The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

PART I: Were the World Mine

There’s this certain conception among guys of lesbians as these curvaceous, hot to trot dolls, ready to plant their collagen lips on everyone and everything they lay eyes on. The startlet. The porn star. Megan Fox. I hate to break it to you guys, but it simply isn’t true.

I wish it were, though.

The fact of the matter is, the vast majority of us are average human beings, with pimples, rosacea, and flabby stomachs, looking more like candidates for a reality-show makeover than knockout blondes with big tits who just happen to make out with girls. If only mine were as bountiful. But as a eighteen year old girl with decent breasts, who is forced to watch as gals with B’s and C’s pick up guys and girls alike without any effort, I am convinced the universe is out to get me in the worst way.

Take Naomi Jane. Six foot tall, blonde, with a chest a chest a thirty-year old actress would go under the knife for. She’s the most popular girl in school—maybe the second most popular, after the cheerleaders. Rumor is as soon as she gets out of school she’s skipping college and going straight to New York to be some A-lister’s understudy on Broadway. Every year in homeroom I’ve sat in the back, hoping she’ll turn around and do that cute smile she does, better yet, blow me a kiss.

There’s just one problem. Naomi’s into guys. I mean, really into them. Seems like every week she has a new piece of boy candy draped on her arm, which I could care less about either way. But after walking up to her table in the cafeteria week after week for the last three years, asking her in vain to come sit with me and my friends, I’m getting tired of waiting for things to happen.

But here I am again, in the caf, working up the nerve to go talk to her knowing she’ll swat me away like some peasant on a landed estate. My palms are wet just thinking about it. Sheila Jenkins is giving me that double-dog dare-look again, the instigator. What does she take me for, some poor fool who’ll lick the flagpole when it’s freezing outside? I may not be the cat’s meow ,but I wasn’t born yesterday.

About Sheila. At 5′5, she is the only person I know personally who is taller than me. Her big claim to fame is a passing resemblance to Joey Ramone. But Sheila is fearless—more than I, with a sense of humor that would put Puck to shame. She’s also been my best friend since first grade.

Rounding out the merry nerds is Terri, resident tech-geek, Alyssa, who’s seen every episode of Pokemon in existence without a seizure, cosplay dork Charlie, and dungeon master-in-residence Ben. He’s the guy who decides whether our heroes or heroines get slayed by a level three mage or seduced by a succubus. Did I mention he’s a virgin?

After much ribbing from the team, I can’t take it anymore. As I walk towards Naomi, I can help but review some facts.

Fact: Naomi is an Amazon. I am a plus size reject from The Hobbit.

Fact: Naomi is an accomplished member of the drama and film club, as well as president of our student council. My friends and I meet in my parent’s basement every weekend to play Dungeons and Dragons (Orcs rule!).

Fact: Naomi has a future ahead of her. I have to look forward to a career stacking things at the local Best Buy.

I say my peace and she looks at me quizically, the same way she’s done for the past three and a half-years. She shoos me away like an urchin from a Dickens novel. She’s right. I am not worthy of her attention. I am subhuman.

But all that is going to change.

PART II: Learning Curve

You may be wondering what I’m doing holding up a microwave antenna in a thicket in the middle of nowhere. Okay, I wouldn’t call the suburb where I live the middle of nowhere, but you get the idea. No, I’m not trying to pull down messages from outer space. I have enough drama in my life without having to deal with little green men trying to contact me.

To tell you the truth, I wish I knew why myself. Standing amidst a bunch of trees, wind whipping my otherwise perfect red hair, doesn’t sound like a great way to spend a Saturday afternoon. I’d rather be sleeping in, playng with my friends or watching reruns of Saturday Anime on TV. But Herman insisted that I at least try to learn how this thing works before I put it to work on a real target, AKA Naomi. I’m not one to complain when it comes to homework, but nothing crawls up my butt more than having to spend my normally vegstastic weekend, y’know, working.

Just ask my mom.

But, the dude has a point. How else am I going to figure out how to paint this thing on a moving target without some practice? He’s the mad scientist in training. I’m just the poor horny girl who paid him a mint for what amounts to a dish and a headset. The people in the cul-de-sac probably think I’m some UFO nerd or conspiracy nut or something. If only they knew what was really going on, they’d probably call in the FBI or CIA. I’m chuckling just thinking about it right now.

A little background: After sticking my thumb up my ass working up the courage to do something about Naomi for what seems like forever, a week ago I called up one of my D and D friends. She in turn got in contact with a friend of hers, who got in touch with someone else, and next thing you know this Herman kid calls me one afternoon and wants to set up a meet to discuss my little “problem”. Small world, huh?

Anyway, I convinced my mom to drop me off at the food court at the mall—meeting with friends, I told her. To my great surprise, she didn’t roll her eyes or anything—just jumped in the SUV with me and off we went. I think she was actually glad her shut-in daughter was making an effort to go out. Dad was more skeptical, asking me all these questions about what I was doing there, how long I’d stay, when I’d come back. But that’s his job. I told him we’d be hanging out at the Hot Topic. He shrugged and waved goodbye.

Searching for someone you know in a crowd is hard enough. Even harder when you have no idea who you’re looking for.

I had a devil of a time looking for him. I’d envisioned a short haired ginger with thick glasses and freckles, glancing awkwardly at the jumble of pimply faced teens as tries to pick me out of the crowd. I got the awkward part right, but turns out he’s more Daniel Day-Lewis than the kid from Dexter’s Laboratory. I’d jump his bones if I were straight. And had moderate social skills.

He looked around nervously, avoiding eye contact. Checking to make sure he’s not being watched, I presumed.

“You came alone?”

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Open your jacket. I want to see what’s inside.”

I did what I was told—I didn’t want to walk away empty handed, after all.

“Nothing under my sleeve.” I chuckled nervously.

“You’re not a narc, are you?”

I tried not to laugh.

“Who do you think I am?” I cracked wise. “One of the Mod Squad?”

“You could fool me.” He pushes what appeared to be a tape recorder with a headset towards me.

I picked it up. For a tape recorder, it felt heavy. I estimated it to be around three, maybe four pounds. Except for the tin foil bowl thingy attached at the end, it looked like the sort of thing my mom would’ve used to take dictation at work. I wondered if he was crazy like a fox or simply crazy.

“What’s this?” I pointed at it.

“Parabolic microwave antenna.” Herman answered cryptically. “Normally it beams from two to five megahertz, but with this booster box it can cover much more territory. Much, much more.”

“So, I can get HBO and Showtime for free. Big deal. What makes this different?”

Herman glanced around pensively. For a moment I thought he’d launch into a rant about the Greys or Area 51. But he just placed his elbows on the table and looked at me earnestly.

“Ever heard of HAARP?”

“I watch The X-Files. I know what it is.”

“Well, this is a lot like that.” He smirked. “I like to think of it as the economy version.”

“Plain English, Einstein?”

“Let me put it this way.” The sixteen-year old stroked his chin. “See this microphone here?”

I nodded.

“You talk into it, and it translates your into a microwave signal that travels out of this dish here. Basically you can beam messages into people’s brains, stuff like that. The signal is not as strong as what the military uses, but decent enough for your purposes.”

“Any side effects?”

“Just the occasional itchiness, a migraine or two. Nothing too long term, I hope. Of course, this is a prototype, so I won’t know for sure what the downside is until we deploy it into the field.”

I leaned back, incredulous.

“We?”

“Well, this is my one and only prototype.”

“So what does that make me? Your lab assistant?”

“Think of it as a small price to pay for access.” He shrugged.

“How much?” I fumbled through my pocketbook.

“Two fifty upfront. Another two-fifty after the pilot project’s over.

Five hundred dollars. I did the math. It came out to six months. Six months of my freaking allowance. I nearly choked.

“Here’s a down payment.” I laid one fifty on the table. “It’s all I have for right now.”

“Fair enough.” The pipsqueak shrugged.

As I grabbed the tin-foil mind control thingy, I couldn’t help but turn around and ask him one last question.

“Who taught you how to do all this?”

“My father’s an engineer at the military base. That’s all I’m allowed to say, really.”

Like father, like son. I should’ve known.

So where was I?

Right, target practice. I figure on a balmy day like this, there’d at least be a trickle of joggers, golfers, or the occasional senior citizen taking a stroll. If no one else shows up than at least I could count on the joggers. Those people are relentless. ‘Course, I’ve been standing here for at least ninety minutes without so much as a soul walking past me.

Then I remember we don’t have sidewalks. At least ones people actually use. What’s the point of walking when people could climb into their SUVs and drive thirty minutes to the local park? Even the die-hard golfers drive their carts and what not down to the club, and it’s a half-mile away from my house.

My arm is getting tired holding this POS up. My legs are killing me. All I want to do is go home and flop on the bed and watch tv, maybe rub one out while the ‘rents aren’t home. Sure as hell more productive than standing here pretending something’s going to happen.

Maybe I’m going about this all wrong. I’m starting to think that maybe this is all one big practical joke on me. Everybody at school knows how hard I have it for Naomi. They probably paid that Herman kid to tell me what I wanted to hear. Maybe this is their way of rubbing it in that I’m a failure—no pun intended.

Wait...waitaminute. I see someone running by. Dark sweats, blue windbreaker. She appears to be wearing a visor or something. Her hair’s sort of a bleached blonde. She looks familiar...

Kelli. Kelli Reynolds.

Mom hates that bitch, excuse my French. I mean, she literally can’t talk about her without her blood pressure going up. Kelli’s like, one of the biggest realtors at the office where Mom works. She’s made the Million Dollar Club five times in a row. You can’t turn on the TV without seeing a commercial with her in it. Her face is all over the park benches too.

No telling how many clients she stole from Mom. Rumor is she’s slept with all of them—the male ones, anyway. Her boss, too. There is a special place in Hell waiting for her. But seeing as she’s coming my way, what’s wrong with a little experimentation?

Let’s point this thing at her and see what happens. If I remember correctly, all I have to do is press this button to speak and...

“Stop.”

She carries on, as if nothing happened.

“Stop.” I speak louder.

Kelli freezes, like completely. She tries to move her legs, but they seem planted on the ground. There’s a look of confusion on her face. I don’t think she has any idea what’s going on.

“Take off your Jacket.” I command her. “Slowly.”

Her eyes dart around, as if trying to make up her mind whether the voice inside her head is real or just the wind whipping around. A frown of anger appears as she makes an effort to resist, yet magically her hands grasp her windbreaker and peel it off, discarding it by the side of the road.

I spy a glimpse of her D cup breasts through her sweat stained tank top—definitely plastic. No wonder she gets so much action. I feel like such a voyeur, staring at her. This is what teenage boys do, not mild mannered girls like myself. I’m supposed to be above such objectification. Yet here I am, salivating.

She juts her chest out as I command her, giving me a profile view of her precious silicone pillows.I hardly believe it myself. I want to believe that I imagined it, like a placebo for horny teenage girls. But eyes don’t lie. I can only imagine the racing thoughts in her head right now. If the roles were reversed, I’d feel the same way. Yet I can’t look away.

I know it’s wrong, but... My finger hovers over the button. Maybe it’s not too late to pull out as it were, erase her mind and send her on her merry way. She’ll return from her jog with only a vague rememberance of what happened. No one will have to know.

I struggle to remember a period in my life when I’ve ever had such control over anything. I draw a blank. I am always the powerless, the forgotten, the ignored, the downtrodden. Being trampled upon is almost my joie de vivre, and here I am, wielding power over another human as though she’s my marionnette.

This could be my saving throw.

I continue to play with her. One by one apparel falls by the wayside. Sweats, tank top, visor. She poses in her underwear, bending over to show her ample cleavage. She blows kisses to gobstruck passerby. A few of the (presumably male) drivers slow down to get a better work. They’ll have a story to tell when they get home.

As the last car leaves Kelli jogs towards her house in her underwear, leaving her sweats by the side of the road, with no idea of what just happened.

PART III: Mind Control For Kisses and Giggles

It’s a minor scandal in the neighborhood, Kelli’s little episode. It’s all Mom’s been able to talk about since she got home yesterday. I think she feels vindicated now that everyone knows for certain what a slut the number one realtor in town really is, not that it wasn’t much of a secret before. I hear Kelli’s been banned from anymore events at the golf club, but that’s more out of embarrassment than anything else. Those five dollar millionnaires have no problem with a little strip tease as long as it’s behind closed doors.

As for the impact on Kelli’s career, that’s hard to say. I imagine it would only increase her visibility so to speak. At the same time, professional types tend to frown on that sort of stuff. Rumor is she’s been relegated to brokerage accounts and in-calls only. A significant percentage of her caseload has been given to Mom, which only makes me happier, since for the first time in a long time we might have a chance of moving up a tax bracket or two.

Maybe this is the year I finally get a car. Like, an actual car—not a beat up P.O.S. from the used car lot. I hate watching those kids with their Lexuses and rice burners, pulling into school-approved parking lots while I have to endure the humiliation of riding a glorified Lego bus. I’d love to show them.

I’m crossing my fingers. Not that I have much expectation of getting one.

My grab my backpack as the bus pulls up to the school. I march in line with my fellow students, walking towards the metal doors that’ll usher us into our real life prison. Just kidding—not!

The campus rent-a-cop gives my backpack the once over and sends me through the metal detectors. I didn’t bother to take the device to school with me today, figuring it’d be confiscated or thrown away. I don’t want to endure an awkward conversation having to explain what it is anyway. No, ma’am, it’s not a bomb. It’s a mind control device I use to gather my harem of fembots around me. It’s all part of my master plan. Really..

I spot Natalie Wallace chatting with someone in the caf, no doubt giving her WWJD spiel to her new best friend. If everyone knew how much of a you-know-what Natalie could be, they’d take their tray and run. The girl’s known three boyfriends in the Biblical sense over the past three years, and she still thinks she’s a virgin since she took it up the ass. But since she wears that silly wristband all the time and can quote the Good Book (at least the interesting parts) backwards and forwards, people think she’s Mother Theresa.

I’d love to see her sex tape when it comes out.

I avert my eyes as I walk past her, hoping she doesn’t notice me. It doesn’t work.

“Well lookee here!” She exclaims in that Southern molasses voice of hers. “It isn’t everyday you come around here.”

I roll my eyes.

“Good morning, Natalie.” I say with as civil a voice I can muster.

I nod and toward my friends’ table several to let her know I’m not interested, but all I manage to do is make it a few inches before Natalie escorts me back towards her table. For all her waifishness, she knows how a captive audience when she sees one. She’ll have no problems working sales.

“What are you in the rush for?” She smiles deceptively. “Going somewhere?”

“Actually, yes.”

“My friend and I were just talking about you when you came in. Weren’t we Clarissa?”

Her beret-clad associate nods.

“You still into girls?” She asks casually.

“You still into guys screwing you in the bumhole?”

The look of shock on her face as she leans back is priceless.

“Mary!”

“She’s obviously in denial.” Clarissa covers for her. “I’ll be praying for you.”

Natalie’s mouth hangs open, at a loss for words.

I use the awkard tension to break away and join my friends. But it isn’t long before I spot Naomi, surrounded by her clique of beauties. Oh, how I’d give my left tit to be one of them. They flank her, hanging on her every word. Before I know it, first bell rings, and I trudge through the hall towards science class.

I listen half-attentively as the instructor, a middle-aged gentleman named Mr. Price lectures about magnetism, no pun intended. My eyes wander towards the announcement on the chalkboard. “SCIENCE PROJECT” it says in big block letters. “DUE FRIDAY”.

Oh, shit I nearly cream myself. The blasted thing counts for nearly twenty percent of my grade, and I’d clearly forgotten about it. No way in hell would he offer an extension—the good teacher is a bore, but also a hard-ass. What would I do?

My thoughts keep returning time and again to Natalie. Suppose she were caught doing something naughty at school. Like really naughty. She’d be ostracized so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her, and yet she’d continue to deny it ever happened. She’d probably claim it was a phase, but I can’t help salivating at the image of her humiliated in front of the people she claims to love. I don’t know how it might happen, but I think I have an idea.

Bringing the machine would be a huge risk, but the look of terror on her face as her fellow students looked on would be worth it. Theoretically, I could kill two birds with one stone—ace the project and force Natalie out of my life.

The next three days pass by without incident. As I walk into school Friday morning, the machine tucked firmly into my backpack, I can’t help but smile. The resource officer looks quizzically at the device, unsure whether it’s prank or a misguided attempt at terrorism. I explain to him that it’s my science project, After gazing at it for what seems like a century he lets me through, more confused than when I arrived. I would be too, if I were him.

Makes me wonder what would happen if I really wanted to blow up the school.

The mood in first period is a nervous cool. Boys and girls crease their brows, nervously eyeing the door hoping Mr. Price came down with a bad case of the flu. Even if he doesn’t make it in fifteen, almost certainly a sub will, and that means paperwork. The last thing anyone wants more than a failing grade is a stack of take-home science problems to interrupt their weekend ritual of sexting, snorting and wanking off.

Cardboard displays rest neatly beside them while scale-model projects lay on the students’ desks. There are the usual array of volcanoes, cutaways of the human anatomy (with the sexy parts helpfully labeled in bold lettering), the odd quirky project or two. I nod appreciably at what appears to be a combination calculator and Morse code machine. The student manning it explains that it’s an antique pen register, the kind numbers guys used to use to place bets before Internet gambling rendered them obsolete.

A few of my classmates groan as the good teacher walks in, graded papers in hand. The disappointment on his face is hard to miss. He slams the papers on his desk with a loud thump, jolting the slackers and daydreamers out of their reverie.

“As you may have guessed, last week’s test was less satisfactory than I expected.” He shakes his head in a fatherly manner. “I pray that those of you who brought in your tests today worked on them as diligently as I graded your exams.”

I watch as my fellow classmates walk towards the front of the room as he calls them up in alphabetical order. The presentations are hit and miss—hardly disappointing, but hardly groundbreaking. I doze off every few minutes, only to be awakened by a loud gutteral sound as Mr. Price clears his throat.

I am the last to go. I walk slowly, cradling the device as though it were a vase from the Ming dynasty. The skeptical looks on my classmates faces as they stare aren’t lost on me. Mr. Price crosses his arms as he sits on his desk.

“This better be good, Ms. Jankowsky.”

“My project...” I draw a blank. “For my project, I chose to explore the concept of animal magnetism. I wanted to know whether certain individuals are susceptible to manipulation through an unknown force detectible to the senses, and if so whether that force may be detected by scientific means. Adopting the theory of biomagnetism proposed by David Cohen and John Wikswo in 1970, I devised a study composing of a control group which received a placebo—depicted in my research paper—and the actual study group which were made to stand in front of this measuring device designed to pick up brain waves. This is that device.”

The audience laughed.

“Enough fooling around, Ms. Jankowsky.” Mr. Price swats me away. “Next!”

“Stop! I can prove it!”

The room grows silent.

“Go ahead, Ms. Jankowsky. Just don’t be surprised if we don’t buy your...hypothesis.”

“I need a volunteer.”

I point at Natalie. The auborn haired teen walks up to the front of the class, trying to make sense of the display. I tell her to stand in front of me as I point the dish in front of her. She exchanges glances with the instructor, practically begging him to intervene.

“Freeze!” I tell her.

Her hands fall at her side as she stops in place.

“Arms out.”

Her arms fly out, accenting her already visible cleavage. As with Kelli, Natalie is also flummoxed by her own body’s betrayal of her. She struggles to break out of the poses I force her into, but she might as well be a mannequin in a department store. I make her do everything from flip the bird to simulate oral sex, and despite the flush of anger on her face there is little she can do.

She go through a dozen commands in all, from stretching to posing, even the occasional split or two. But I save the best for last. As the bell rings, I issue one last request, taking advantage of the din to mask my true intentions.

“Take Clarissa to the janitor’s closet and make out with her until otherwise instructed.” I whisper into the microphone.

Like a slave, Natalie does what she’s told. Clarissa glances anxiously at me as her friend leads the way, and no one else is the wiser. Within 15 minutes of second period a fifteen year old boy bursts into my math class, exclaiming loudly about Clarissa and Natalie’s tour de force. I struggle to get a good view as I join the throng in the hallway. Clarissa is clearly uneasy about Natalie’s advances, but she makes no effort to resist. I think she is as shocked as anyone. Their lips pucker in a passionate embrace as Natalie holds on to her, unable to unwilling to let go.

It’s the last time I ever see the two of them again.

PART IV: Reeling Her In

Teenage girls drag their mothers into the consignment shop as I watch hidden by a strategically placed pair of freshly cut palm trees, eating my Caesar salad while hordes of mall denizens parade by without a thought. They’ve dissected every possibility for weeks in terms of hem lines, waist lines and the all important “fit” for their would-be prom dress. For them it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to walk into a ballroom arm in arm with their boytoy of choice, but everyone knows it’s just a dress rehearsal for when their husband-to-be slips that dreaded ring to their fingers, binding them for all eternity.

I’ve never understood the appeal of it anyway, prom I mean. I mean, think about it. You’re only going to see your partner for one night and that’s it? And you don’t even get to buy them a drink? Not to mention all the lame themes and popularity contests, as if people really care if someone is prom king or prom queen.

Soon it would be my turn to wiggle into the chest-confining straitjackets, but for the time being I’d decided to power down until Mom finishes browsing through Pottery Barn. I never understood why we needed so many plates stamped with “Made in China” on the bottom, but as long as it makes her happy... I squint as I walk a tall figure walk towards me. My heart skips a beat as I hope against hope that it’s my one true love, but it turns out to be the woman who gave me life.

“Ready, hon?” Mom’s grip on the plastic bags seems ironclad.

I toss the Styrofoam box into the trash bin and let her escort me into the shop as a gaggle of young girls leave, giggling to themselves. I resist the urge to puke, but I’m a big girl so I guess I pretend to be into it. Prom has never been for me, but anything for Naomi, I guess.

It isn’t ten minutes before one of the attendants has me trying on a tight-fitting green number that leaves me gasping for breath, setting off a chain reaction as I slip into, and out of a half-dozen dresses of various styles in hopes of finding one with breathing room. Anything larger than a size 6 is apparently a wet dream.

“Having any trouble?” Mom asks plaintatively.

This is the same woman who, nearly a quarter of a century before was able to walk down the block in the slimmest of jeans and attract the attention of a half a dozen men. She’d met my dad during such a stroll. The irony of a woman over half my age—who regularly consumes Chunky Monkey like it’s a food group—is not lost on me, but I bite my tongue.

I manage to slip into a black cocktail dress with minimal effort. I turn around and glance at my shapely bum in the mirror, admiring the view. I can’t remember ever looking this beautiful, but it hasn’t come without a cost. Every day after school I switch into my jogging clothes and run the whole two miles throughout the subdivision. I’ve even taken to lifting weights, and I’m proud to say I’ve lost a few pounds. I’m not going to lay claim to being the next Angelina Jolie, but I’m pretty attractive if I say so myself.

“I’ll take it.” I purr.

The attendant swipes Mom’s credit card and off we go, cocktail dress in hand. She doesn’t know about my true intentions yet, and I’ve only told her the barest of details, but at least everything is going according to plan.For the past several days I’ve gradually implanted thoughts in Naomi’s head, everything from mild insinuations of bisexuality to devious commands to rub herself out backstage before a show. She’d already broken up with her boyfriend Stu (which came as a shock to much of the student body), but if this is anything like my experiment with Natalie and Clarissa, she should be eating out of my palms (or should I say, loins) in a matter of seconds...

“So tell me about this mystery man you’ve been dating.” Mom interrupts my daydream.

I’d deliberately kept her in the dark about Naomi ever since I got the device. It’s not that Mom’s a bigot, but with the stress at work and the pressure of having to take care of me and Dad, I didn’t want to burden her with my secret. Besides, high school is painful enough without us having to have a conversation as I sit behind a wall of Plexiglas because I tricked one of the most popular girls in school to have sex with me. We could have “the conversation” later, hopefully when I’m out of the house.

“Just a boy at school, mom.” I blurt out.

“I know that. But is he short? Tall? What does he look like?”

“Blond haired, blue eyed.” I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Nothing special.”

“Well I’ll be.” Mom pets my head. “My little girl is growing up.”

I smile and gaze at the road, letting her think that everything’s on the up and up.

Naomi’s limo arrives on time just as I instructed. The tinted windows make it difficult to see in, but as the vehicle slowly rolls down my street I know it’s her. My heart speeds up as I gaze through the bedroom window. I struggle to control myself as I walk down the steps.

Mom grips her Nikon like a cub reporter on their first assignment. There’s a knock at the door—another part of the pre-arranged charade. I let the young man in. He couldn’t be more than twenty-five. I let mom and dad snap pictures, completely unaware of the fact that he is only the driver.

I exchange a few words with them, wave, and leave. I squint my eyes as I climb in, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. But when they do, oh, what a view. I stare straight ahead at the Amazon in front of me, clad in a tight-fitting red dress that makes me want to pinch myself. She glances at me with a look of confusion.

“Where am I?” She asks.

“It’s alright.” I keep my voice even and calm. “We’re going to the prom.”

“You and me? Together?” She turns up her nose. “As if!”

I smile and ignore the insult.

“I don’t even know you!” She motions to be let out.

“Freeze!”

She stops in place.

“Deep inside you know this is what you want.” I keep my voice level. “You can’t be satisfied any other way. Stu never did it for you, and neither did the others. I’ve seen you drooling in homeroom, thinking of a moment just like this. Your body aches for it. All you need is someone to help release it. I can make it happen right, Naomi?”

She purses her lips as she pauses, gazing longingly into my eyes. Without realizing it, a small dollop of saliva oozes out of the corner of her mouth. I hand her a tissue.

“Have you made a decision?” I ask.

She nods.

“Now take me to the prom.”

We arrive to a sedate crowd of hundreds, standing anxiously with their partners as they sizing each other up in the way awkward teens do. More than a few seem to hug the walls or camp out at nearby tables while New Kids on The Block blare over the convention speakers. The adolescent fantasies they’d built up over three and a half long years had not lived to expectations, and their sour faces showed it.

The room lights up as soon as me and Naomi walked inside. Some register it with shock and disbelief. Others try to avert their eyes, as if by ignoring us we’ll go away. I guide her to an empty table, careful to make eye contact throughout the whole time. She stares at me almost child-like, wondering what to do next.

The next hour and a half are the most unbearable in my life as song after mediocre song booms throughout the room, but as the ambience turns mellower I take her by the hand and we walk towards the dance floor. I got more than I bargained for as my head made contact with her breasts. I take it in stride, but Naomi doesn’t complain. In fact she appears to be sort of...fine with it.

We go like this for another minute and a half, but the heat is starting to get to me and I just have to get out of here.

“Come with me.” I command her.

She follows me into the ladies’ room still unsure what to think. My heart beats like a machine gun, a steady boom-boom-boom as I glance at my sweaty palms. I can’t bear this any longer. I know what I have to do.

“Take your dress off. Slowly.”

“But I...”

“Just do it.”

I gaze at her as the straps fall off, exposing her ample chest. But all I can think of is her...you know. Her eyes widen as she watches herself undress, taken aback by it. The dress flutters to the floor, revealing a very pretty blonde in lace underwear. I lick my lips at the thought.

“Your bra too.”

She unclasps her bra, letting it fall to the floor as well.

“As you take off your clothes, you become more and more subservient to me. All you can think of is ways to please me...just like you’ve been doing for the past six weeks. Your pussy aches for me, doesn’t it, Naomi?”

A trickle of juice trails down her leg. I don’t even have to ask her as she helps me climb out of my own dress. We stand together, woman to woman, panting excitedly. I jump on the sink and bid her towards my sex, already glistening with need. For a girl who’s only gone down on men, she’s a quick learner. I clamp my thighs, straining as her tongue flicks faster and faster until...

Oh God!

I gush like Niagara Falls. As she lifts her head, Naomi gazes into her eyes with a look of awe in her face, licking the remainder of my juices with her tongue.

“what’s my name?” I ask in a child-like manner.

“Mistress.”

“And who do you serve?”

“Only you, Mistress.”

PART V: Be Careful What You Wish For

Living with Naomi is...heaven. Paradise. Insert favorite adjective here. I am at a loss for words myself. At last, the thing I most pined for is right next to me each and every night. I don’t have to pinch myself, it’s not a dream.

As for what happened after I claimed her, it’s complicated.

Within weeks of consummating our love, she moved into the basement, and I moved downstairs with her. She claimed she needed a break from her parents, but I knew better . I was only too happy to have her stay. It was news to her Mom, who was suspicious and rightfully so. She called the Sheriff’s Department on us several times, even accused me of false imprisonment and yet her daughter never budged. She finally gave up and accepted that she’d never see her daughter in the near future—or ever again.

Mom didn’t say much. She always gave us a wide berth when it came to privacy. I don’t know whether she was being discreet or if she truly had no idea. She must’ve had a inkling, because she saw our come-stained panties once in the wash. In any case she came to accept that Naomi and I were ‘together’. I think she was simply happy that I have someone in my life besides her and Dad, even if she doesn’t know the particulars.

My lover and I spent the majority of April and May in a tangled embrace, savoring each other’s touch. The way she sucked my nipples or grind her hips against mine would send me over the edge. She seemed to enjoy her bondage and when I woke up in the morning sometimes...

Uggh...

Where was I? Like I said, it was paradise. Yet every once and awhile I’d catch her looking away, lost in thought. I thought that I erased her memory of the past, but there were still some residual memories. My heart sank in those moments, and I would doubt the choices I’d made. But then she’d give me this sweet, doe-eyed look and I’d know it was okay.

As spring turned into summer I casted for something to do. I already applied to several universities, but in the meantime I needed something to occupy my time besides making love. I became extremely dissatisifed with only one girl. My lust for control was growing, and no amount of tonguing was ever going to make it go away.

Capturing Sheila proved easier than I thought. All I had to do was call her up and invite her over to my house. She barely glanced at the device before she fell into a trance, staring listlessly into my eyes. Naomi and I took turns driving her to ecstasy as I implanted thoughts of obedience in her head. Despite her small breasts, she proved more than receptive to our touch. Her screams as she begged for us to suck her off kept us awake for days.

Alyssa was more difficult. I’d always suspected that she was bi or at least bicurious, but she had a way of keeping to herself. Getting her to let down her defenses would be arduous, but it took some encouragement and not a few little white lies to get her to meet me at the mall. She followed me home from there, but her deft tongue and knowledge of certain kitchen implements proved to be well worth it.

Uggh...Ugggh...

Forgive me I was lost...in...thought. My skin is so flush.

Terri succombed soon after, and Charlie soon after that.

I gave my final report to Herman not long after. I told him the results were average, which was about what he expected. He got his money and then some, thanks to some webcam videos me and the girls made. He’s opening a franchise business, with me as a silent partner.

Kelli Reynolds left real estate—and town—for good. No one knows what she’s doing, but last I heard she’d moved to the San Fernando Valley and started her own porn production company under an assumed alias. Mom has since made partner in the real estate company where she works, allowing me to finally drive that Lexus I always wanted.

As for the five of us, we’re a sisterhood now, I guess. Sometimes it can be very crowded with five people living together. Try taking a shower at ten in the morning. Ha ha. Ben sort of drifted off, and as for Clarissa and Natalie...who knows? It’s not a perfect life but there are moments when it...it...

Jesus Naomi...Terri...Please don’t stop, pleassseee...The pressure...Ahhh!