Authors note: The fireworks show HG talks about is in reference
to a 4th of July flash I wrote for the Hot Flashes page on the
EMCSA, and can be found there. If it’s too much trouble to sort
through, drop me an e-mail and I would be happy to send it to
you.
This story is the intellectual property of Frustrated, not to be
duplicated, copied, or reproduced without the author’s express
permission. Please e-mail me at frustrateddoublehelix@gmail.com
with all complaints, comments, criticism, and naughty
propositions.
Based on a true story.

Tags: mc, ff, fd
Controller 12
Frustrated
Sheila left the cash register and started walking aimlessly about
the store. Only a summer hire, she thought that if she kept the
shop clean during her shifts, they might rehire her next year
when she came home for vacation. Jenny was in back, wrapping some
glass bowls to be shipped out. People did strange things on slow
days.
Sheila wandered, seeking some task to assuage her boredom.
Ah! she thought, this floor is gross. OK...I’ll pick up all the
big pieces of trash. She knelt, looked at her toes, wiggled them
against her sandal’s straps, sighed, and calmly picked up a candy
bar wrapper.
Her slacks loosened around her thighs as she stood. She trudged
over to the wastebasket and then headed out in search of more
trash.
She fetched three more. The store was still devoid of customers
and she was ready to give up. The floor wasn’t so bad, really,
and she would still have to vacuum after they closed. No point in
doing anything now. She headed back to the register to windex the
computer. In the back, Jenny started humming.
A flash of white caught Sheila’s eye. It was a scrap of paper,
rectangular with serrated edges. Curious, she turned it over.
Controller 12
“Controller 12?” She smirked. “What is this shit?” She strode
purposefully over to the trash can, balled up the little scrap of
paper, and put it into her pocket. It tingled a minute, and then
got hot. She was fairly sure that wasn’t right. Oh well, what did
it matter? This was just a job, right? They couldn’t pay her to
care, not about trash.
She flipped a curl back over her shoulder and stepped into the
register area. She reached for the phone. Maybe Mark was free
tonight. Sure, personal calls were forbidden, but the store was
empty, right? The boss was at the bank, and even if she did some
back today, Sheila had caught her making some outlaw calls of her
own.
Just the thought of Mark, of his big hands pulling her underneath
him...Sheila fanned herself, trying to force the flush off her
face. She couldn’t do anything about the other flush until her
break.
Her right hand picked up the phone, and her left started dialing.
She froze. Her leg started tingling underneath her pocket. The
feeling spread, down her leg, up to her stomach, down her arms
and other leg, up through her chest, turning her whole body into
a mass of tingles and sensations before rushing through her head
in a haze of giggles. She turned hot, blindingly, blisteringly
hot. All at once, it subsided. Shaken and blinking, Sheila put
down the phone. Mark had been a bad idea. Maybe a girl’s night
out was the answer? She could call some people when she got home.
Recovered from her episode, or whatever it had been, she reached
under the counter and brought out the windex and the paper
towels. She spritzed some of the blue liquid onto a square of
towel and wiped down the counter, and then the computer monitor.
The smell of industrial cleaner notwithstanding, cleaning was
soothing and restful.
Ow! She rubbed her arm furiously, and then turned it over and
looked at it. It felt like she’d just been stuck with a needle!
There was nothing there; no blood, no mark. Eh, maybe she’d hit
the counter or something...
She squeezed the bottle’s trigger into a new square, and started
scrubbing the sides of the computer. Sheila liked watching the
dirt come away into the cloth. It felt like she was accomplishing
something. Maybe she should have gotten a job as a maid this
summer, or something. She laughed at that and leaned an elbow on
the glass counter.
I would be a maid in the house of a really rich guy, she thought,
really rich and really handsome, too. I would be dusting, in just
my jeans and a t-shirt but still really sexy--The tingles swept
through her. --in just my little French Maid’s outfit, and
incredibly sexy. I would be bent over, and he would come up and
turn me around and kiss me, gently-- The tingles turned into heat
again, white hot heat, and subsided. Oh shit! What was tha-...I
mean, she would come up and slap my ass, and then swing me up and
kiss me, hard, I mean really hard, and all passionate, and--
“Sheila, you OK?”
“Oh, uh, yeah.”
Jenny looked at her quizzically, but accepted her answer and
shrugged. “Anyway, didn’t you hear me?”
“No, I guess not. What did you say?”
“I said, I finished the three bowls, but there’s a big order that
just came in and the lady wants it wrapped and ribboned, and it’s
fine china, so I’ll be back there the rest of the afternoon. If
there’s a rush you can call me in, though.”
“OK, will do. Like that’ll happen, though.”
“Yeah, it’s been way too slow around here.” She pouted, wrinkling
her friendly freckles. She gave Sheila a grin and trotted back
into the wrap room.
Sheila turned back to the computer and resumed her wipe-down. She
cleaned the monitor, hands running in parallel stripes. Then she
went for the counter, moving the cloth in lazy, circular swipes.
The circles made her think of laundry going around in a dryer,
all of the colors swirling...That made her think of her new
underwear, the lacy ones. They covered things, but they hid
nothing. Sheila had giggled madly the entire time at the store.
The other people in the changing room must have thought she was
nuts, but had been thinking she should have a real “grown up”
pair or two.
In a small part of her mind, Sheila knew she had a great body.
She knew her breasts were big, her waist was small, and her legs
were shapely. She knew her eyes held an innocent sauciness that
no man ever wanted to resist. That part of her wanted to wear
wicked things like the new lacy underwear, wanted to show herself
off and get dates and try things with her body that were all the
rage for her age group.
Most of her was more practical. She dressed conservatively, if
elegantly. Her sandals were chunky, strappy, and black; nothing
flashy, no spikes. Walkable. Her pants were thin and clung to her
well, but discreetly. No one would say it looked as if she was
trying to be seductive. It just happened to turn out that way a
lot of the time. Not that Sheila ever knew it, except in that one
lurking part of her mind.
Sheila bent her head over her task, wiping the glass counter past
dry. Back to the fantasy...what was it again? Oh well, new one!
She re-spritzed the blue liquid and rubbed until the glass shone.
OK, let’s see...I’d be at the beach like last week, only this
time, when Shaina covers me with sand, a guy would come over. I
would be able to see his muscles, and it would get me all wet--
Huh? Her fantasies usually never included--she started to tingle,
all over. I would be able to feel the wet sand pressing down on
me, on my vagina and breasts-- The tingle grew in magnitude. I
mean, on my pussy and tits, the pressure caressing me like a
lover or a gentle stream-- The heat started. It felt achingly
good this time, pummeling her pussy and kneading her breasts in a
way that the innocent sun had never done. OH! The sand would
press down on me like a lover’s touch or a corset, binding me in
and down. I would be stuck, completely stuck. Only this time,
instead of having to wait until Shaina comes back with ice cream
and eats it into front of me, taunting me-- The force of Sheila’s
hatred for her little cousin made the heat subside. It re-invaded
her with a vengeance. --Feels so good, where is this coming from,
I don’t even-- Her knees buckled for a short second. She yelped
and caught herself on the edge of the counter, fingers slipping
and sliding.
“Sheila, what’s going on out here?”
She blinked and focused; Jenny was staring at her, hands on hips.
Her eyes were concerned. “G-going on?”
“You’ve been moaning for the last minute, and then you yelled.
What have you been doing?” She licked her lips.
Unconsciously, Sheila copied the gesture. “Oh, just, um, cleaning
the counter. Sorry if I made noise, I didn’t know I did. Maybe
the counter was squeaking?”
It was a flimsy excuse, but Jenny took it; the wrapping room had
a TV that showed what every security camera saw, and she hadn’t
seen anything inappropriate or illicit. She had work to do and
excused herself back to the wrap room. Her eye glanced up at the
monitor every few seconds.
F-fantasy. OK. But no more cleaning things; I think the windex
fumes are getting to me. She started a circuit of the room. Where
was I? OK. The sand is pressing down on me, and this time, he
comes up to me and starts flirting even though he hasn’t seen my
body. She reached the carpeting area, and started checking that
the rugs were straight. The tingles blasted up her legs. Her eyes
shot open, and then fluttered shut. The heat felt so tasty this
time, and gentle, like a dozen kittens rubbing their way up her
legs...and higher. Up and up and up... Urg...I hope I’m not
moaning again...oh hell...the hottie in the tight suit flirts
with me, and I say I can’t get up, I ask for help. When hot stuff
gives me a hand up-- The heat intensified around her sensitive
parts. Thank goodness for that thick bra, or she’d be showing her
nipples to the whole thank-god-still-empty store! But instead of
giving me a hand up, the hottie just pounces on me and kisses me,
hard, and runs long fingers through my hair--
Ding! Hurriedly, Sheila pulled her arms out of the rug rack and
power walked over to the counter. The lone customer perused the
garden section; too far to shout, and too close to walk over and
give unsolicited advice. She was stuck standing there.
She hadn’t been able to see any of his features, but he was tall
and stout. Maybe he’s really really hot, and he’ll buy something
really expensive and then-- Sheila let out a soft moan, conscious
of it this time. She ducked down and reached for a tissue; if
he’d heard, she could pretend it was a sneeze.
The next one was decidedly not a sneeze. It was a guttural wail
of pleasure that shook the silence of the shop. She just couldn’t
help herself; the heat was using her bloodstream like a race
track, running around and through her heart and mind and limbs
and lungs, tainting her oxygen, her thoughts, her--The man
smirked, but that traitorous blood wouldn’t even do her the
courtesy of rushing to her cheeks; it was busy elsewhere.
Besides, Shelia was no longer permitted to be embarrassed, at
least on the outside. She could no longer deny that something was
seriously wrong.
She’d never been a moaner or a screamer or a wailer before; she
barely breathed heavily when she came. That was what came of
starting on masturbation. All of her previous pleasure sessions
were silent and private. What could cause something like this?
She had a hundred ideas, but they all felt like fiction. Stroke
fiction. Her science teacher would not have been proud of any of
her hypotheses.
Ok, she thought, in the stories, how do these things happen? She
leaned forward on her elbows and chewed on a knuckle. Well, I’d
say about nine times out of ten, the culprit is known to the
victim. A friend? She felt ice cold. Could one of her friends be
doing this to her? All of this moaning...it was sure to get into
public spectacle later today. The tingles started. Well, not that
public humiliation would bother her. It was just that...oh, the
heat! Blazing, dancing a tango in her temples! Damn, what had she
been thinking? Never mind. Oh, the customer, coming this way!
Straighten up!
She did so slowly, as if her body hoped the stranger would get a
glimpse of something he shouldn’t.
“Yes sir, may I help you?”
He looked around imperiously. “I’m here to buy the store.”
“Wha-what?”
He stuck out a meaty hand. “Hugo Greenaugh. The fireworks this
weekend were...profitable...for me, so I decided to go out and
buy something.” He chuckled deeply.
“I-I’m not sure...I, I mean, the owner isn’t in right now. You’d
have to talk to him. He should be in on Thursday.”
The man cursed, spat, and trundled out of the store. He had a
determined look in his eye.
Had she just said NO to Hugo Greenaugh, the most powerful man in
town? Sheila shrank back. She’d be fired for sure now, once he
bought the place...She sniffed and tried to choke back her tears.
She willed the tingles to start now, but nothing. She cursed;
what good was it being mentally manipulated when it didn’t work
when you wanted it to work?
A thought occurred to her; maybe his first act as owner of Palm
Fronds Gift Shop wouldn’t be to fire her; his daughter, Emily,
was in her graduating class. Wait, that was no good. They weren’t
friends. Oh well.
Mildly recovered, Sheila started wandering around the store
again, looking for mindless tasks to keep her occupied, something
that would allow her to think about all of this and still look
busy.
She rearranged the purses and tried on some big-brimmed hats. How
does this go in the stories? It happens when--the pink one goes
over there, yes--when the girl has done something, usually, hurt
someone. Have I hurt anyone? Well, usually--small green one with
the big green one, even if they’re not exactly the same
color--usually, it’s a nerd she’s pissed off. Ah, nice, done with
that...let’s try that blue one! OK, have I pissed off any nerds?
She tilted her head and stared quizzically at her posing
reflection. I don’t think so...at McCallow HS the nerds and geeks
and stuff all kept to themselves; they were all friends, they had
that club, they even dated inside it I think...Hmm, this one
doesn’t look half bad. So, no, it couldn’t have been a nerd.
Definitely not; I’ve never seen one staring at me or anything, no
mysterious glances or wistful sighs or hung-up phone calls. No
notes in my locker. Those are what the popular girls get. If I
was popular in high school I’d be worried about it...except that
it wouldn’t be in my nature to question admiration if I was
popular because I would expect it, if I was popular I would be a
different person, it takes a different personality...Anyway,
without getting into all the arguments, I think I can safely
knock off the nerd possibility. Blech, this red one looks
horrible.
Sheila tossed the offending hat back onto the stand and hastened
over to the other side of the shop. She went over to the rack and
started reading the new birthday cards. OK, so, what else? Have I
shown off for the boys, have I worn anything skimpy or tight that
would cause them to, you know... The promise of a tingle danced
along her shoulders, the afterthought of the heat sat dangerously
low along her waist. ...You know, jack off wildly about me, shoot
all over, and do something to me to live out their fantasies? To
control me?
She put back a card delicately painted with irises and started
over to the gardening section. A thought occurred, suddenly, and
it froze her. Does this tingle and heat thing, does it have
something to do with that piece of paper I picked up? Controller
12? Barely breathing, she reached into her pocket. Her fingers
delved and probed, first easily and then frantically. There was
no piece of paper. Sheila gasped.
There was a rip in the side of her pocket. Sheila sighed. The
hole was a perfect rectangle. Sheila choked. She pressed a finger
through the tear; the edges weren’t ragged, they were sealed. Her
flesh, it was--The tingles shot up her spine, followed closely by
the heat. She collapsed onto a birdbath, futilely stuffing her
hands into her mouth to stop up the sounds.
In the wrap room, Jenny glanced up at the monitor. God, that
Sheila, she thought. Her hand flittered in search of somewhere
nice to land, but her clothes denied her access.
Sheila lay on the rough carpeting, gasping and panting. It was
through. She flopped onto her back, still wheezing, and stared
into the fluorescents above her. Those tingles, ah, the heat!
I...want more? I want more. I need more. More, more, more!
“More!” she shrieked.
Tingles cascaded through her mind like confetti on the breeze.
She braced herself for the heat. It didn’t come. She pressed her
legs together. She needed the heat! Where was it? She,
she--wanted it. She wanted it! She WANTED it! Needed it. Her hand
slid downwards.
No, no, no, can’t, mustn’t, not in the store! Sheila looked
around in a haze of need. At least, not in the front...
With tiny steps, Sheila zoomed into the back room, the wrap room.
Her discretion did nothing but make her full breasts bounce.
Jenny, carrying a bubble-wrapped glass bowl, stared fixedly at
the monitor. Her breathing was ragged.
Trotting too quickly, scatterbrained Sheila smashed into
something hard, followed by something soft. The soft something
was Jenny, and she felt groaningly good.
The bowl bounced to the floor, but neither girl gave it so much
as a glance. They were too busy staring at each other; Jenny, her
wild curves tucked into her stock-boy apron and her freckles
pulsating with lust, and Sheila, prim clothes awry as her hair,
hands already squeezing her breasts as hard as her hands would
let her because she needed to feel the pressure.
Watching Sheila moan and writhe on the security camera had stung
Jenny’s core, a condition which neither of her bathroom breaks
had cured. She needed more, it had been so long...
The two girls panted and stared. They edged an inch closer.
Jenny’s hand, shaking, reached out to Sheila and touched her
lightly on the neck. She leaned in.
It was during the middle of that first kiss, that sweet, soft
kiss, that the heat slammed her down and sideways like a tidal
wave, like a riptide. She was washed out to sea.
Sheila tore and pulled and wept; she had to get at the sweet,
soft, juicy girl inside the clothes, behind the employee badge
and the apron.
“Please, please! Let me, I have to, have to see--oh!” Jenny’s
blouse fell open. “Holy...” She stared in wonder. How had she
never realized it before? Women were so beautiful!
Momentous passion slowed but not slaked, the two girls undressed
each other in a dream of silence. They ran their hands over soft
curves and pressed their bodies close, breaths and breasts
quivering. Grazed by the skin of the other, their nipples filled
and rose.
The girls embraced, and Sheila’s hips slid against Jenny’s
stomach. Both sighed. They wrapped their arms around each other
and kissed, deeply and softly, melting into each other.
Their kiss went on for an eighth of infinity while their hands
roamed and their pussies dripped and ached in agonizingly
delicious anticipation. Jenny played with Sheila’s soft bits,
than her soft, aching bits, and then her hard, quivering,
pulsating bits. Sheila did the same in reverse. Their skin sang.
“Jenny, this is so...” Sheila breathed. ‘Magical’ was what she
wanted to say. Who would ever have thought it would be like this
with a girl? Why had she ever wasted time on boys, those stupid,
clumsy things? Jenny knew. Such was their new found lover’s
empathy that they met the other’s every need without a word.
They wanted each other’s thighs, breasts, stomachs,
cheeks...anything to get their fingerprints on smooth expanses of
pale skin.
Gasping and whimpering, Jenny could stand the wait no longer. She
shoved Sheila to the counter, dropped to her knees, and proceeded
to erase every boy in Sheila’s memory with her tongue.
Together, they lived in white hot bliss.
Forty-six minutes later Jenny stroked Sheila’s hair, and she
sobbed.
“Oh, it’s you, it was you all along, sweet Jenny!” She grinned
wickedly through her tears. “Really sweet Jenny.” Catlike, she
licked the last drop off her knuckle. “It’s OK now, it was you!”
Jenny let her cry a minute longer, holding her close, and then
she had to say it.
“What was me?”
Sheila hiccupped, stopped dead by that innocent question.
“Y-you mean it wasn’t you?”
“What?”
“Oh, oh no, then he’s...still...after... me...” Shelia backed out
of Jenny’s embrace, standing naked and vulnerable. Her hands
trembled. Her eyes glazed.
Confused, Jenny reached out to touch a quivering thigh. “Sheel,
you OK? What’s going on?”
Sheila shook her head a little, enough to send her wild hair
flying. The security camera picked up every inch of her glowing
breasts, nipples raised with fear.
Jenny’s hand wandered upward toward Sheila’s slim hips, as if its
owner had decided to ignore the emotional outburst. She looked
wonderingly at Sheila’s thigh.
“Sheel, did you always have--”
“No!” Sheila leaped backwards, crashing into the counter. It left
a mark.
Panicked and half sobbing, Sheila struggled to pull on her
clothes. “Don’t you get it? The tingles, they...oh god! Here they
come! Then comes the heat, oh please, the heat!” She turned on
her erstwhile passion. “If it’s not you, I don’t know who it is,
who is it, oh, where’s the heat!?” She groaned her way to a
puddle on the ground.
“M-maybe you should go home for the day?”
Jenny helped the twitching girl to her feet and guided her down
the stairs and out to the parking lot. She held her in a warm
embrace for just one last time, sighed, and went back inside.
A red convertible pulled up to a screeching halt inches away from
disheveled Sheila. The driver grinned and lifted her sunglasses
to get a better look. She laid her arms on the door and tilted
her head.
“I bet you’re feeling pretty uncomfortable right now, Sheila.”
Sheila nodded.
The driver smirked. “Get in.”
Even in her tingle mad state, Sheila still smelled a predator.
“Uh, I don’t think...woah!”
She leaped out of the car, cascades of blonde tresses flying
behind her, and slapped a hand on Sheila’s thigh.
“Come now. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Achingly tingling, Sheila moved around to the passenger’s side
and got in. The driver leaped back over the door and into her own
seat. She tapped Sheila’s thigh and gave her a wicked look. The
tingles multiplied.
“Let’s get those off of you,” she said, and produced a pair of
scissors.
Sheila tried to draw back, but she was paralyzed. “Please!” she
cried, but the scissors bit into her pants, cutting through both
the outer layer and the bottom part of her pocket. The driver
motioned her up and, to Sheila’s astonishment and embarrassment,
she stood.
A minute later, most of her slacks were crumpled around her feet
and she was wearing a very short skirt. Every time the girl
touched her bare flesh, she felt a little bit of the heat. She
whimpered.
Where did Jenny go? Why can’t I move? Why can’t I call for help?
Why does this feel so GOOD? She let out a sob.
“Shut up and sit down,” commanded the driver. She looked Sheila
over, appraising her.
“I bet you’re wondering how...and why. Right?”
Her passenger nodded tearfully, tormented by fear and need.
“I’ll be kind,” she said with a wolfish grin. “I’ll answer one.
Choose!”
“Why!” sprang from Sheila’s lips and lungs.
The driver leaned in; the leather seats creaked. “Because you’re
too pretty to go to the boys,” she spat, “and because you’ll go
nicely with the others.”
She leaned over the quaking Sheila. Quick as lightening, she
pressed her palm to Sheila’s thigh and breathed into her hear.
Her words were hot and heavy.
“You’re marked, you’re mine.”
Sheila started to burn underneath the hand.
“I am marked, I am yours.” She started to writhe.
“Mistress.” The driver dug her nails in.
“Mistress! I am yours.”
“With feeling!” The flame faded.
“Mistress, I am yours!” Sheila cried. Her wail turned into a moan
as the long-awaited heat came and swept her away. A little number
12 glowed on her thigh where her pocket used to be.
Sheila’s Mistress put the car into gear. She paused.
“You know, Jenny is quite cute with her clothes off...It won’t be
a challenge, but I can live with that.” She reached into the
glove compartment and pulled out a small, white rectangle of
paper. She tossed it out of the car and hit the gas.
* * *
“I still wonder what Emily Greenaugh was doing here earlier. It
was nice of her to take Sheila home, though,” Jenny said to no
one. She put the “closed” sign over the door, locked it, and
headed out to her bike.
“Hey, what’s this piece of paper? I hate litterbugs!” she said,
getting some color behind her freckles. She stooped over to pluck
it from the asphalt. “Controller 13? What’s that?”
She shrugged, forgot about it, and put it into her breast pocket.

