Brainwashed in the Laundry Room
-- by lightswitch © May 2008

[F/F, reluctant/forced, catfight, white female(s), black female,
Hispanic female, interracial, psychological manipulation / mind
“control,” enslavement]

===========
Synopsis: An unexpected catfight in an apartment complex laundry
room results in two pretty co-eds being seduced into sexual
slavery: One physically and one psychologically.
===========

Molly patiently held her heavy laundry basket, waiting as her
roommate, Missy, searched for keys to open the heavy,
non-descript metal door of the laundry room. Brushing a
sweat-dampened strand of brown hair from her eyes, Molly let out
a loud “huff” of fatigue as she watched her perky blonde friend
balance her own overflowing basket on an upraised knee while
fiddling with her key ring.

Missy was Molly’s best friend and had lived in this building for
almost two years, in apartment 4-C. Molly had finally been
persuaded by her perky blonde friend to move in and share the
rent.

Molly was now coming up on her first week in the apartment
complex and was still getting used to everything.

The complex was located in a “bad part of town,” so the landlord
had locks put on all of the building’s outside doors, preventing
anyone but tenants from entering. Molly had agreed to move in
with Missy, in spite of misgivings, in order to save money.

“I know they keep this door locked for safety reasons,” Missy
muttered, frustrated, as she fumbled with her key ring. “But
didn’t they realize that this side of the building gets the full
afternoon sun and that we’d be carrying heavy laundry baskets?”

Molly glanced around at several men who loitered in the vicinity,
as they studiously tried to act nonchalant.  The timid brunette
tugged nervously at Missy’s sleeve and inclined her head towards
the dawdlers.

Missy followed Molly’s worried gaze and laughed.

“Sue-Lin, from 5-B, must be doing her laundry,” Missy chuckled,
glancing at the milling men. “Those guys are tenants, here, too …
they always seem to find an excuse to be outside the laundry
room, just as she’s finishing.”

Molly looked at Missy in confusion, but didn’t get a chance to
ask for further explanation: Missy had finally found the right
key and had unlocked the big metal door.

They were greeted with a blast of heat from inside.

“This dingy laundry room is always too hot,” Missy complained.
“Even in winter. It’s right next to the boiler room, with all of
the hot water tanks for the whole complex.”

The two girls stepped inside, grimacing to confirm that the
poorly-lit, airless room *was*, indeed, hotter than the
mid-afternoon street.

The laundry room was small, only about 15 by 20 feet. A mild
sense of claustrophobia tightened Molly’s chest as she stepped
into the hot, humid air of the dimly-lit cinderblock-walled room.

It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the low light.  The
brutal August sun streaming through the only window in the room –
a 5 by 10 foot rectangle of reinforced “glass brick” to the right
of the door they had just entered – seemed more efficient at
heating the concrete enclosure than illuminating anything more
than the expanse of concrete floor right near the window.

There was only one other person here: A slender Oriental woman,
who was standing next to one of the two washing machines, pulling
wet clothes out and tossing them into a basket.

The petite Korean woman was completely nude.

“See?” Missy whispered, nudging her gaping friend in the ribs. “I
told you that Sue-Lin would be here!”

Missy didn’t seem at all surprised to find a naked woman doing
laundry in a public place, but Molly could have been knocked over
with a feather.

“She’s … she’s …,” Molly stuttered, trying not to point and gawk.
“She’s *naked*!”

Her blonde friend looked at her in confusion, before realization
finally dawned.

“Oh, that’s right!” Missy said, chuckling softly. “You’re new
here! This is your first time in the laundry room!”  The two
whispered softly, standing near the door as their eyes continued
to adjust to the dim light.

“As you can probably guess,” Molly explained, “money is tight for
most of the people living at this complex.  Hell, it’s tight for
everyone who lives in this part of town!” The slender blonde
stifled a laugh.

“Anyway,” she continued, “Every dime counts. That means people
tend to wear what few clothes they have for as long as they can,
before having to spend money to wash them.”

Molly wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Ew!” she whispered. “They
re-wear dirty clothes?!?”

Missy nodded. “One way to maximize wear is to wash the clothes
you walked in with,” her friend explained. “Most people strip
down to their underwear, when they’re here. Some who are
especially … frugal … strip naked.  It’s not unusual to see a
bunch of women lounging around down here – especially on a
Thursdays, like today.”

“But that’s crazy!” Molly whispered, blushing as she tried not to
stare at the beautiful nude Korean. “What if someone sees? What
if some men …?”

Her friend gave a reassuring grin. “Don’t worry,” Missy said.
“It’s safe. No guys come down here. There aren’t any single men
in this complex and, as backwards and misogynist as it might
seem, the women do all of the laundry for those who have
families.  If any man were to be foolish enough to actually come
in here … his wife would kill him!

The pert blonde had already begun stripping off her own
perspiration-dampened T-shirt and began rolling down her
shapeless grey sweatpants.

“MISS-eeeeee!” Molly wailed softly, horrified.

“Oh, lighten up, chick!” her friend chided. “If you want to spend
the next few hours, all covered up, in this oven, that’s your
choice. Me … I’m stripping!  Gawd, it must be over 100 degrees in
here!”

Molly grimaced. Her friend did have a point … it *was* stifling
hot in here. There was no air circulation and the dampness from
the washing machines made the humidity unbearable.

“Go on, ya prude!” the blonde teased. “Get naked!  It’ll do ya
good!”

Molly resisted for another 15 minutes before the sweltering heat
finally got to her. Reluctantly, but fighting light-headedness,
the pretty young brunette began to strip.  As she removed her
perspiration-soaked clothes, she couldn’t help but notice Missy’s
body.

It was the first time she had ever seen her friend without
clothes!

Missy was about 5’5”, a bit shorter than Molly, and rail thin.
The pert blonde had tiny little A-cup boobs that Molly decided
were rather cute, before abashedly exiling such thoughts as being
too “lezzie.”

The skinny blonde hadn’t bothered with a bra, and Molly couldn’t
really blame her: Missy didn’t really have enough “boob” to
require support.

“She’s so slender and attractive!” Molly sighed to herself. “I
wish I had a body like hers!”

The pretty brunette took stock of herself in the large, dirty
wall mirror, hanging to the right of the washing machines.

Molly was taller and more rounded than her friend. She thought
her brown hair was lackluster and mousy, thought others tried to
reassure her that it was quite attractive. Molly stood bout 5’7”,
and had a very curvaceous figure.  Rather than being a source of
pride, though, her bountiful curves were a source of
embarrassment.

“I don’t want to look like a slut,” Molly thought, removing her
glasses to clean the lenses with her discarded top. “There’s no
way I’m stripping completely naked!”  She looked down at her
mismatched “lingerie” and blushed. Her ice-blue panties were so
sheer, she could see the dark triangle of her bush, between her
pale legs. Her mismatched white bra, which she’d owned since her
freshman year in high school, was at least one size too small. 
The matter was made worse by her sudden blossoming into full
puberty, in her Junior year.

“Underwear is expensive,” she told herself, trying not to flush
with shame. “Who can afford matching sets?! Or sets that fit
perfectly?!”

Evidently, Missy had similar ideas of modesty; she had remained
in her panties.

As the perky blonde turned, Molly was shocked to see the word
“Thursday” written in big, cursive letters across Missy’s tiny
butt.

Molly burst into laughter, pointing at her friend.

“What?!?” Missy demanded, twisting to look at her back.

Molly had to lean against the washer, she was laughing so hard.

“Th-th-…!” she stammered, choking with laughter. “THURSDAY!”

Missy blushed, but grinned.  Turning to regard her pert butt in
the wall mirror, she grinned and shook her ass at her friend.

“Yeah, that’s right!” she laughed. “Today’s Thursday! Each pair
of panties I own has the day of the week lettered on the back. So
what?”

Molly howled with laughter, drawing a frown from the gorgeous,
nude Korean woman who continued to haul wet clothes out of the
other washing machine.

“That is so hilarious!” Molly gasped, leaning heavily against the
thrumming washer.

With a silent start, she realized the washing machine felt
strangely nice, vibrating against her bra-encased breasts.

The pretty Korean plucked a pair of damp, red short shorts from
her basket and slid them up over her tiny, round butt. She then
plucked out a damp red T-shirt and pulled it over her head.  The
damp fabric clung to the woman’s small, but full breasts and
hugged every curve of her petite torso.

Picking up her basket, Sue-Lin walked purposefully towards the
door.

Molly gaped after her, almost mesmerized by the seductive sway of
the pretty Korean’s hips as the woman carried her heavy basket of
wet clothes to the door.

“You’re right!” Molly whispered. “THAT’S why all those men hang
around outside, waiting for her! When she’s done with her
laundry, she walks out in skimpy, wet clothes and no underwear!”

Missy laughed. “Yup!” she affirmed. “If I was a guy, *I* would
certainly be hanging around to get a glimpse of that!”

Molly blushed in embarrassment. “MISS-eeee!” she laughed, mildly
shocked. “You’re such a lez!”

Her blonde friend stuck her tongue out, and then wagged it
suggestively as she gave Molly exaggerated winks. The shy
brunette shoved Missy.

“Sue-Lin is one of those women who are too ‘frugal’ to pay for a
dryer,” Missy laughed. “She takes all of her clothes back to
her apartment to air-dry. And she also insists on washing *all*
of her clothes, when she is finally forced do laundry.”

Molly watched the attractive Korean reach the door. The red
shorts clung to the slender Oriental woman’s ass cheeks, riding
up to show the enticing underside of each pert, golden globe as
she walked away.

“Hey!” Missy yelped. “Don’t look!”

Molly didn’t understand what the problem was. It was unlike Missy
to be such a prude. Usually it was the other way around and Molly
was the one trying to restrain her friend.

“What?” Molly protested. “*You* make all those lewd comments and
you think *I* am the lez?!?”

When Sue-Lin finally opened the big laundry room door, all became
clear.

Immediately, the brilliant August afternoon sunlight stabbed
Molly’s interior-adjusted eyes, blinding her.

“Son of a ….!” Molly gasped, clenching her burned blue eyes shut
and clasping her hands over her face

“Sorry, babe!” Missy chuckled, sympathetically. “I forgot to warn
you – never look at the door, in the summer. Good way to go
blind!”

The teary-eyed brunette leaned against the nearest washer as she
waited for her sight to return.

There were fifty apartment units in the complex, but only two
washers and one dryer available in the laundry room – all coin
operated. Missy loudly cursed the tight-assed landlord, not only
because of the expense, but also because of the long waits that
were forced on them, as everyone had to wait their turn for a
machine.

“And keep an eye on your stuff!” Missy warned.  “You can’t be too
careful around here. Just the day before yesterday, I left my
basket here for a only a minute, to go get some more quarters,
and when I got back, someone had stolen my PANTIES!”

“Your panties?!?” Molly asked, rubbed her smarting eyes. “I
thought you said no men could get in here!” she said, anxiously.

The angry blonde scowled. “I don’t think it *was* a man,” she
confided. “I think it was that Mexican slut in 3-D!”

Molly hopped up onto the washing machine, as Missy
continued to prattle on. The washing machine was ancient and
vibrated hard. The young brunette was shocked to feel a
pleasurable warmth grow between her legs.

“Oh … fuck!” she whispered to herself, in guilty delight, as the
pleasurable vibrations spread like warm scented oil through her
groin. “This is delicious!  It’s like a damned sex toy!”  She
tried to keep her feelings from showing and tried to focus on
chatting with her roommate. But within a few minutes, she could
feel the tell-tale flush of arousal spreading across her cheeks.

“Wait … why was this machine still running with no one here?” she
wondered.

“Hey!” Molly interrupted her friend, “That Sue-Lin woman walked
off and left her clothes in this washer!”

Missy stopped and regarded the thrumming washing machine.

“Strange,” the blonde admitted. “That doesn’t seem like her. I’d
have thought she was too paranoid and cheap to risk leaving
clothes unattended.”

A voice from the darkness behind startled them.

“I’m afraid those are mine,” the voice said.

The two college girls jumped. The voice was smooth, cultured, and
feminine – a sultry alto, in the lower ranges.

“Who … who’s there?!?” Missy demanded, flattening her back
against the washer on which Molly was perched.

“Like the Chesire Cat of a Lewis Carroll story, they saw a
brilliant white smile slowly appear in the darkness against the
far wall. Molly felt goosebumps forming on her bare skin and fear
made her mouth suddenly dry. As the frightened pair gazed into
the darkness, Molly made out the shape of a white brassiere and a
pair of white thong panties, below the smile.

“What’s going on here?” she whispered, terrified, trying to
process this apparition. “Is this place haunted?”

The mystery was cleared as a beautiful black woman stepped
closer, into the circle that was better illuminated by the weak
40-watt bulb over the washers.

Molly caught her breath as the woman came into view. She appeared
to be in her early 30s and was probably one of the most
strikingly beautiful women Molly had ever seen – of any race. 
Her deep ebony skin seemed to almost absorb light, making her
white smile and lingerie almost glow, in comparison.

“I’m Domina Jung,” she said, pronouncing it “Young.” The black
woman smiled and extended her hand. “I’m in 3-C.”

Both girls gave a gasp of relief.

“I’m Missy,” her roommate said, jumping up to clasp the beautiful
black woman’s hand. “And this is my roommate, Molly!”

“Missy. Molly,” Domina nodded, in acknowledgement. “I don’t think
I’ve seen you around before. Are you new to the building?”

Missy grinned. “Molly is. She just moved in last week. I’ve been
here for a while. I usually do my laundry on Tuesdays, but Molly
had a full load and I wanted to show her the ropes.”

Domina nodded. “Well I am certainly delighted to meet the two of
you,” she said, giving them a warm smile. “Sorry to have startled
you; the folding tables are over there against the wall and I’m
afraid I’m not the most visible person in poor lighting.”

The girls blushed awkwardly, but Domina merely chuckled.

The beautiful black woman stopped suddenly and turned to face the
back wall.

“Incoming!” she warned.

Confused, Molly turned to see who might be entering the laundry
room.

As before, a flash of brilliant August sunlight seared the pretty
brunette’s retinas.

“Son of a *bitch*!” she cursed, trying to rub away the colorful
spots that now occluded her vision. “When will I learn?!?”

Missy’s callous laugh hurt her feelings a bit, but she ignored
it.

“Hey, who’s that?” Missy asked, pointing to the newcomers, as
Molly blinked her eyes to clear her vision.

“Oh, that’s Sabrina West,” Domina told them. “She’s a television
reporter for one of the local stations – one of our local
celebrities!”

Molly strained her abused eyes. An attractive tallish red-head
had set her clothes basket on a table and was stripping off her
jeans and cotton tank-top. That must be “Sabrina.”

“And behind her is …,” Domina offered.

“I know who that is,” Missy interrupted tersely. “It’s that bitch
from 3-D!”

As her eyes adjusted, Molly made out the figure of a sultry
Mexican woman, in her late 20s or early 30s, who looked hot and
tired, appearing to be in a generally foul mood.

“Sounds as if you two already have a history,” Domina observed,
giving Missy a wry smile.

“Ana-Maria was the first tenant I ever met,” the black woman told
them, “when I first moved here – she became my first friend.”

Missy looked at Domina, aghast. “You’re friends with that slu… er
… woman?”

Domina chuckled and nodded.

“Hola, Ana-Maria!” the black woman called, waving.

Molly saw the lovely Latina look up, a small smile briefly
replacing her scowl, and wave back. Her loose, white blouse clung
to her curvy, perspiring body.

“Hey, Doctoor Hee-yeoong!” Ana-Maria called back.

Molly looked at the beautiful black woman.

“Doctor?” she asked.

Domina smiled and appeared to blush, modestly. “PhD,” she
demurred, “not M.D. I teach Behavioral Economics up at Rosement
College.”

Missy whistled softly. “Rosemont!” she said. “That expensive
private school, out in the ‘burbs?!? You’re a professor at that
exclusive women’s college?!?”  The young blonde laughed. “What’s
a person like you doing in a dump like this?!?”

Domina gave a strained chuckle and seemed to blush a bit,
although it couldn’t be seen in her dark complexion.

“That’s … complicated,” she stammered.

Before Missy could press her further, though, the sultry Mexican
interrupted.

“Hot layk a tree-dough-ler puta!” Ana-Maria spat, trying to wipe
sweat from her brow.

“Wha?” Molly thought, brow furrowing. “What did she say?” The
beautiful Mexican had a sexy accent, but it was so thick that the
pretty brunette had trouble understanding.

The door opened and a throng of women entered. “Must be 3
o’clock,” Missy grinned. “Looks as if we just beat the rush!”

Domina chuckled. “Coincidence that ‘General Hospital’ ends at 3?”
she whispered, causing the two white girls to laugh out loud.

The newcomers began milling about, sorting or folding clothes,
paging through old magazines that had been here since the Reagan
era, or idly chatting and catching up on gossip

“What’s ‘Behavioral Economics?” Molly asked.

The beautiful black woman gave her  along, appraising look. “It
can be difficult to explain,” she said, her voice dropping into
‘lecture mode.’ 

“Basically," Domina told them, "Behavioral Economics is a discipline that applies scientific research on human and social cognitive and emotional biases to better understand economic decisions.”

Missy and Molly nodded. “I see,” they said, in unison – neither
of them really having any idea what the beautiful professor had said.

“When you get right down to it,” Professor Jung smiled, giving
the girls a strangely calculating look, “everything we do comes
down to some form of ‘economic decision.’”

Molly pondered that cryptic statement. "I wonder what she meant?" the pretty brunette mused slently.

Meanwhile, Ana-Maria had plopped her basket down on the remaining idle washer
and began dumping clothes into the machine. There was a
collective sigh from the dozen or so women who had just arrived,
as they realized they’d have to settle back for a long wait.

Missy, though, came to immediate attention.

“Hey!” the skinny blonde shouted, spinning to confront the cross
Mexican woman. “That was *our* machine!”

Ana-Maria didn’t even look up.  She finished loading the washer
and dropped several quarters into the slots. Only when the washer
hummed to life, did the beautiful Mexican woman give a
perfunctory glance at the irate blonde.

“I deen’t see no clothes een there,” she said dismissively,
unbuttoning her blouse, in order to throw it in with the rest of
the clothes in the washer.

Missy’s face was florid. “We were here first!” she insisted.
“Didn’t you see our clothes piled over here, already sorted?”

“Den jew shood haf been running de washer ‘stead o’ running jew
moufs!” Ana-Maria snapped.  She purposefully turned her back on
the fuming blonde and dropped her skirt to the ground, before
bending over to untie her shoes and remove her anklets.

Molly gave a short, sharp, unintended laugh as the lovely Latina
bent over. The young brunette instantly clamped her hands over
her mouth to prevent the oncoming peals of hilarity.

There, printed across the panties stretched *very* tightly over
the sultry Mexican’s gorgeous, ample ass was the word TUESDAY, in
big, scrolling letters.

Missy’s eyes almost bugged out of her head.

“Oh! My! God!” the skinny blonde shouted in a horrified, dramatic
staccato. “Those are my panties!  *You* stole *my* panties!”

The beautiful Mexican stiffened, freezing in place.

“Joor high,” she said, dismissively, stepping out of her shoes
and peeling off her anklets.

The angry blonde looked as if she might have an aneurism at any
minute.

“Don’t try to deny it, you thief!” Missy shouted, spraying
spittle in her fury. “Those are exactly the same brand as the
pair I have on right now!”

Molly’s heart began to pound.  She hated confrontations.

“Fock jew,” the lovely Latina replied, giving Missy an angry toss
of her head.

“Fuck *me*?!?” Missy screamed. “Fuck ME?!?”  Molly could see
veins bulging on her roommates forehead.

“No!” the blonde screamed. “Fuck *you*!”

With that, she launched herself onto the Mexican woman’s back.

“Catfight!” shouted the mousy woman from apartment 2-A.

All of the women in the laundry room, in various states of
undress, crowded into a circle around the combatants, eager to watch.

The white girl slapped and clawed at the Mexican woman, leaving
ugly scratches on Ana-Marie’s dark-olive skin.  But it was
obvious that the lovely Latina was far stronger and far more
skilled at fighting.  The two women tussled and rolled on the
floor, Missy flailing at Ana-Maria and the beautiful Mexican
woman showing amazing restraint by just fending off attacks
rather than launching her own offensive.

Molly sat, overwhelmed. “What should I do?” she agonized. “Should
I help? I can’t fight!”

The Latina’s restraint ended when one of the blonde girl’s
flailing strikes swiped the beautiful Mexican’s cheek, leaving
three parallel oozing trails of crimson across Ana-Marie’s
gorgeous face.

The two women paused, looking at each other in disbelief. The
lovely Latina brought her fingertips up to gently touch her
wounded cheek.

She held her hand in front of her, looking at the droplets of
blood incredulously.

Anger suffused her lovely features.

“You … *beetch*!” she screamed, plowing into the hapless blonde
with her fists. Missy tried to curl up protectively as the
furious Latina rained blows down on her.

This was too much! Molly jumped down off the washer to rush to
her friend’s aid. She knew she’d be useless in a fight, but she
couldn’t just sit by and do nothing!

“Wait!” Domina warned, grabbing Molly’s arm and halting the white
girl’s rescue attempt. “Don’t!”

Molly looked at Domina in confusion … and more than a little
appreciation. She really hadn’t wanted to get involved.

“Ana-Maria’s roommates are in this crowd,” Domina cautioned,
draping a comforting arm around the trembling white girl’s
shoulders. “Right now, it is a one-on-one fight. It’s still a
matter of personal honor. If you try to intervene, Ana-Maria’s
roommates will jump in and it will be four-on-two!”

The hapless brunette looked pale and shaken.

“Sit back,” Domina suggested gently, patting the top of the
vibrating washer. “The best thing you can do for your roomie now
is to hold back and wait. We can help her afterwards, if she
needs it.”

Molly looked doubtful, but was far too anxious to question. She
did as the calm, older woman suggested and hopped back up onto
the thrumming washing machine.  Domina kept her arm around the
brunette’s shoulders. Molly could feel her thighs ripple ever-so
slightly from the washer’s gentle, persistent tremors and felt
the flush of arousal creeping over her features again.

Did the beautiful black woman realize that the pressure of her
arm pressed Molly a little harder against the thrumming washer?
Delicious waves of pleasure washed over the anxious white girl.

“God,” Molly scolded herself, “I am such a pervert! How can I be
enjoying vibrations on my pussy when my friend is in the middle
of a fistfight?!?”  She looked helplessly at the two combatants.

Ana-Maria had caught Missy up in a brutal scissor hold across the
blonde’s midsection.  The beautiful Mexican woman’s ass was off
the ground as she squeezed her muscular, olive thighs together –
crushing the skinny white girl who writhed helplessly between her
muscular legs.

“Hod enough?” the lovely Latina demanded, easing the pressure
just enough to allow the white girl to reply.

“My panties,” Missy gasped. “You stole my … NNNNNNG!”

The blonde’s labored accusation was cut off as the Mexican beauty
squeezed her legs together mightily.  The white girl’s mouth
worked frantically, but no sound came out.  She gave a loud groan
as Ana-Maria eased the pressure again.

“Jew ready to let eet go, beetch?” the beautiful Mexican
demanded.

“My panties …!” Missy sobbed. “You stole … NNNNNGGGH!”

Sweat shone off the sultry Mexican woman’s muscular thighs as she
crushed the hapless white girl between them. Ana-Maria’s
curvaceous ass lifted off the ground again as she strained her
legs together.

Tears streamed from Missy’s tightly clenched eyes as she clawed
feebly at the lovely Latina’s rock-hard thighs.  Ana-Maria
squeezed even harder and the entrapped blonde began to twitch,
silently.

“You’re gonna kill her,” one of the women in the crowd warned.

Ana-Maria reluctantly eased her grip.

“Jew ready to geev up, now, beetch?” the beautiful Mexican
demanded, giving a short, warning squeeze of her powerful legs.

Missy opened her pale, watery blue eyes.

“My panties,” she gasped, weakly.

“Joor pontees!” Ana-Maria shouted angrily, releasing her hold and
kicking the blonde away. “Joor pontees, joor pontees, joor
pontees!”

The furious Mexican woman jumped on top of the white girl and
straddled her chest, crushing the blonde’s tiny tits under her
full, round ass.

“Jew want joor fockeeng pontees?!?” the lovely Latina screamed,
face flushed with rage. “*Hee-ar*! Hee-ar’s joor fookeeng
pontees!”

With that, she hopped forward and jammed her crotch down onto the
pinned white girl’s face.

“Dees wot jew wonted?” Ana-Maria shouted. “Deez da fookeeng
pontees jew wonted?!?”  She savagely ground her crotch against
the pinned blonde’s face.

“Damn!” a woman’s voice muttered from the crowd. “That’s one of
the hottest real-life catfights I’ve ever seen.

Meanwhile, Molly was staring at the two combatants with rapt
attention.  Her face was deeply flushed and she was almost
panting.

“What’s wrong with me?” Molly wondered, surprised and disgusted
at her reactions. “Why am I so turned on, watching this? I should
be concerned for my friend, nothing more.”

The beautiful Mexican woman still straddled the white girl’s
head, her long, olive legs pinning the blonde’s arms.  Ana-Maria
was panting and sweat dripped off her in tiny rivulets. But she
maintained her position of victory, making certain that all could
see her dominance over the whiny white girl.  The crowd of
assembled women cheered loudly.

Ana-Marie gave a weary smile. Molly thought the lovely Latina was
about to dismount her vanquished foe when something unusual
happened ...

The beautiful Mexican woman’s eyes went wide with surprise and
her body stiffened.  Slowly she relaxed, settling back down onto
the pinned blonde’s face.

Ana-Maria’s eyelids drooped closed and her lips parted as her
breathing became more rapid.  The lovely Latina opened her eyes a
crack, just enough to show her eyes were glazed and unfocused.

Molly had no idea what had happened, but felt her vibrating slit
grow even wetter.

Ana-Maria stayed in that position for several minutes before
closing her eyes with a soft sigh.  Her head lolled back, turning
her flushed, lovely features to the ceiling.

“Holy mother of …!” Molly thought, startled. “That Mexican woman
… she’s … she’s getting sexually aroused! She’s getting off,
sitting on Missy’s face!”

Sure enough, Molly soon detected the tiny, almost imperceptible
motion of Ana-Marie’s hips, as the sultry beauty began rocking
back and forth on the unmoving white girl’s face.

This went on for about five minutes. Finally, Ana-Maria sighed
and let herself fall forward until her forehead almost touched
the floor, reaching down to tug at her panties.

The lovely Latina then straightened and continued to sit,
motionless, as before.

“They’re … they’re not moving,” Molly whispered to Domina. “Is
the fight over? Is everything OK?”

The beautiful black woman hugged the anxious white girl,
reassuringly.

“Everything’s fine,” Domina told her. “The fight’s over. Missy’s
now servicing the victress.”

The startled brunette jerked her head to look at Domina, unsure
she’d heard correctly.

“What?!?” she gasped.

Domina smiled. “I said: ‘Your roommate has her tongue up Ana
Marie’s pussy and is servicing her, in front of all these other
women.”

Molly’s face flush deeper and her breathing become more labored.

“No!” the pretty white girl gasped, slowly shaking her head as
she turned to examine the former combatants more closely. “That
can’t be! I mean, that’s impossible! “ She turned to look at
Domina, again.

“Isn’t it?” she whispered, hoarsely.

The beautiful professor hugged Molly, gently.

“Just look at them,” Domina whispered, maintaining her warm
embrace. “Ana-Marie has been sitting on your friend’s face for
over 15 minutes now. The fight is over; yet, she’s not leaving. 
Your roommate has just been lying there all this time. Missy
fought like a wildcat, earlier, but now … she’s complacent and
docile.”

Molly sat, transfixed as she watched the two women on the floor.

The beautiful black woman moved close to whisper in the rattled
white girl’s ear.

“Watch Ana-Marie’s hips,” she murmured. “See how she rocks back
and forth, barely moving, hoping no one will notice?”

Molly’s lips parted as she watched the former opponents. She
could feel her own ample bosom heave with each deep breath.

“Look at all of the people watching,” Domina murmured, softly,
lips pressed almost against the white girl’s ear. Molly could
feel each puff of the beautiful black woman’s moist, hot breath,
sending waves of ticklish pleasure through her body.

“They were all cheering as the fight ended,” the professor noted.
“But now? Dead silence. The fight was over long ago, why is
everyone still here … watching?”

Molly looked around the room, at the silent collection of women
all staring intently at the former catfighters.

“Look at Missy’s head,” Domina persisted, softly. Molly looked at
her roommate’s head, wedged under the dominant Mexican’s crotch.

“Ohmigod!” Molly breathed, slowly blinking as it all sank in.
“The Mexican chick’s must have pulled the crotch of her panties
aside! She must have done it when she bent over. Missy’s face is
right in her … her …”

She couldn’t say it, but the black woman nodded.

“And Missy’s head,” Molly gasped. “It’s moving!  You can barely
see it, but it’s *moving*!  Fast little jerks, back and forth …”

Domina nodded, again.

“That’s right,” the black woman breathed in the white girl’s ear.
“Missy is licking Ana Marie’s pussy.”

Molly stared at the two catfighters whom almost everyone in the
room seemed to know were trying to have discreet sex -- right
there in the middle of a crowd of onlookers!

“And do you know why your roommate is licking Ana Marie’s pussy?”
Domina whispered.

Molly frowned and shook her head, her mind reeling. But she never
took her attention from the former catfighters.

“That Mexican woman …” Molly stammered. “She must have done
something to Missy!  She must have …”

The white girl’s protests trailed off.

“Done what?” Domina asked, softly. “There’s no way she could have
forced Missy to perform oral sex. Even when she sat on Missy’s
face, your roommate didn’t have to comply.  Besides, you and I
were here all the time; Ana-Maria never once suggested such a
thing – we’d have heard her.”

The black woman paused to let that sink in.

“It was Missy who initiated the sex,” Domina whispered.

Molly shook her head violently in denial, starting to protest.
But her protests died in the face of the beautiful professor’s
questioning look.

“No?” the beautiful black woman purred. “Who do you think
initiated the actual sex part?”

Molly’s mind raced to come up with some rationalization … any
excuse … to keep from acknowledging her roommate’s actions.

But she came up blank.

Their attention returned to the catfighters. Ana-Maria had opened
her eyes and was scanning the room in obvious embarrassment. “She
must realize that nobody’s been fooled,” Domina chuckled in
Missy’s ear. “She’s become aware that everyone here knows what
they’re doing.”

The lovely Latina quickly rose to her feet, trying to discreetly
pull her panties back into position as she stood. Missy got up,
too, wiping her slick face with a forearm.

The Mexican and the blonde dressed hurriedly, in silence, putting
on the first articles of dirty clothing they could find from
their respective clothes baskets.

Once dressed, they both paused.

Ana-Maria looked at the skinny blonde girl.

Missy looked at the sultry Mexican beauty.

Without a word, Ana-Maria took Missy by the hand and led her out
of the laundry room.

Missy compliantly allowed herself be led away.

With the sex show over, the assembled women milled about,
giggling a bit, and slowly went back to their routines.

“What?” Molly asked, blinking in confusion. “What just happened?
Where did they go?!?”

Domina smiled compassionately at the naive young brunette.

“I’m guessing that Ana-Maria is taking Missy back to her place,”
Domina said. “So that your roommate can enjoy a little ‘Mexican
Taco’ in privacy. If your little blonde friend is any good at
submissive oral sex, Ana-Maria will keep her as a sex slave.”

The beautiful black woman shrugged, sympathetically. “I’d say
there’s a better than average chance that that was the last
you’ll ever see of Missy.”

Molly looked pole-axed.

“Missy …” the brunette stuttered, trying desperately to mesh her
mental images of reality with what she’d been presented over the
past half hour.

Her roommate … her best friend … having sex?

In public?

With another woman?!?

Molly’s mind reeled as she slowly came to the only conclusion her
upbringing could reach.

“Missy … is a slut,” she whispered. Her shoulders sank in
dejection as she slowly accepted this previously unimaginable
conclusion.

“Missy must be a slutty, little lez,” Molly muttered, angry to
think how she must have been fooled, all these years.

“That’s true,” Domina soothed, stroking Molly’s soft, carefully
brushed hair. “Missy *is* a slut. And she *is* a lesbian … or, at
least, has strong bisexual tendencies.”

Molly angrily nodded her agreement.

“But that’s not her fault, really,” the beautiful black woman
cooed, casually leaning on both of the white girl’s bare thighs.
Molly moaned softly as she felt her already-excited pussy
inadvertently pressed harder against the top of the vibrating
washing machine.

The aroused brunette immediately snapped her mouth shut.

“Missy submitted to her slutty lesbian side because she came up
against a more dominant woman,” Domina whispered. “And she lost.”

Molly tried to focus her blurred gaze on the patient Behavioral
Economics professor.

“That’s just the law of Biology,” Domina explained,
‘unintentionally’ pressing Molly’s bottom more firmly against the
throbbing washer as the beautiful black woman leaned closer .
“Every community establishes ‘dominant’ individuals and everyone
else in the pack must take a subordinate role.”

“Subordinate …” the flushed brunette repeated, dully, as she
desperately tried to ignore the mounting throb of pleasure
between her legs.

“Let me explain,” the professor offered. “Earlier, Missy started
a confrontation with Ana-Maria over a pair of purloined panties,
right?

Molly nodded, dully.

“It turns out that Missy was completely right,” the beautiful
black woman said. “Ana-Maria *had* stolen her panties.”

She gave the aroused young brunette a sympathetic look.

“Unfortunately,” Domina continued, “in Nature, it isn’t enough to
be ‘right.’ The Natural Order dictates that the dominant
individual always gets her way, even when she’s wrong. Follow?”

Molly furrowed her brow, trying to concentrate … to ignore the
thrumming pleasure of her thoroughly aroused cunt.

“But …,” the younger girl stammered, “but, Missy was right. That
Mexican woman *did* steal a pair of her panties. How does that
make Missy the one who has to submit … to become a lesbian?”

The black professor smiled, patiently. “Because Ana-Maria was far
more sexually dominant,” she explained.  “Most women are … how
shall I put this …? They’re ‘sluts.’ Submissive sluts.”

Domina’s embrace suddenly seemed quite … firm.

“And the only difference between a straight woman and a lesbian,”
Domina whispered, giving the startled white girl a lewd wink, “is
a six-pack.”

She paused, gazing deeply into the trembling white girl’s wide,
blue eyes.

Molly felt her pussy quiver deliciously in response. She ignored
the feeling.

“Or the presence of a Dominant who desires to be pleased by
another woman,” the beautiful black woman purred.

A foreboding suspicion started to form in the young brunette’s
mind.  Was this woman … coming on to her?

Molly’s mind balked at completing the thought. It couldn’t be.
Surely an authority figure such as a college professor would be
trust-worthy!  And … straight!

“Most people are submissive, by nature,” the black professor
continued, as if lecturing a class. “Even those who may seem loud
and extroverted. But when they come into the presence of a true
Dominant, it is right and natural that they end up submitting.”

Molly was trembling … with confusion, anxiety, and …feelings she
was trying desperately to ignore or repress.

“What’s happening to me?” she wondered. “Am I turning into what
Missy turned into … a slut … a lesbian? Why am I getting so
turned on?!?”

Domina casually walked to the nearby table and plucked a pair of
panties from the pile of dirty clothing.

“These yours?” she asked.

Molly nodded.

The beautiful black woman wadded the panties into a ball and,
reaching into her own panties, rubbed Molly’s purloined underwear
vigorously in her dark, musky crotch.

“Hey!” Molly protested, in shock.

“Society, personal property, even personal freedom …” the
professor continued, masturbating with the white girl’s panties
while ignoring her objections, “ … all of these are illusions …
artificial constructs that humans have made in an attempt to deny
Natural Order.”

Domina pulled the sodden mass of fabric from her cunt and,
holding it by two fingers, casually walked over to the seated
brunette.

“We become so familiar with these artificial societal devices,”
the beautiful black woman said, gently turning Molly so that the
trembling white girl faced the wall mirror on the back wall,
“that we sometimes forget that they are not the *real* system.”

Leaning behind the confused white girl, Domina wrapped one dark
arm around her torso, pinning one of Molly’s arms and entrapping
the other between there bodies.

“We forget that these constructs are weak attempts to subvert the
Natural Order,” the beautiful black woman told her, clamping the
wet panties firmly over the young brunette’s nose and mouth.

Molly stiffened, startled, and bleated a muffled protest. She
struggled in the beautiful black woman’s grasp, but Domina kept
talking, as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Ever since the beginning of Life,” the professor lectured,
keeping the damp, pungent panties pressed firmly against her
unwilling pupil’s face, “certain individuals became Dominants,
whether by genetics or circumstance.”

Molly’s pretty blue eyes were wide with shock and confusion.
“What’s happening?!?” her mind cried. “What’s she doing to me?!?”

The pretty brunette peered helplessly at the reflections in the
wall mirror, as the beautiful black professor spoke. Domina
maintaining her hold on the young white girl, gripped Molly’s
shoulder from the front, reaching up from below.

“Over the years, some weak individuals grew to resent the
Dominants and tried to devise ways to constrain us,” she told
Molly, gently pulling down on the brunette’s shoulder, pressing
Molly more firmly against the vibrating washer she sat on. The
bewildered brunette moaned aloud as the thrumming vibrations made
her aroused pussy quiver. She gasped in the musky scent of the
older woman’s sex through the soaked panties, all the time
watching the reflection of the beautiful black woman dominating
her.

“Did Missy change because of anything that occurred during the
fight?” Domina asked.

Slowly, Molly shook her head.  Her gaze was fixed on the
reflection of her tear-streaked face and the pungent panties,
soaked with the juices of another woman’s arousal, that remained
pressed against her face. “What’s happening to me?!?” her mind
kept asking, caught in an endless loop of confusion and denial.
“What is this woman doing to me?!? Why do I keep answering her
questions?”

Molly struggled to remember an exact moment when the situation
had gone “over the line.”

“We are really ‘over the line,’” the young brunette told herself,
breathing shallowly through the all-but-forgotten pussy-dampened
panties pressed against her face. “But … I keep answering her
questions and everything she says seems to make sense. I can’t
identify any point on which she is wrong. Maybe it’s just me.
After all … we can’t be over the line – I would never have let
that happen!”

“Would I?”   Molly’s head hurt from trying to puzzle it all out.
“Then why is all of this happening to me? I should leave, if I
don’t like what’s happening!

Domina appeared to be studying the bewildered white girl in the
mirror, as she continued. “That’s right!” the black woman purred.
“Nothing changed. That means that Missy had all of those
submissive lesbian tendencies even before the fight.”

Domina paused, seeming to consider her words carefully.

“Do you know what ‘latent’ means?” the black woman whispered.

Molly slowly nodded.

“Smart girl!” Domina purred, smiling broadly as she replaced the
hand holding the panties with Molly’s.

Molly felt an unexpected rush of warm, simplistic gratification
at the compliment, as if she were a grade-schooler blushing at
being praised by a teacher. Responding reflexively to the
professor’s confident air of authority, Molly unthinkingly
continued to press the damp panties against her own face.

The beautiful black woman continued lecturing and Molly’s head
spun. She caught bits and pieces of the lecture, but could make
no sense of what the professor was talking about.

Cognitive dissonance? Positive reinforcement? Reinforcement
through repetition? Acclimatization?

What did all of that mean?

The quiet brunette continued to gaze at their reflections in the
dirty mirror.

“Would you say that it seems that Missy had latent submissive and
lesbian qualities even before the fight?” Domina asked, casually,
reaching over to remove the damp panties that Molly had kept
pressed against her face.

Molly stiffened, as the terrible implications of that question
sunk home.

“Is that what’s happening to me?” she wondered, paralyzed with
horror and confusion. “Is that why I’m feeling as I am? Is that
why I’m so … sexually excited?”

The white girl didn’t respond to the question, her eyes locked
with horror and revulsion on her reflection in the wall mirror.

“Do *I* have … latent … submissive … lesbian … feelings?” she
finally allowed herself to wonder.

“That’s right,” Domina murmured softly in her ear. “Missy was
sexually aroused by the fantasy of being submissive to other
women, even before she tussled with Ana-Maria. The only thing the
fight did was to make Missy finally aware of the feelings she
always had within her.”

“The feelings she had probably been unaware of for so long,”
Domina murmured. “The feelings that had her so … aroused … in so
many circumstances.”

“The feelings she had been … repressing,” the professor murmured,
‘accidentally’ brushing her tongue across the white girl’s ear.

The effect was electric and immediate.

Molly felt a shudder ripple through her body.  Tears streamed
from the trembling white girl’s tightly clenched eyes.

“I’m … “ she choked, “I’m not a lesbian!”

The black woman’s reflection gazed evenly at her.

“Then why do you still have your panties, soaked with my pussy
juice, clenched to your face?” she whispered.

Molly was dumbstruck.

With a flush of humiliation, she realized she *did* still have
the damp panties pressed against her face. Domina had released
her hold on them a good five minutes ago!

“But …” she thought, head spinning, “I am still holding them to
my face … still breathing her scent … why …?!?”

“Missy was a latent submissive, lesbian slut,” the professor
murmured softly into the trembling brunette’s ear, giving it a
gentle kiss, almost like the touch of a feather.

The brunette’s nearly nude body trembled in the black woman’s
arms.

“Are *you* repressing any latent feelings?” Domina purred,
cupping one of Molly’s full white breasts in her hand. “Does the
idea of submitting to another woman … excite you?”

The white girl’s body was rigid and tense. Molly’s mental gears
were grinding as she tried to process everything. She could
almost feel her emotional defenses and cognitive constructs
collapsing around her.

Ashamed, she quickly lowered the damp panties from her face.

Surprisingly, she felt a pang of … loss. Of deprivation. It’s as
if she had slowly acclimated to the panties’ scent … mentally
mixed it in with all of the suggestive conversation and the
vibration of the washing machine and …

“No!” she told herself. “I didn’t like the smell! In fact, I hate
the smell! Another woman’s secretions …!”

But if she hated the smell, why had she continued to hold the
panties in place? If she really hadn’t liked the smell, she
should have removed them immediately.

But she hadn’t.

“Did …?” she whispered softly. “*Did* I like the scent? No!”

But deep down, she knew she was repressing the truth.

“I *must* have liked it!” She struggled to push back the
realization. “Otherwise, I would have dropped them immediately.
Her … her scent … must turn me on! Listening to her talk must
turn me on! Her breath on my ear … ”

“No!” Molly gasped aloud, trying to focus … trying to ignore her
whirling mind … trying to ignore the delicious vibrations on her
pussy and the growing wave of arousal that was threatening to
sweep through her.

“Focus!” she told herself. “Use logic!”  She tried to gather her
scattered wits and consider the situation.

The only way things added up … the only way to make sense of it
all logically, would be to conclude … to conclude that …

“I’m …I’m a slut!” Molly whispered, her voice barely audible
through the damp panties she had again pressed against her dazed
face.

The realization/ admission shook her to the core of her being,
but sent a strange thrill of pleasure through her being. She gave
in to the arousal she’d been fighting.

“I must be a slut. I … I must be a latent, submissive, lesbian
slut! Otherwise, I wouldn’t have these … feelings. I must have
been like this all my life; I just never realized it.”

“Yes,” Domina purred, gently removing the panties that had found
there way back to the dazed white girl’s face. “And I am your
Dominant. It is your role – your destiny -- to serve me, in any
way I desire.”

“In every way I desire,” she repeated softly.

The young girl stared at the older woman stupidly for almost a
full minute, struggling with all that was happening.

After several long minutes, Molly’s face relaxed and she regarded
the black woman with adoring eyes.

“Yes, my mistress,” the young white girl murmured. “That’s the
only explanation that makes sense. My role in life … my destiny …
must be to serve you.”

Domina smiled and helped the young white girl off the washer. 
Ignoring her laundry, she dressed and helped Molly dress, as
well.

“You may as well move in with me,” the professor told the
successfully conditioned young girl, as they gathered their
things. “Ana Marie won’t be letting Missy return any time soon,
so there’s no sense in you wasting money on your own apartment.”

Domina smiled as the pretty brunette nodded dully and followed
her new Mistress back to their apartment.
