The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Cindy woke up the next morning face-down on an inflatable mattress in Eric’s pool, bare-ass naked and freezing cold. She tried to remember how she’d wound up here, but her memories of the previous night were wrapped in cotton. Probably because they weren’t her memories, but rather Cindyslut’s. (She’d nicknamed the lust-crazed bimbo personality as such, and the prior day’s obedient and dutiful one Cindyslave.)

She remembered it in orgasms, which seemed to be in plentiful supply. Beginning with sucking Eric off, she’d cum when his mouth filled with his spunk. Bent over the kitchen table atop a pile of junk mail, smiling giddily at the picture on the front of an underwear catalogue, wishing she was as hot as that girl so she’d get fucked more often. Straddling Eric in the hottub, shrieking her head off for all the neighborhood to hear. (She’d seen the same kid from two days ago watching them from his bedroom window, and just knowing she had an audience made her cum an extra time.) Getting spanked by a hot young police officer (Eric’d remembered her request to be more discerning in her slut-state) who’d responded to a neighbor’s noise complaint, then getting on her knees and giving him a titty fuck and promising not to scream so loud later. Falling asleep with a stupid smile plastered on her face as Eric fingered her from behind on the pool floatie.

Shivering violently, she maneuvered her craft towards the shallow end of the pool with her fingertips, then hopped out while getting nothing more than her ankles wet. Still, it made her shiver so badly that she could hardly move for a moment, standing in the open air of the backyard. She made her way into the house where Eric had hung a robe for her inside the door; he was asleep on the couch still, naked as well. As she slipped the robe on gratefully, she took a moment to admire his body. Strangely, it was the first time she’d seen him undressed while she was in her right mind. She’d seen him without his shirt on before, and she’d always known he kept himself in good shape. Her eyes lingered over-long on his now-flacid penis, thinking how excited she’d been for it only last night. The feeling hadn’t gone away entirely. She didn’t think it was his doing; certainly being on the receiving end of pleasure that intense must have conditioned her brain to love the very sight of it. Or something.

It was still early; the cold had awakened her rather than just being rested. Still-chilled and sore beyond belief in nearly every muscle in her body, she wanted nothing more than to go to Eric’s vacant bed and sleep. Yet today was to be the last day in her trials, and she didn’t want to waste a moment of her freedom. She took a hot shower to warm up and slipped back into the robe, contemplating. She thought about what life might be like as Cindyslave or Cindyslut, what would change. Obviously the sex. No more working. Would she have friends? A job? A social life away from Eric’s crotch?

She spent a little time penning a list of requests to ask Eric for. To let her family know, and make them OK with it. Maybe let her visit them occasionally. To let her keep her interest in crocheting. Keep up with Downton Abbey. She even thought maybe he’d consider leaving town with her; she grudgingly admitted that some of the exhibitionism was fun, but the notion of her old friends and co-workers seeing her was still humiliating. Not that she’d mind soon; soon, no doubt, she’d be excited at the prospect of being ogled and groped and licked and maybe even fucked by every guy she saw. She thought about asking him not to let her get implants; she’d definitely been thinking last night while staring at that underwear catalog that she’d look hotter for Eric with huge tits.

She’d even begun wondering if it would be so bad. From the outside, of course, it was terrible—her life as she’d known it was over. Then again, her life as she’d known it hadn’t been that great. Working herself like crazy just to keep a crappy job that barely made ends meet, a fender bender away from bankruptcy. So little time and energy to go out that she’d hardly seen most of her friends in months, other than Eric, as he was always good to just sit around one of their places and veg. It was slavery, of a sort, and it was and never would have been her choice; but then, she’d also never have to work again, and had had more sex in the past two days than she’d had in the past year. And better sex than she’d had in her entire life.

But it was her freedom. Normally just a word she heard bandied about by jingoistic politicians, but now it was painfully real for her.

Before she knew it, it was after eight o’clock. Two days ago, that was when she’d launched on her mission to bring Eric pleasure; yesterday, when her sex drive had begun spiking off the charts while her brain cells started going dark. She tried to assess herself, but she couldn’t find anything different. She didn’t feel an urge to put on a slutty outfit, or crawl to Eric and wake him with a good morning blowjob. Since her only clothes her were in the bags of whore-wear downstairs, she found a sweat suit of Eric’s, one ludicrously too big for her, and put it on. She looked preposterousness, and not a man or woman alive could possibly find her sexy in it. It didn’t bother her at all, but as it was still far too big, so she went back to the robe.

Eric came in a good long time later while she was still lost in her pondering. “Morning, Cindy,” he said as he went about finding some clothes. He seemed as comfortable being naked in front of her as she was sure she’d be for him, now.

“It’s quarter past twelve—not morning any more, sleepyhead. Thought I’d have to go down and remind you to enslave me before long,” she chided. Her tone was snotty, but she still smiled a little.

“You put in over-time last night—I gave you the morning off,” he quipped with equal self-consciousness.

She quietly waited for him to finish getting dressed so he’d have to look her in the eyes. “Will this be it? After this, do I make the choice?”

He shook his head, and spoke in a mumble. “No. That’ll come tomorrow—you’ll have the night to think about it.”

“All right. And will it be OK if we talk a little first? I have some things I want to run by you.” She put a hand in the robe’ pocket, touched the paper she’d been writing on.

“Why not now? Now’s fine.” He sat down on the bed. “No, I’d… I’d rather wait, if that’s all right. We can both make all our decisions at once.”

Eric nodded slowly. “Fair enough. We’ll talk tomorrow, beforehand, about whatever you want.”

Only then did she join him on the bed. It felt oddly natural. “So what’s today going to be?”

He smiled then. “To your question, a question. Is there anything you want it to be? Some fantasy you’d like to live out, fear you want get past, kink you’d like to try?”

“What, you’re saying I get to pick who I want to be today?” she asked suspiciously.

“Sure.”

“So say I want to be a dominatrix and spend all day smacking you around with a riding crop and torturing you with nipple clamps?”

“Really, you think this is the time to start getting bratty, right while we’re deciding your fate.” His tone was jocular, but hers was anything but as she thundered back at him.

“What, you expect me to just happily go along with this? Force me into a few orgasms and I’ll just ask you to take away my freedom? You were my best friend, God damnit! I trusted you, completely! And this is how you treat that trust! Well I won’t fucking play ball. You want me to be your wind-up fuck toy, then turn the fucking winder and get on with it. I won’t do it for you!”

Cindy tensed, waiting for him to retaliate.

Instead, he just rolled over to face her and gently stroked her hair, smiling gently. “I’m sorry for asking that of you, Cindy. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

Forgive you? Go fuck yourself, Cindy thought. “Of course I can, Eric darling. I could never stay mad at you,” she purred in a syrupy sweet voice. She decided to slap his smug face instead. Her hand reached out—slowly, and rested dotingly on his cheek.

“I know, sweet meat. Say, I skipped breakfast—mind making me a quick bite?” He rolled away, flipping on the television at the opposite end of the room and beginning to flip through channels.

With or without arsenic and a big dose of my spit, you asshole? “Sure, love. Anything special? Or I can just make what you like.” She popped up to her feet in a hurry. Stop! Stop obeying, you stupid cunt!

Eric didn’t even respond; he just waved a hand dismissively and she tottered off, giggling affectionately. She shed the robe, winking at him over her shoulder, though he didn’t even look over. Nonetheless, she put every bit of seductive sway she could manage into her step—right up until the moment she rounded the corner.

The partial control—able to adjust mannerisms and facial expressions while not really changing her speed, destination or purpose—was even stranger than was her body’s total betrayal. Instead of her alluring wiggle, she was doing fast, angry strides, the kind she wished she could take right up to Eric before using those same long legs to kick him in the head. Her hands no longer splayed out at her side, now clenching furiously. Nonetheless, she made her way to the kitchen and proceeded to grit her teeth as she busily made Eric a club sandwich, pickle on the side, just like he liked. She wanted to growl in frustration, but found she couldn’t; evidently, her body thought that Eric might hear and be displeased.

So this is today’s game, is it? Hostage in my own body, being his eager little domestic plaything but left to my own thoughts. I guess he meant it when I asked last night. Well, at least I won’t spend all day with Nicki Minaj songs and slutty ensemble ideas running through my head. She carried the tray back upstairs, pausing to give each of her nipples a long hard tweak so they stood good and erect. “Here’s your lunch, darling,” she simpered as she strutted in and stood next to him. His eyes didn’t even glance at her, riveted by some action movie with lots of big sweaty men firing guns. Cindy stood by patiently, positioned to avoid distracting while posed to look sexy if he glanced over. It was the behavior of a trained harem girl in a romance novel. It was mortifying.

And though she couldn’t yet appreciate the fact, it was only going to get worse.

Eric watched his movie for another ten minutes or so as she stood by staring vacantly into space, an insipid smile on her face. When he did look, he seemed annoyed. “Ugh, a sandwich? That’ll get crumbs everywhere.” He crooked a finger at her. “Here, drape yourself across me—you can be my tablecloth.”

WHAT?! You mother fucker…! But she did just that. She delicately leaned across his lap, arms along her sides (to provide extra table room), trying to keep her back as flat and still as possible, her butt thrust out. Inside, she was blushing beet red and hurling curse words at him. Outwardly… she was a tablecloth. A sexy naked girl tablecloth.

Eric took his time with his meal, and when he was done he rested his hands on her back, clearly content with her where she was. So she held as still as possible. She shouted at her arms—punch him in the nuts!—concentrated as hard as she could on making it move, just one quick punch to wipe that smug, disinterested look off his face. But she didn’t even twitch. She didn’t even quiver.

Soon, his hand roamed down towards her butt, and he gave it a prodding slaps, which her body interpreted as a request to wiggle into bed a little further, make it easier for him to reach. Her butt now lay in the center of his lap, and as he continued watching his movie, he began to idly caress her butt. Every so often she’d make a sound of contentment, or a girlish squeal if he did something sudden like one of the occasional smacks he delivered. I wonder if other guys wanted to spank me as much as he did, but just didn’t have the guts (or mind control powers) to try it.

Cindy knew well the effect her ass had on men, and soon enough his hand was sliding down between her legs and teasing her cunt. Holy fuck that feels good. Of course he had to leave in the pleasure response from yesterday. Now that she’d sensed his attention was on her and not the TV, her body started hamming it up, arching her back and moaning dramatically. Well, maybe it wasn’t hamming it up so much as responding to the absurdly good way it felt to have him in her pussy, even just his fingers.

Evidently it wasn’t enough to just look like she was desperate for him; she had to sound the part too. “Oh God yes, Eric, fucking finger my slutty pussy. Fuck, that’s it, that’s it, my cunt is never happy unless you’re inside it. Yeah, baby, oooooooh God YES!” And so on she went, every word chosen to make sure his ego was never wanting, his libido never waning. She didn’t know which emotion was winning out—anger at him for turning her into this, disgust with herself for having such good instincts on being a good fuck toy, or delight to be feeling so goddamn amazing. Her voice was being a little slut, but it wasn’t being dishonest.

It wasn’t long before Cindy’s praises for his fingers turned into shameless begging for his cock. Well, not that it was Cindy, just her voice. No matter how bad I want it, the real me still wouldn’t beg. No matter how fucking good it would feel… Still, it was a very loud, persuasive, desperate, plaintive, weak, girly little voice. Every so often she’d look back at Eric—when the sensations weren’t so intense that she was squeezing her eyes shut—and find him looking at her smugly. Cindy knew the look was directed inwardly at the real her, but there was nothing she could do to respond. All she could do was ride it out.

Speaking of, Eric soon gave her a rough shove on one butt cheek to spin her facing away from him, and a moment later, she was sliding herself down his shaft and bracing herself for some reverse cowgirl. “Oh how did I get so lucky, Eric?” she cooed.

“Beats me—sharp tongue like yours, you’d think I’d find some way to pay you back,” he taunted, grabbing her hips and starting her in motion.

Fuck you, you rotten bastard, she thought, though then thought that “fuck you” might not be the kind of thing she ought to say to him under the circumstances. Yesterday the pleasure had been so intense she could barely make herself function, but today she was moving normally. In fact, she wasn’t just normal, she was doing what she could to fuck like a porn star. Throaty moans of delight when he made even the most token effort, back arched, tits and ass thrust out in opposite directions, so overwhelmed with need that her hands were in a non-stop state of playing with her own breasts or diddling her clit.

Eric made it a point to only give her the most token attention, the portrait of a playboy who didn’t need to reciprocate to the slut he was nailing. He smacked her ass hard enough that she thought it might leave a welt, and she gasped delightedly. A pinch of her nipples resulted in her giddily exclaiming how “no one had ever made my titties feel so incredible before!” His phone buzzed at one point, and the son of a bitch actually glanced to see who was texting him. Cindy slowed herself so as not to disrupt, and he was good enough not to answer it just then. How fucking magnanimous of you.

She had to admit, she put on a hell of a show, and it wasn’t all faked. Every time she cried out and came, it was a legitimate mind-blowing toe-curling pussy-rocking orgasm. It didn’t make her grateful, but it made her less inclined to psychically murder him. Then he came in her, and she only had a fraction of a second to inwardly roll her eyes at his juvenile need to make himself feel like a stud as his cum spraying her pussy triggered a 7.0 pleasurequake in her cunt. Cindy finally rolled off of him, fingering her clit to several diminishing orgasms, then hungrily throwing her face at his cock to suck him clean, smiling brightly with her eyes as she glared daggers with her heart.

After a few minutes of dutiful sucking, he tapped a few times on her forehead and jerked a thumb to the side. “All right, you had your fun. Now let me watch my movie in peace, OK babe?”

I had my fun?! How DARE he…?! And she giggled and tried to lay still and not make any more noise as his show resumed.

The final hour of his movie allowed Cindy some time to reflect. She suspected it had always been his intention to do something like this even before her little outburst earlier, to leave her with her normal mind and personality intact while altering her behavior to a more fuckable version. She wondered if she’d not snapped at him if he’d really have taken her suggestion. Too late now.

Still, there was some comfort in at least getting to have her own thoughts. The past couple days had been more jarring in hindsight because she’d just ceased to exist for most of the day. Still, to have control of her thoughts and not to be able to do even the slightest thing to express them… it was likewise maddening, in a way. Like one of those dreams where you’re trapped in an awful situation that, logically, you could and ought to walk away from, but your dream self simply sees it through to its horrible conclusion. Marching on in to school in your underwear.

Except now, if she chose this, she wouldn’t actually wake up.

Cindy wanted to die of shame as she made her way through the mall parking lot.

Eric had given her a few post-it notes on errands he wanted her to run and sent her on her way. Before she left, she’d gotted dressed and primped a little—nothing fancy, just a white blouse unbuttoned and tied below her breasts, so sheer her nipples were visible from fifty yards away; a tartan skirt that had probably been intended for a girl in grade school, short enough it barely concealed her ass cheeks and made so it easily flared up to abdicate even that scant coverage every time she turned; stockings that went halfway up her thighs so no one would be able to resist looking at the exposed creamy white skin in between them and her skirt; a pair of Mary Janes; pigtails.

And of course, neither bra nor panties.

Once more, she was setting out into the world, dressed like an air-headed slut with nothing to recommend her beyond her looks and a willingness to be looked at. Only this time, Eric wasn’t there at her side to pacify anyone who complained. Here, she was well aware that she could run into someone who knew her and shatter their opinion of her forever. This time, a few complaints by conservative lookers-on could get her humiliatingly escorted out of the mall. Hell, she could be raped.

Cindy smiled fetchingly and retrieved the first post-it. Eric had asked her to do them in order, and hadn’t let her read them in advance, so she had no idea where all this would take her. The first one read, “pick up some underwear” and pointed her to the sketchier of the mall’s two lingerie boutiques. She lifted her tits into shopping position and set on in, a teensy bit relieved that she’d at least have some panties and a bra on before this was over.

Happily, this first errand was relatively straight-forward. Other than an arched eyebrow from the sales girl, whose nametag identified her as Rhonda, it began smoothly enough. She identified her preference unambigously, lowering her voice to a sort of girl-girl tone. “I was looking for something really sexy—maybe even a little slutty. The sort of thing you slip on just to have it taken off. Got anything like that?”

Rhonda blushed a little at her straight-forwardness, and brought her a few things to try on. A see-through red set with crotchless panties; a mesh teddy with the netting so sparse it may as well not be there; a blue satin nightie that was a bit more chaste but only by comparison, sporting a cut from neck to pelvis showing as much cleavage as she could muster. She eyed herself a long time in each, and ultimately opted to buy all three.

She bent over to pick up the bags, winking back at Rhonda as the woman couldn’t help noticing that she’d just bought several pairs of panties, then opted to walk out without any on. Parcel in hand, she stepped out of the store and checked her next to-do post-it. “Get a second opinion.”

Inwardly, she winced. Outwardly, she smiled cheerily and began looking around for a capable male to inspect her selections. She murmured to herself, as if to make sure the inner Cindy could perceive her thought process. “Hmm, be nice to multiple opininons instead of just the one…”

Cindy tried to close her eyes and turn off her ears as she walked toward a group of three young men, teenagers probably, sitting on a couch in a thoroughfare. One a white kid with dreadlocks, another wearing a jamaican beanie, and the third was just openly proclaiming his stoner status with a pot leaf on his t-shirt. To confirm, she could smell it on them up close. Seeing the scantily clad sexpot approaching, their conversation broke off and they looked up at her with comingled interest and surprise.

“Hey boys!” she chirped, preening. “Look, I don’t want to bother you guys, but I wondered if you might do me a little favor.” Her tone was nervously needy, as if it would be tough to talk any red-blooded male into what she was about to ask for.

“Whatcha need, baby?” asked Dreadlocks solicitiously.

“Well… oh my gosh this is embarrassing.” It sure the hell is. “I came here to get some presents for my boyfriend, you see, and I wondered if you might tell me if you think he’d like them.”

At once, all three boys slumped, losing interest. A hot bitch like Cindy was interesting right up until the point where she began to sound inaccessible. “Sorry, doll, we’re in the middle of something,” said Beanie.

“Oh, it won’t take long,” she promised fervently. “You see, I just bought a few items of lingerie, and I’d like to get a man’s opinion before I take them back home.”

Their initially intrigued expressions returned in an instant. “Oh, well, I’m sure we can give ya a few minutes then, babe,” Dreadlocks said.

Pot-shirt hesitated. “Hey, what about Angela?”

Dreadlocks glared at him. “She’s your fuckin’ girlfriend dude—you wanna wait here for her, be my guest.” Both he and Beanie were on their feet, following Cindy as she skipped down a side hallway to the restrooms. After a long hesitation, Pot-shirt hopped up and hustled behind them. At least I’m not stripping and doing this in the middle of the mall. I guess.

She went unhesitatingly into the men’s restroom, blessedly unoccupied at the moment, the boys trailing behind her. “Are you guys sure this is OK?” They tripped over themselves to assure her that it was no big imposition. With that assurance in mind, Cindy giggled girlishly and tugged her tartan skirt so the clasps were in front and without ceremony, unfastened them and dropped it to the floor. In five seconds, she’d gone from half-dressed to half-naked, and what a difference it made.

The top was trickier. She’d noticed earlier that she’d seemed to knot it far too tight; with mounting horror, she began to realize why she’d been made to do it. She tugged, she fiddled, tried to squeeze a finger into the knot, but just wasn’t getting anywhere (not that the boys minded, or even seemed to be aware she existed above the waist). She thrust her lower lip out in a pout that was too fake by a stretch even for this parody of a woman, and stamped her foot in frustration. She worried for a moment that the ensuing jiggle to her ass would make Beanie cum in his pants on the spot, the way he gaped. “Darnit, I just cannot get this stupid thing untied!”

And of course, Beanie and Dreadlocks were only too eager to volunteer, but instead, Cindy beckoned Pot-shirt over. “His fingers are littler—he’ll untie it easier.” He dragged his feet a little, and Dreadlocks actually shoved him to hurry him up. With trembling fingers, he tried to work at the knot, having difficulty given his reluctance to touch her.

She took a small step closer, more or less forcing her breasts into his hands. “Holy SHIT you have an amazing body!” Unbidden, the words came out of his lips in a loud exclamation, as if he had no more control of his voice than she had of hers. He looked embarrassed to have said it, but nonetheless looked sincere.

She was readying it to thank him when someone else spoke up, a new voice from the doorway. “What the FUCK are you doing with that slut?!”

In the doorway to the bathroom stood a young woman who could only be his girlfriend Angela, a voluminous mane of somewhat unkempt brown hair cascading down over a punk rock band shirt and skin-tight dark blue jeans. She was all curves—if she’d dressed to flatter her figure better, she’d be a knock-out. Cindy guiltily wondered if Pot-shirt was trading down by being with her.

As he tried and failed to stammer out an explanation (and his hands belatedly darted away from her jugs), Cindy interjected. “Oh, it’s OK—I just asked the boys to give me some advice on some lingerie I bought, but I can’t get this darned top untied!” My God I sound like a fucking airhead.

“Yeah, happens to me all the time,” Angela said sarcastically, then looked her over harder. Cindy just kept smiling; Dreadlocks and Beanie just kept staring at Cindy’s ass. In Angela’s expression, though, there was something… well, something other than anger and disgust, which was all Cindy would be showing if their roles were reversed.

Evidently, Cindy’s body understood what it meant better than she did herself, and she swayed over to Angela. “Say, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help out, would you?”

And there it was, manifesting more clearly—that predatory gleam in her eyes. Angela smiled wolfishly, then shoved her boyfriend aside and grasped the knot. Less nervous and with longer nails, she had the knot undone in moments. Meanwhile, her boyfriend locked the restroom door. “Well?” Angela prompted. “Don’t you have something to show us?”

“She’s showing us plenty already,” Dreadlocks laughed, as Cindy knelt down to retrieve her new purchases. She went first with the nightie, probably because it was easiest to slip on and off. She took some small solace in being once more covered somewhat, then wanted to kick herself for being relieved at being in a mall restroom modeling lingerie for some teenage stoners. Pot-shirt moved behind his girlfriend, pelvis pressed against her ass, and she grinded herself softly against him as he grabbed her wide hips.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked as she finished dressing, spinning slowly.

“Not bad at all, babe,” Dreadlocks commented. “Your guy’s a lucky man.”

“Not as lucky as me,” Pot-shirt commented lamely, flashing a sycophantic smile towards his own girlfriend; even Angela rolled her eyes.

“Well sure, this girl ain’t got Ang’s wonder-titties, does she,” Beanie joked. “Still, she got the best ass I ever seen.”

Jesus Christ, these pricks are already talking about me like I’m not standing right here. “Aww, you’re so sweet. And yeah, I was thinking maybe someday I’d get bigger tits, maybe as big as yours,” she said, admiring them plainly.

“They’re a pain, trust me,” Angela retorted as Cindy began stripping off the nightie, satisfied that it had received male approval for Eric. A moment later, she was naked again.

“I bet they look awesome though,” Cindy said jealously. “Mine are so darn little that it’s hard for me to get boys to notice me sometimes.”

The irony was evidently lost on them, as all four openly leered at her as she proceeded to try on the mesh teddy, which met with equal approbation. Angela was openly humping her ass against Pot-shirt’s groin now, though her eyes never left Cindy’s body. For her part, whatever her voice was gushing on about how much she liked the sight of big tits, Cindy was purely heterosexual. Not that she had any problem with lesbians; she had just never felt a spark of attraction in that way.

Angela, it seemed, felt otherwise.

She didn’t make her move, though, until Cindy had the red see-through bra and panties on. This one was worse than being naked—it was just there to take her nudity and form it into something even sexier, and with the lack of crotch-covering, she could be fucked just as easily with it on as off. She verbalized her reason for purchasing it in exactly that way, not even batting an eyelash at describing herself as, essentially, a toy to be dressed, undressed and fucked at will.

“Well thanks you guys, I feel a lot better about this now.” She unclasped the bra and slid it off.

“Aw shit, that’s it?” Beanie groaned, and Cindy nodded empathetically, as if to apologize for not giving him a more prolonged show.

Dreadlocks grinned in a way he probably thought was charming. “Say, I don’t suppose your boyfriend’s the sharing type, is he?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, but he’d be upset if I went around fucking every guy who saw me naked.” UGH, what a fucking SLUT I sound like. Am. Still, at least Eric’s not going to have me get gang-banged.

Then Angela came at her, flashing a sultry smile. “I’m sure he won’t mind this,” she said, and took one of Cindy’s nipples in her mouth.

EW. Oh fuck EW. There’s a girl sucking on my fucking nipple! Gross! And there’s three pervs watching! Damnit, legs, why won’t you run!

Instead, one of her legs snaked around one of Angela’s to keep her close and moaned happily. “Yeah, I guess he’d be OK with me being with another girl,” she reasoned aloud. She let Angela lick and suck on her diamond-hard nipples for a while before she spoke up shyly. “Say, could I see yours?”

Angela looked around at the guys for a moment. Dreadlocks had his cock out and was unabashedly masturbating; Beanie had his hand down his pants for the same cause but with a slight bit more subtlety. Her boyfriend Pot-shirt was just staring enviously. Angela looked at him as she answered Cindy. “I tell you what. He’s always pestering me to suck him off, ten times a fucking day. You take care of him for me, and I’ll show you anything you want.”

Cindy delightedly agreed; evidently blowing strangers wouldn’t bother the Eric her body was envisioning. And I guess sucking cock is preferable to lezzing out. She squatted in front of Pot-shirt and undid his pants, his erect cock springing out in her face as his underwear followed. She took it into her mouth zealously and started swirling her tongue around it, bobbing her head in a fast rhythm.

Then she felt Angela’s arm wrap around her waist while her other hands planted on the back of her head. The stoner girl pulled up on her waist and pushed down on her head, ending in Cindy continuing the blowjob from a standing position, bent at the mid-section and doing most of the work with her abs. God damnit, this is not why I do 200 crunches every day! Luckily, her trampy little body was a gifted cock-sucker (big shock there) and gauging from his ragged breathing and periodic twitching in her mouth, he was near to cumming in minutes.

Then Angela’s tongue thrust into her pussy.

So intent had Cindy been in her blowjob that she hadn’t even noticed her legs being spread, or Angela getting on the floor beneath her. Two fingers then lunged into her dripping wet sex and started pumping. She squealed and moaned around Pot-shirt’s cock, but her technique was shot. Angela had nothing on Eric when it came to reducing her to a quivering, shrieking, cumming slut, but she knew her way around a cunt and Cindy was at her mercy. Pot-shirt’s attention shifted from the divine sensations of her mouth to the sight of his girlfriend eating this bitch out, and seemed to regain a bit of his stamina. Meanwhile, Angela’s pinky shot right up Cindy’s ass and joined the pumping frenzy, ruining her cock-sucking skills even further.

Angela was a giver though, and let Cindy cum twice before she withdrew. Of course, little did Cindy know that the main reason she did so was because her friends were signaling their readiness to cum, and so shortly after Angela’s withdrawal she felt twin bursts of hot ropy cum blast all over her ass. When had Angela gotten my panties off? At least now I don’t have to try to exchange them for a clean pair. A moment later, Pot-shirt was filling her mouth—clearly Angela was not doing this very often, as she had to rush to swallow before it overflowed and leaked down her chin.

She stood, smiling, panting, boy-cum dripping down the backs of her legs and girl-cum down the middle. Then a pair of feminine hands spun her around and before she could resist she was kissing Angela, sharing the remains of her boyfriend’s cum, their tongues intertwining. True to her word, the busty girl had taken her shirt off and she could feel two enormous boobs pressing against her chest. Cindy, now mercifully deprived of her gag reflex as she was deprived of all bodily functions, bent down and took one of the weighty tits into her mouth, licking and sucking and nuzzling on it like it was an experience she’d dreamed of since puberty.

“Eat me, slut,” Angela hissed at her between moans, and shoved Cindy roughly down to her knees.

“Mmm, I thought you’d never ask,” she breathed as she dove into her first ever pussy. In the past few days fucking and sucking Eric, she’d had ample opportunity to learn what her own pussy juice tasted like; Angela’s was different in a way she lacked adjectives to name, and of course, since she’d never wanted to do such a thing, infinitely worse.

The boys cheered her on, though. “Aw yeah, little slut sure likes the taste of you, Ang!”

“Don’t forget to breath, babe!” Laughter.

Pot-shirt’s hands on her tits, pinching hard on her nipples. “Make her cum like she did you, understand?” Cindy tried to nod without ruining her rhythm. “Good girl.”

Once Angela had gotten off—during which two of the three boys (she was unsure which) had managed to get hard again, and once more unload their jizz on Cindy—they didn’t even say goodbye as they walked off. Beanie and Dreadlocks both cupped her ass possessively, and Pot-shirt and Angela walked out hand in hand. What a perfect couple of assholes.

Cindy spent a few minutes cleaning herself off with paper towels, and was most of the way dressed before someone came in now that the door was open again. She was topless, but just giggled apologetically and finished dressing as if it were just a minor embarrassment. She was dressed, and marveled that the slutty schoolgirl outfit suddenly could feel so concealing. She stepped out of the restroom and checked her purse for her next errand. The third to-do post-it read, “you have ten seconds—be yourself.”

Cindy screamed. It was a primal howl of shame and rage and pent-up frustration that echoed up and down the corridors of the mall.

When her lungs emptied, her face put on a smile and strode on out of the restroom hallway. A mall cop was already running in her direction, and stopped in front of her as it was evident she’d been the only woman down there. “Ma’am,” he said, winded, “are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine! I just stubbed my toe really bad,” she lied, then lifted her leg up and wiggled her toes as if he could see the injury through her shoe. Really, he just saw her bare leg exposed and an invitation to stare at it.

“Try to keep it under control there, ma’am. You scared the hell out of me—I thought someone was being raped or killed back there.” He scowled.

Someone basically was, Paul Blart! Where were your crack detective skills when there was the sound of people fucking in the men’s room? “Sorry, officer, I promise I won’t do it again.” He nodded to her, then turned and walked away.

The fourth post-it—and there seemed to be only one more after, thank God—was quite a bit longer, instructing her to go to a half dozen stores around the mall doing actual errands. Not that her body didn’t find new ways to humiliate her in the process. She pulled a vibrator out of her purse while shopping for batteries, making sure they were the right size. How did that even get in there? She bought some new sheets, explaining to the man at the check-out register that she’d gotten the old ones dirty, then winked suggestively. A copy of the new Tomb Raider video game, allowing her to ask a salesman, “do you think I’d look this good with boobs as big as hers?” (He did.) And so on. Through it all, whenever possible she found excuses to shop from the bottom shelves, bending at the waist and flashing her ass and pussy.

With the final bullet completed, she produced the last post-it note. It read, simply, “Kiera.”

Kiera was a mutual friend, who had for some time been pressuring Cindy to help set her up with Eric. Cindy had put in a good word for her, but Eric had never seemed interested—and of course, she now knew why. Because he’d been in love with her. At the time, though, it had seemed bizarre. Kiera was really pretty, a short Latina with dramatic features, a narrow waist with a butt that looked big on her but was objectively still pretty tight, boobs that were perkier than any teenager’s Cindy had ever seen. She was gorgeous, really.

Of course, he doesn’t know he already made me hit my lesbian quota for the day. That fucking jerk. With her body continuing to follow its own agenda without filling her in on the why’s or how’s, she flitted back out to her car and drove to Kiera’s apartment. Cindy wasn’t usually demure, but she certainly would never wear something this slutty; she couldn’t begin to imagine how she would explain it believably to her friend. She’s going to think I’ve gone insane. What if I can’t convince her to come with me? Will I just abduct her or something? Filled with more shame than she’d ever known in her life, she walked up to Kiera’s door and rang the bell, dreading what steps Eric might make her unwillingly take to complete his sick little errand?

As it turned out, she needn’t have worried.

Kiera answered the door almost instantly, as if she’d been standing on the other side of it just waiting for the doorbell to ring. Which, given the other evidence before her, Cindy supposed she had been. Kiera was wearing the same slutty schoolgirl outfit Cindy was. Her bigger breasts were more on display, and her skirt was navy blue where Cindy’s was red, but otherwise, they were a matching set.

“Hi, Kiera. Ready to go to serve Eric?”

“Hi, Cindy. I’m always ready to serve Eric.” Deep inside, she cried out in horror at the grotesque sexual objects the two girls had become, just for the misfortune of being friends with a mind controller. And Kiera—hell, Eric could have fucked her any time she wanted. She was seldom one to play hard to get, and she’d made her interest clear. Yet apparently this—this vapid, glassy-eyed fuck doll—was more appealing to him than the real woman.

Is she like me? she wondered as they headed out to the car. Is she trapped inside her head, unable to resist? Or is she an eager nympho like Cindyslut? Or a pleasure-focused puppet like Cindyslave? Or something else? But her body didn’t ask, and whatever slutty instincts that were operating its gears certainly didn’t care.

On the drive to Eric’s, Kiera spread her legs and played with herself, moaning little high-pitched girlish moans as she did so. She evidently wasn’t wearing panties either, and her pussy was shaved completely bald. Cindy sneaked a hand down between her legs too every time they were caught at a stoplight. People saw, she was sure, but that was no deterrent to either of them.

They soon arrived at Eric’s house, and Kiera helped Cindy carry her purchases inside. He was waiting for them in the living room once again. Without needing to be instructed, the girls in tandem straddled one of his legs and proceeded in no uncertain terms to double-team him. Their mouths were everywhere. Their hands were everywhere. It reminded Cindy of a POV version of watching strippers throwing themselves at men with money like she’d seen in movies, just throwing themselves at them with no semblance of self-respect, or reservation, or consideration that they deserved reciprocity.

Cindy was humping Eric’s thigh (and greatly exaggerating the pleasure it gave her) while Kiera was smothering him in her tits when he finally had them stand down. “Hang on, girls. It’s been a long couple days with Cindy here,” he said, and she beamed toothily. You’re damn right it has been. “Tonight, I think I just want a good show. Kiera, I know you know your way around a woman’s body… why don’t you show Cindy the ropes?”

Kiera’s bi? Wow, how did I not know that? She allowed herself a moment of regret for having projected a vibe that would make her friend uncomfortable sharing such a detail, mostly because a moment was all she had before Kiera’s tongue was in her mouth. From there, the night passed by in a blur of sweat and cumming and serving, and Cindy was so disconnected from it all that she’d have been hard-pressed to remember anything but the occasional moment.

She remembered telling Eric about her encounter at the mall—not in the furious, accusatory tone she wanted but instead in a sensual, tantalizing manner, teasing out the details. How big Angela’s tits had been. “Even bigger than yours, Kiera,” she said, squeezing them appreciatively. How hot it had made her to have an audience, how much hotter it had made her to feel them cumming on her ass. Hotter still to be recreating it for Eric now.

She remembered Eric sitting on the floor, Kiera lying face-up between his legs, and Cindy kneeling with her legs spread as wide as they would go. As Kiera started licking her pussy, she began to kiss Eric. Funny, my tongue is mimicking the motion of hers. I wonder why…

She remembered lying down on her stomach on the bed with Kiera face down on top of her, spreading their legs equally wide and begging Eric to fuck them, whining and pleading. They giggled, as if it were a game with no winners or losers. He dragged his cock teasingly across Cindy’s pussy, then up across her partner’s. They mewed with need, and Cindy knew it was at least partially sincere; all these tongues and fingers in her cunt had made her sorely miss cock. Especially Eric’s cock. Nothing ever had felt quite as good—true as much in her mind as in her body. (He didn’t fuck either of them that night, to her chagrine.)

She remembered prompting Eric about the underwear he’d had her buy. She modeled it for him, but by the time she was wearing the second outfit, Kiera had tackled her to the couch and was kissing and fondling her like she’d never get another chance. He never did get to see her in the nightie that evening. Cindy supposed she had the rest of her life to show it to him.

She remembered the disgust she felt the first time her tongue slid into Kiera’s slit and licked around inside her, imitating the things Angela and Kiera had done to her. Even by the time she first made Kiera cum, she had that averse reaction under control. By the fourth time Kiera came on her face, it felt perfectly normal. By the last time, she felt like she’d gotten good at it, and was taking some solace in all this that at least she was giving comfort to a fellow victim. In spite of herself, Cindy really was enjoying it. Does that make me bi? I guess so.

And she would always remember the next morning, waking up in the bed she’d shared with the two of them as Kiera dressed herself quietly, Eric still snoring softly. Cindy watched silently, filling with envy at the thought of being allowed to simply walk away from all this. Before she left, Kiera leaned down and gave Cindy a long kiss. Not for show this time, but just to kiss her. Then she left.

And Cindy was herself again.