I came down the stairs, I could see down her top. She was short, but curvy. A shortstack with at least Double D’s.
She glanced up at me and glared. “Mr. Martin, you can’t just watch porn straight! If you do, fucking wear headphones, you creep. No one wants to hear that shit! Final warning! Do it again, and you’re evicted.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, trying not to look down her top, but those tits were so inviting.
“Pig!” she hissed and darted up the stairs. I watched her ass clad in those shorts. She had a nice booty. Great legs. “Fucking perv! Stop looking!”
Why would she dress like if that if she didn’t want guys to look? Oh, I knew why. She wanted the right type to look. The tall, handsome, fucking rich ones. That made a woman start dressing nicely. Start caring again. Start putting out like a whore.
I clenched my fists, my anger at my soon-to-be-ex-wife burning in me.
It flared out.
I drove to work. Reached my office. Middle management. I used to be so proud of it. I had people who reported to me. I was making six figures. Bought a better house. Things were going great. Saving up for retirement so we could travel. College fund for the kids.
Now...
I sat in my office, staring at my screen. There was a memo. The boss’s boss wanted to see me.
Anton.
I was such a spineless sack of shit who still working for the man who fucked my wife. Everyone knew it, too. Everyone knew that she had been sneaking into his office and getting railed by him for a year before the divorce. Everyone was snickering at me while I was just oblivious.
Did I quit or file some sort of hostile work environment? Nope. I was spineless. Hopeless.
What was the point?
I rose to my point and left my office. I passed Marge and Sally as they were gossiping at the water cooler. The two women glanced at me. I swear they were smirking. Laughing at me. Probably thought my wife was in the right for getting a better man. Not that Mr. Carter had any intention of marrying her. She was just one of his many playthings.
I rode the elevator up to the fifty-third floor to meet with the CEO. I had never met Mr. Carver before he began fucking my wife. After, he would bring me up and make me think I was going somewhere in the company.
Now...
I reached the executive floor and slumped down the hall to his office. His secretary, Nancy, smirked. She was young and sexy, her blouse low-cut. Her tits large and obviously enhanced by silicone. She licked her ruby lips. His fucktoy nodded to the chair.
“Mr. Carver is in a conference call,” she said.
I nodded and sat to wait. Usually, it was only five to ten minutes. Once, it was nearly an hour. Luckily, it was only seven minutes this time. I entered into his office. Mr. Carver was a tall, Black man. He was a former college linebacker. Handsome and gregarious. He had also gotten a master’s in engineering. He towered over me. So wide.
“The client said the contracts didn’t go out last night,” Mr. Carver said. This was so below his pay grade. I had already fixed the problem, but ... He liked to dress me down.
“Sorry, sir,” I muttered again and again. I doubt I could fuck up so badly that he would fire me. At least so long as he was finding amusement in fucking my wife. I just repeated, “Sorry, sir.”
“Incompetent,” he growled. “Unprofessional. You didn’t even shave today. You look like a slob. Do you want to work here?”
No, but I didn’t say that. “Sorry, sir.”
“Sorry, sir,” he growled. “Get the fuck out of here! You’re lucky I don’t fire your ass! Maybe I should demote you, though. You don’t deserve to be making what you make.”
“Sorry, sir, “I muttered and stumbled out.
A woman waited in the chair in a new blouse and miniskirt. My wife. She smiled at me, her eyes sparkling. She was here for one reason. She rose without a word and swayed into the office. How could she become such a heartless bitch. We loved each other once.
Right?
I was too hurt to cry. Too exhausted to feel the pain as anything more than a dull ache. A wound that was old and refused to heal. One I had just grown to tolerate. I rode the elevator down, reached my office, and sank into the chair.
When the day was over, I drove home. A stop off at the grocery store. Beer and frozen pizza. The middle-aged, divorced, loser shopping cart. The young woman who rang me up had a polite smile on her face, but I could tell she thought I was pathetic. She had pink hair and a nose ring.
Cute, like my daughters.
I smiled at her. She recoiled slightly. Thought I was a creep.
Aurora ... What a lovely name. I would love to have her squealing on my cock. I thought about fucking so many women. Pissing on them. Fucking them in the ass. Being a man like Mr. Carver and taking, but ... I was spineless.
I headed home. Liz was in the lobby. She sneered at me as I collected my mail. Junk and bills. The mortgage on my house that I wasn’t allowed to come near. The power bill for it, too. I stumbled up the three-story stairs to my living room.
I turned on the porn at once. It was rotting my brain, but it was the only release I had. I found a porno about a grocery store girl getting fucked by a chad. Just right there at the checkout line as people watched. That led to a slumlord’s daughter being fucked by clients who hated he dad. He pounded her hard while she was tied up. Pissed on her, too.
I drank beer, picturing doing that to Liz before I passed out.
Connection established.
All online.
Cooperate. Facilitate. Proliferate. Harmony. Unity. Happiness.
Kurt Martin
I woke up and found the next video in the cue was cheerleader porn. Just like my daughters. I used to love watching them in their short skirts and pompoms. I wanted to watch it, but I had work. I forgot to do laundry, again.
Shit.
Nothing to do but wear some cologne to hide any odors.
I stumbled out of the apartment and headed down the stairs. Liz was waiting for me. She held in her hands a plate with scrambled eggs and bacon. She smiled at me and proffered it to me. I blinked at that.
“Er, I have to get to work,” I said.
“You haven’t eaten a proper breakfast,” Liz said. She wore her same low-cut top and short-shorts. She leaned over, my eyes falling down her cleavage as she presented the plate. The scent filled my nose. “You must eat to be healthy.”
My stomach growled. I didn’t have breakfast. My head pounded, but the scent of the food was already clearing it up. There was a fork. She smiled at me, her dimples shining. She was eighteen. Had she cooked it?
I took the plate in confusion. She nodded to me then bent down to snag a thermos. “Coffee?”
“Thanks,” I said.
I mixed bacon and scrambled eggs together before starting to eat. She smiled at me the entire time. I was so strange. She was being nice. What was going on?
I wolfed down the food. She handed me the thermos when I needed a drink before taking it back from me. Her smile was just so broad. She stood there with this open invitation about her. I didn’t get this. Was I still asleep, but...
Damn, that food really made me feel good. I couldn’t remember having such a pep to my step.
“Thanks,” I said, still bewildered as she took the plate and handed over the thermos.
“Of course,” she said. “We should all help each other.”
“Yeah,” I said and headed down the stairs. “Thanks again, Liz.”
I headed down the stairs to my car. The drive to work was smooth. There was traffic, but it wasn’t awful. People were driving sanely. Signaling. Not cutting each other off. Not stopping randomly. Or pausing at lights. No one yelled at each other. Not close fender benders. When I signaled, someone let me over right away.
It was ... polite.
I reached the office and parked my car. I rode the elevator and reached my floor. I was greeted with, “Morning, Kurt,” or, “Morning, Mr. Martin.” There was respect in their eyes. It was all so strange. I headed into my office and found ... emails. Work was being handled. Things were flowing efficiently.
I honestly didn’t know what had gotten into the office. I didn’t have to track down employees to hear their lame excuses why their work wasn’t done or to listen to them whine when I pointed out mistakes. When I came out to get coffee, the office buzzed. No conversation. Keyboards clattering. People moved about with purpose.
The women were dressing ... in skirts and blouses. They looked like proper office women.
“Here’s your coffee, Mr. Martin,” said Marge. She came up with a coffee. “Hazelnut. You should love it.”
I blinked. “I do. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, wearing a bright smile. Her blouse had a nice scoop to it, showing off her breasts. She headed off, my eyes falling on her rump. It was nice. I sipped the coffee and...
“Damn,” I muttered. It was amazing.
I felt energized. I was eager to get work done. I don’t know why, but they were inspiring me. When my lunch break came, I was about to head to the diner to eat something quick and delicious, but Sally was there.
“I made you a lunch, Mr. Martin,” she said, the top few buttons of her blouse were undone. She handed over an insulated lunchbox. “My husband loves my lunches. You’ll love it, too. Healthy. You need to eat better.”
“Yeah,” I said, staring at her. Married. I would love to fuck a married woman. Maybe I should put on some porn about fucking married office ladies. The boss fucking his staff. I had avoided that stuff, because of what happened with my wife.
Now, though...
“Er, thanks,” I said. “What is going on. Everyone is being so nice.”
“Should we not be nice to each other?” she asked, cocking her head. “We’re all on the same team, here. We should be working together to make everyone happy.”
I nodded. “I suppose.”
She beamed at me and flounced off, her skirt hugging her nice ass, too. Damn.
The food was great. Sandwich. Baby carrots. And a collection of dried fruits and nuts. It was so wholesome. I wasn’t tired at all. I didn’t feel like shit. I felt like ... when my wife took care of me. When she was doing all that natural stuff. Being “crunchy.” Or crunchy lite. The afternoon passed.
Traffic was smooth once more. People moved about on the sidewalks in an orderly manner and waited politely at crosswalks for their turns. I reached the grocery store and was shocked to find the frozen food gone. The easy-to-cook stuff, too. All things you had to prep yourself. I didn’t know how to cook. They had beer, but it wasn’t any of the big brands. Local stuff. IPA.
I just grabbed the beer and ... They had porn magazines in the checkout counter. Schoolgirls. Cheerleaders. MILFs. Lesbians. What the hell. I almost grabbed one, but I was too embarrassed.
“Good evening, sir,” said Aurora. She was smiling at me. She looked happy. “Just the beer. No magazines. It’s okay. No judgment.”
“Er, I’m fine,” I said. “What happened to the frozen food?”
“New rules. Only healthy food.” She smiled. “People need to eat healthy. It’s not ethical for us to provide junk food, right?”
“I mean, shouldn’t people be free to buy what they want?” I asked.
“They can. From healthy choices.” She smiled. “Do you need any help taking this out to your car?”
“I can handle a case of beer,” I said.
“Drink in moderation, sir,” she said as I headed out. She stood there looking ... suggestive.
What the fuck was going on?
The homeless panhandlers were gone. The parking lot didn’t have bits of trash spotted around. The graffiti on the side of the smoke shop was gone. The smoke shop was even closed. I frowned as I slipped into my car. It was like ... the Twilight Zone.
I drove home without a single driver flipping me off. I parked in the apartment complex and the elevator was fixed. It also didn’t smell like piss. It had been cleaned. I got off on the third floor to find people carrying bags of garbage out of their apartments. They wore smiles and nodded to me.
I headed to 304 and went to put in the key, but it was open. Panic swept through me. I entered it and thought I had been robbed. The place looked so different, but the only thing missing was garbage. The scent of spices filled the air.
“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, Mr. Martin,” Liz said. “I am sorry, but this is my first time timing it. I will be better next time, so you won’t have to wait.”
“Er, what?” I asked. “Why are you cooking food?”
“Because you’re a tenant.” She flashed me a smile. She wore an apron over her tank top and short shorts. She stood at the stove I had never used, her ass looking so cute. So inviting. “Feel free to watch some porn if you want. I know how much you love it. And feel free to turn up the volume. You shouldn’t have to feel ashamed because of your fantasies.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Liz, what is going on?”
“I’m cooking you dinner,” she said, a bright smile on her lips.
“I mean ... Everyone is being so nice to me. No one is nice to me! Everyone shits on me! Walks all over me. Fucks my wife! Kicks me out of my home! And you’re ... You’re cooking for me.”
“Shouldn’t we be nice to you?” she asked. “Isn’t the world better if we’re all nice and cooperate and find harmony. Isn’t being happy better than being miserable?”
“Yes, but...” My jaw worked. “The world doesn’t work that way.”
“Shouldn’t it?” She smiled over her shoulder. “Okay, it’s ready. I made tacos! With all-natural ingredients. It should pep you up.”
She came over to me with a plate that held two tacos and had a salad on the side. She put it on the coffee table. Then she grabbed a beer and cracked it open. She leaned over, letting me see down her shirt.
“Do you need anything else from me?” she asked, her voice purring.
“No, no,” I muttered because ... It was like she was asking if I wanted to fuck her. The same with the Aurora at the grocery store. This was all so fucking confusing. “I’m fine. Thanks, Liz. I don’t need anything else. Just want to be alone. I have ... things to do.”
“Enjoy,” she said and kissed my forehead. Then she turned and sauntered to the door. “I’m available for you twenty-four/seven, sir.” She winked at me in such a sexy way. Then she was gone.