The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Author’s Note: This story somewhat defies categorization, and differs a lot from most of my work. It is very slow and subtle, but very hot. It touches on kinks I’ve never exactly entertained before, and to which I might not be doing justice. But if you like busty women, and silk, I think you’ll be pleased.

Bombshell

Chapter 1

It was an odd wish, really. Sort of narrow-minded. But it was the one he picked, and so I made it true.

Caterina Harris was feeling pretty good about herself. Her career had been “promising” for years. She’d been making enough to live on from modeling for a while, and then a series of small TV parts got her some real attention. Finally she’d gotten a supporting role on a show that hit it off, and she suddenly found herself one of the hottest names in the business, making movies as fast as she could negotiate the contracts. She’d even been voted “sexiest woman alive” by a men’s magazine, and every media outlet in the world seemed eager to pick apart her appeal.

Caterina, of course, knew exactly what her appeal was. Oh, she liked to think that it had to do with her expressiveness, that sexy vibe she’d practiced ever since she’d decided she wanted to be an actress. But she had to admit that what got her noticed were two things, one real and one fake. The fake one was her bright red hair, came from a bottle. The real one was her voluptuous body and ample natural breasts.

When she was a teenager with aspirations for glamour, she’d hated the way her body looked. She’d thought her breasts had reached the perfect size by the time she was fifteen, but they just kept plumping up. She tried to control her diet, to exercise, but eventually she had to accept that she couldn’t fight her heredity, couldn’t make her hips more narrow or her breasts less full.

But then she met Marilyn. Marilyn had seen the potential in Caterina and taught her how to be a bombshell. Caterina loved that word—when she was “on”, when she was dressed to kill and strutted into a room, she felt like an atomic blast, the way she blew them all away. Marilyn had taught her how to dress to suit her body, how to carry herself, how to turn heads. It was powerful stuff.

It was also hard work. Getting all that womanly flesh contained inside the minimum amount of fabric was a real production, even with a whole team of costumers to help her on set, let alone heading out of her own house to face the cameras that now seemed to follow her everywhere. She’d just come home from a party, but the sexiest woman alive doesn’t even get a day off when the dress is “casual”. She’d worn a tailored shirt over a pair of slacks. It was a relief to get to wear a regular bra for once. She had probably the world’s most expensive and exotic assortment of strapless bras, often supplemented by copious amounts of tape. Great, classy, bombshell cleavage comes at a price. Even the full-support bra she was wearing that night was constricting enough that she was eager to get out of it.

She shucked the shirt and unsnapped the bra, and sighed as her breasts relaxed into their normal pear-shaped posture. Usually she would keep them supported as much as she could, even when she was alone, but sometimes they just needed to bounce free, like nature intended. She peeled the tight slacks off, followed by the silk panties. Silk was key to the sex-pot walk, the walk she’d practiced for hour after hour in front of a wide mirror. Silk lets you walk like a woman in heat, a well-lubricated woman, something men are bred to recognize.

She practiced it playfully as she started towards the bathroom. But then she stopped short. She hadn’t noticed it at first, but there was a fancy-looking gift box on her bed, topped with a bow. How had it gotten there? Only she and Marilyn and their assistant Denise had access to the house.

It must have been a gift from Jeff, and Denise must have put it there for him. Jeff was such a sweet man, and funny. They’d been dating seriously for a few months, but Jeff was off in Italy shooting on location for his latest role. What sort of gift would he send? Caterina lifted the lid off the box. What was inside was a garment of back silk and red lace. She unfolded it carefully—it was quite unlike him to gift her with clothes. He was generally quite baffled by the processes she went through to dress herself, and had said so. It pleased her that he’d taken the extra effort to pick her something nice.

Caterina was slightly worried, though. The garment was a very bold choice—a bustier with matching panties, garters, and stockings. It would be a hard one to fit, and she would be very surprised if she could even get it on, it looked so small, and it had little room for adjustment. Still, she would try. But first she’d have her bath

She ran the water and put her hair up. What did Jeff mean by it, anyway, sending her such a sexy gift when they were so far apart? Did he mean to build anticipation? It was a bold move for Jeff, who was usually so timid. Maybe he was flying in for a quick over-nighter? But Jeff was so environmentally conscious, that she doubted he’d burn so much jet fuel in good conscience. Or maybe she was meant to call him, and talk dirty to him. Or take pictures for him. But both of those were too risky, it was too likely something would get stolen and plastered over the Internet.

She settled into the bath. It wouldn’t exactly be bad publicity, to get busted doing something sexy with her committed boyfriend. But she wasn’t just sexy, she was classy, and she wasn’t about to impinge on that. Still, she would call him, and maybe if he was sweet enough, she would tell him how good she looked in the sexy outfit. They hadn’t really ever given their relationship a name. And he was so far away, in a country filled with beautiful women, and he was the American movie star, and so many of them would want him. Some of them would just because of Caterina. To have the man who had the sexiest woman in the world, wouldn’t that say something of them? But Jeff was thinking of her still, longing for her even, and that thought made her feel sexier than anything the magazines could possibly print.

She soaked in the water for a while, but she was so eager to try on the gift that she didn’t even stay until all the bubbles were gone. She stood up and walked to the shower, sliding the bubbles off her body, and then rinsing herself clean. Then she took a fluffy towel, and dried herself very carefully. It wouldn’t do to have wet or clammy skin against the fine silk. In fact, she decided to lotion herself before she started. Normally she didn’t lotion until morning. But she wanted her skin to be smooth, to compliment the feel of the garment.

She sat on the bed and began rubbing the lotion into her skin. After the bath it soaked up the moisture. She rubbed it back and forth until it was gone, until no trace of grease was there, only perfect, powder-smooth skin. It felt very nice, and she felt a flutter of arousal as she massaged her thighs. It was a delicious feeling, but she pushed it away.

Finally she was done. She turned to the laid-out ensemble and considered in what order to put it on. She decided on the black silk panties first. They fit snugly over her wide hips, and the cool silk made her realize how hot she was between her legs. Then came the stockings and garters. They were also the perfect size, coming just above her knees, and fitting snugly. Next was the bustier. The moment of truth. She shimmied into it, pulling it down over her freshly-anointed breasts, resting it on the flare of her hips. Could it be? She hooked the straps to the garters. It was true, it was a perfect fit as well. The shape of the thing could have been from a mold of her body. There actually was one of those in a warehouse or a vault somewhere, she reflected with a smile, from an effects shot for one of her movies. But she preferred to think that it was Jeff’s intimate knowledge of her curves that had inspired the great fit.

She could imagine Jeff standing in some boutique in Rome, looking bewildered. Like the cliche, the attendant would ask, “is your girlfriend’s figure like mine?”

“Nobody’s got a figure like Caterina!”

Caterina smiled and stepped in front of her dressing mirror. The thing looked amazing on her, the way it hugged and shaped her body. This wasn’t just bombshell, this was vixen material. This was much too hot for any magazine. This was the true solid gold sex appeal she would save for her man—and for herself.

I should call him, she thought. I should call him and tell him how much I love this. But it was early morning over there. Would he mind being woken up to hear from her? To hear how... how horny being in the outfit was making her? She wished he was there, wished she could share the moment with him—and then share her arousal with him. He was such a dedicated lover, he treated her like a treasure and when the mood was right, being with him was downright amazing. She sighed. She had to tell him all this. She could only imagine how hot it would make him. She picked up her cell phone and called him.

After a long delay for the international connection, the call went straight to his voicemail, which Caterina figured probably meant he was on set already, or simply didn’t want to be bothered. But she had to share somehow. She looked at her phone, at the camera on the back. She’d never actually used it, there were always so many people taking her picture that she hadn’t taken one herself in ages. But she had to capture this moment, and share it with Jeff. She fiddled for a moment, found the phone’s camera mode, and stepped back in front of the mirror.

She snapped a few shots. They looked gorgeous. She could only imagine what all the horny men on the Internet would do with those shots. But it was what Jeff would do that interested her the most. It would drive him nuts to see her like this. He’d probably hop the first flight home, leading role and carbon emissions be damned.

She knew how great her cleavage usually looked, but the cups of the bustier achieved somehow what generally took adhesive tape to accomplish. Two perfect mountains crowning the flare of her hourglass figure. The trade-off was that as she moved, the fabric moved and her nipples could be seen peeking out from time to time. She snapped another picture. Her aureoles were crinkled and her nipples firm. The sensation of the silk on her nubs was intense. It formed to the shape of her bust impossibly well. She had goosebumps from the stimulation of it.

That wasn’t the only stimulation. Between her legs she could feel the silk caressing her sex. There was some moisture there, and not from the bath. The silk clung wetly to her, adhering to her crevices. She thrilled at the sensation as she turned back and forth, posing for the mirror and the clicking camera.

She slid her hand over the cups of the bra, over the taper of her side, over her hip, down into the humid valley between her legs. She slid the silk back and forth, feeling it scratch over her sparse pubic hair. She suddenly felt weak in the knees. She staggered back to the bed, sat on the edge. She looked up at the mirror again—she looked so sexy like that. She’d never actually watched herself in a moment of true passion before, and it was a sight to see. No wonder all the boys love me, I look amazing, she reflected. She found her fingers on the slippery silk again, moving up and down along her overheated sex. She shivered at the feel of it over her clit. It seemed like the fabric was as close as her own skin. She pushed on it, feeling the fabric press against the wetness inside her vagina. It was so nice. She stared at herself in the mirror as she probed through the silk at her sex.

Somehow she felt like she was getting deeper and deeper inside herself. It was almost like the silk was shaping itself to her finger. She was in to the second knuckle, and it was like the silk wasn’t resisting at all, except she could feel it around her finger, feel it caressing her insides. She pushed in further—all the way in, and the little scrap of fabric wasn’t pulling against the straps around her wast, it was just yielding as she fingered herself through it. She could see her finger in to the base, feel her other fingers pressed tight against her crotch and her upper thighs. It was so raunchy to see herself like that. She’d looked in the mirror while making love, watching the muscles of Jeff’s ass working or watching her own luscious body moving. That was sensual, but as she jilled herself it was just intensely sexy, not just the teasing that passes for sexy but of sex. It was hot, unfamiliar. She snapped one more picture and let the camera fall from her fingers to her bed.

She fell back. Her muscles could no longer support her. She felt like she opened up, like her finger dipped deeper inside her. Or was it just the fabric? Was the silk bunching up, sliding into her, pushed by her probing finger? She wanted to keep going, wanted to get herself off, but the odd sensation was nagging at her. She pulled her finger out, half expecting to see it extended.

Something even stranger happened. As she held up her hand, the silk kept moving inside her.

Her eyes grew wide. The fabric seemed to be firmly in the shape of a finger, pushing deep into her. Or was it a finger at all? Was it more like the shape of a penis, a long hard penis pressing into her? She glanced up at the mirror. She could see the hollow in the black silk stretched over her crotch.

And then she felt the silk over her chest moving. It rippled, it seemed to be caressing her body. It seemed almost to be groping her breasts, exactly like if there were a man with wide hands under her on the bed, reaching around her and fondling her. She could feel something like fingers pinching her nipples, pressure pushing her breasts together.

It was impossible, she knew, but she was so incredibly turned on that she couldn’t question it any more. She just let her body respond to the caress of the silk, the scrape of the lace, the wet smacking over her clit as the fabric almost seemed to suck on her stiff little button. Her hands grasped for the bedspread, she panted, she moaned, she writhed, and she came, but the silk only kept stimulating her, pushing her to an impossible height, to the greatest climax she’d ever felt.

She was panting. The silk withdrew from her, sliding out, but it was shifting, like hands on her ass. She felt an urge to lift her knees up. She felt a fold of the panties sliding up between her ass cheeks.

She wanted to jump up, to pull the strange thing off. But it was from Jeff, right? It was some special surprise from Jeff, whatever it was. But Jeff had never tried to touch her asshole. The silk was so warm and wet, and she felt it sliding over the point of resistance. Was this something Jeff wanted? Why shouldn’t she let him? If this was his way of asking, why not?

The thing pushed against her pucker. She felt it slip in, lubricated by her own secretions. It felt so unfamiliar. It felt so naughty, to have the silk sliding inside her. But it opened her up, it slicked her, and that time she could feel the finger-sized protrusion withdraw and the head of the large penis-sized protrusion press against her tight opening. She had second thoughts. The sensation of the hands returned to her breasts, pulling at her teats like a hungry infant. Then the wide part of the invader slipped in—she felt petrified. She held still as the thing stroked into her, deeper each time. It was not exactly pleasant, but tolerable. The moment she felt herself start to relax, the thing sank another inch into her, and then held still, and she felt it jerking, and twitching, and she realized it was coming, and she could feel warm fluid shooting inside her ass, and she didn’t know what it was, and the thing constricted tightly on her tits, her sphincter clamped down on the protrusion and pushed it out, and suddenly, all the sensation was gone.

She was a little scared, a little sore, and a lot confused. She could feel something leaking out from her ass. She wanted to stand up, to take the strange outfit off, to wash herself clean. But she was so comfortable, that she laid there until she fell asleep.