The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

What is it about having sex with a stranger that feels so exhilarating? Maybe it’s the way he looks at you while he rips off your clothes. Or the musky scent of his body as it intertwines with yours. Hell, maybe sometimes we just like to have a new toy to play with. As long as you’re enjoying yourself, does it even matter?

I let these thought flicker vaguely through my mind as I leaned down to brush my lips against his, moaning softly in response to his hips gyrating beneath me. My slight figure bobbed rhythmically in time with his until we were both drawing ragged breaths. Not yet, not yet. I left a trail of kisses from his right shoulder to his abs, running a hand delicately across the wiry hair below his navel. He shuddered at the sensation and I felt him throb inside me. I slowed down, enough to keep him interested without pushing him over the edge. “Not yet,” I breathed, shaking my head playfully. Not yet.

He bucked involuntarily, shooting me a glance that was half blissful and half apologetic. I grinned, wagging a finger just in front of his nose. Uh uh. I pressed down hard, grinding my pelvis into his until he was forced into slower, more subtle motion. He gasped, raising his hands from my hips to my breasts and countering my forceful maneuver with one of his own. “Oh!” I moaned, raising my gaze to the ceiling as he rolled my nipples, pinching them between his fingers. “Fuck, fuck,” I whispered, heaving my chest shamelessly while my fingers dug into his biceps. Okay, now.

The room was quiet except for the soft scrape of bodies on sheets and the tiny noises I couldn’t help but make, which were slowly growing more audible. I opened up the throttle and he caught on immediately. Our tender moment escalated into a depraved sexual brawl; no rules, no limitations. Hormones spiked, bodies churned, and limbs tangled and untangled with reckless abandon. And suddenly, there it was. He squeezed my hips against his, spasms running from his body and into mine. I felt warmth flood inside me, muted somewhat by the condom, but satisfying and comforting just the same. I was right there with him, grinding mindlessly while I waited for my tur—

A muffed rattle rippled through the thin walls of his apartment. He froze. My eyes widened. The front door.

“...Do you have a roommate?” I managed, fighting through a haze of sex-brain, confusion, and just a pinch of panic. His eyes darted toward the closed bedroom door and back to me. My movements faltered with uncertainty and I could feel the orgasm slipping out of my grasp.

“Sorry,” he whispered. I leaned in to make a feeble attempt to re-engage him, but it was over. Throbbing inside me one last time, he pulled away, gently slipping out from under me. “I didn’t think…” He glanced at the door again. “You need to go.”

“W-what?” I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to make out his face in the darkness. Footsteps padded down the hallway, getting louder as they approached. The man who, not ten seconds ago, was dick-deep inside me was now pelting clothes at my face.

“Seriously!” he hissed, tossing my bra on the bed beside me, “Get dressed!” He began to fumble with his clothes too, trying to pull on his jeans with one hand and peel off the condom with the other.

Oh. Suddenly it clicked. “Are you kidding me…” I scowled, snatching up my bra and expertly snapping the clasp. “You have a girlfriend, don’t you?” I made very little effort to keep my voice down, garnering some satisfaction from the panicked look he shot me.

“I didn’t think she’d be home so soon,” he muttered, slipping his belt around his waist.

“Nice. That’s just great. As long you don’t get caught, it’s all fine, right?” Rolling my eyes in the darkness, I rolled off the bed and stumbled blindly into the rest of my clothes.

He stopped and, with some hesitation, answered, “I’m sorry. It’s just…” He sighed. “Sorry.”

A shadow passed outside the bedroom door and I suddenly found myself being hurriedly ushered toward the back of the room. “Oh, c’mon, not like this…” I groaned. Yep. The window. A conveniently placed back door for any and all unscrupulous bedroom activities. “Alright, alright!” I shrugged off his insistent grip, straightened my blouse, and with an indignant huff slipped my legs through the window.

“Hey.” He leaned on the sill, ducking down to see me one last time before I slipped away into the darkness. “I really didn’t mean for this to happen. …Can we see each other again?”

“Are you serious?” My face flushed with anger; I tucked a strand of blonde hair behind my ear before flipping a finger at him. “Go cheat with somebody else,” I slurred, scowling. I sauntered off in a drunken zig-zag, head held high as I stumbled across the lawn in high heels and a frazzled hairdo that screamed sex. I had some dignity, after all.

“Fun weekend, eh boss?”

“Shut up.” Everything hurt. My head was pounding from the alcohol. My body was sore from the sex. But more than anything, I was just in a bad mood. Last night had ended poorly, without orgasm and without hope of another romp in the near future, thanks to my lucky hook up with an apparent cheater.

Jim grinned but remained silent, bouncing lightly on his heels. We stood side-by-side and watched the numbers for the elevator tick slowly upward. Finally, I sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Oh no, not at all. You could stand to lose the bitchy attitude, though. Oh, and the sunglasses that cover half your face…and the fact that you can’t seem to walk prop—”

“Okay!” I elbowed him in the ribs, the only truly effective way to get Jim to stop talking. “I get it. I look terrible. Just play a little defense for me today, huh? Keep people out of my hair.” I took a silent sip from my foam coffee cup. “Please.”

Jim’s good-natured smile never left his lips. “You got it, boss.” The elevator rose up to our floor and slowly shuttered open. Jim and I both cringed at the grating shriek of metal scraping against metal; once again, the elevator doors had jammed.

“This damn thing,” I muttered, “When are we going to have it fixed?”

There was a pause as Jim sucked in his gut and turned sideways, barely managing to squeeze past the doors. “Ah,” he breathed, free at last. “I think about three months ago. Those maintenance guys are always on top of things around here.”

Ignoring his quip, I followed suit, pulling in my toned stomach out of habit as I slipped deftly through the narrow gap and out into the main hall of Floor 110. “Ugh, that’s tight,” I sniffed, giving my blouse a sharp tug downward. “Add it to my list for today. Speaking of, walk with me.” Jim fell in step with me as we navigated one of the highest floors of the building. I waited for him to speak up, waving a hand impatiently. “Run me through it, Jim.”

“Through what?” Jim checked his tablet, puzzled. “Your schedule is a clean slate today.”

“Mm, completely free?” I took another sip of coffee, furrowing my eyebrows. “That’s new.”

“Well, okay, I lied. It looks like you have one meeting after all.”

“That’s more like it. With whom?”

“Erm…” Jim pointed ahead of us, to a man waiting outside of my office. “Him, I think.”

I squinted through my sunglasses, trying to identify the man from a distance. Average height, balding, long nose. One of the executives. Harris? Harrison? Something like that. Figures he’d show up when I’m completely hung over. “Run along, Jim,” I said dismissively, shooing him away. “Go and take care of that maintenance issue or some other stupid thing. The adults need to talk now.”

Jim scurried off while I bridged the gap to my office in a few long-legged strides. “Mr…Harris,” I greeted warmly, praying that that was the correct name, “So good to see you again.”

“Ms. Carmen, always a pleasure.” The older man gave my hand a gentle shake, returning the smile. “Do you mind if we…” He trailed off, gesturing toward the door to my office.

“Of course, come right in.” I lead the way inside, setting my purse and computer bag behind my desk while Mr. Harris settled himself in the seat across from me. I drained the last of my coffee and removed my sunglasses, relatively confident that my mascara would hide any evidence of last night’s escapades. “So.” The silence dragged for a few moments, further accentuated by the painful pressure of my hang-over.

“So.” Mr. Harris’ eyes dipped below my neckline for a moment; I maintained an annoyed stare, clearing my throat loudly. Mr. Harris quickly folded his hands in his lap, tapping his thumbs idly together as if nothing had happened. “I’ll get straight to it, then. The other executives and I feel that you show a lot of promise. As an individual, as a creative thinker, as a leader. This department has never been running so smoothly.” He leaned back in his chair, regarding me for a moment. “How would you like to run your own advertising project?”

Whatever excitement had been building inside me vanished as quickly as it had come. I fought to maintain the same level of enthusiasm in my voice as I explained why that wouldn’t be necessary. “Ah, well, I’m already overseeing several projects in development at the moment…” I let my words falter at the man’s soft chuckle.

“No, Ms. Carmen, not like that. I know how well you can lead a team; what I want to see more of is you. Your personal touch. We, that is, the rest of the executives and myself, want you to come up with the ‘big picture’ for this division’s next campaign. The entire issue will be centered around your main points. We’ll task some smaller teams with the fluff pieces, but the majority of this piece will be your responsibility.”

He let the weight of his words sink in while I stared, too dumbfounded now to be excited. What Mr. Harris was describing was the promotion of a lifetime. The kind of leg-up in the company ladder that you work years for. When somebody offers you something like this, there’s only one answer. “You can count on me.” Anxious nerves constricted my throat, making my reply sound high and breathless, but my superior took no notice. I smiled and swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in my chest that could only be unbridled joy.

“Perfect,” Mr. Harris smiled, buttoning his suit as he stood; I did the same, unconsciously smoothing out my business skirt. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, Casey.” He took my hand in his, shaking it firmly. “Think of this as your first and last test. We’re all pulling for you to pass, so don’t let us down!”

“I’ll give it everything I’ve got, Mr. Harris,” I assured. I cleared my throat again, trying to restore my voice to a more professional pitch. “You won’t be disappointed.” I stood stock-still, tall and proud and confident, until Mr. Harris was just a speck of navy blue suit receding down the hallway. The door to my office clicked shut and I let loose.

“Yes. YES. FUCK YES!” Hangover be damned, I managed a wobbly yet triumphant jump in my work heels, grinning wildly. What an unexpectedly incredible way to start the day! Write up a draft for one measly magazine, most of which would be delegated to the lackeys beneath me. That promotion was all but mine. All those late nights, the social reclusiveness…This moment was totally worth it. Well, mostly worth it. “Mm,” I winced, pinching the bridge of my nose. I braced myself over the table, sucking in a ragged breath as my enthusiasm caught up to my head, bringing on a fresh wave of pain. “Ugh…no more drinking on Sunday nights,” I scolded myself.

It was only after a fruitless search for aspirin that I noticed one glaring mistake I had made. Closing the drawer I had been looking through, I straightened my back and got a good look at my chest. My blouse was unbuttoned. Or, rather, my blouse had lost a button. In its place was the smooth curvature of my cleavage, along with the tips of pink where my bra was peeking out. No wonder Mr. Harris had been staring; this look didn’t exactly give off the most professional impression, especially considering the offer I had just been given. The higher-ups expected me to be a future role model for this department, after all. I resolved to skip over the missing button, clasping the top-most one instead. It felt uncomfortably snug about my throat, but did the job just fine. I was Casey Carmen, business professional once more.

Though the morning had started with such promise, the day only grew worse and worse, largely due to the throbbing pain in my skull. Coffee couldn’t cure my tired eyes, nor aspirin my head. I snapped at Jim on more than one occasion and nearly took a crowbar to those damn elevator doors. The lights were too bright, the people were too loud, and I could not sit still for the life of me. I eventually had enough sense to shut myself away in my office, pained and fuming, so that the rest of the department could work without me terrorizing them. Even so, no matter what I tried, an anxious energy seemed to fill me as the day went on.

“Okay.” I turned away from the laptop screen, bleary-eyed and frazzled. “Okay, I’m done with this.” Closing the computer, I slunk to the far side of my sanctuary where a plush leather couch sat so invitingly. I pulled off my business jacket and undid the first few buttons of my blouse before lying down. “One quick little break…” I breathed, sinking slowly into the cushions. Ugh, this wasn’t comfortable at all. I turned to one side. No, this is worse! So, I tried the other. Nope. No matter how I laid out, my bra straps always managed to bite painfully into my shoulders. I fidgeted across the width of the couch until I rolled off, landing on my ass with a dense whump.

My exasperated sigh filled the dimly lit room. “I hate this day!” I sat back against the base of the couch and groaned, feebly twisting my torso in an effort to find some relief. “Fuck it.” Fed up with the pain, I plunged my hand down the front of my shirt and pulled the clasp apart. Only… This bra didn’t have a front-facing clasp. …All of my bras had front-facing clasps. Puzzled, my hands found their way around to my back, fumbling with the strap between my shoulder blades. After several agonizingly frustrating attempts, my breasts popped free of the undergarment, resting round and pert on my chest.

An embarrassingly suggestive sigh escaped my lips. The relief was immediate. The tightness in my chest abated, and my pounding headache felt much less intense. “…And no fucking wonder!” I exclaimed. Upon closer examination, it was clear that this bra wasn’t even mine. It was hot pink, yes, but a size too small and clearly made for show rather than comfort. Lingerie-like frills adorned the undergarment and a healthy splash of garish sequins covered each cup. A hazy memory of last night cropped up, where a drunken me fumbled to dress herself in the darkness. “Must’ve grabbed the wrong one…” I mused. Yes, that made sense. Coupled with the fact that I had passed out at home and woken up late, rushing to get dressed and ready for work, it was no wonder I hadn’t realized it until now.

I was debating whether or not I should go to the trouble of returning the faux bra, when there was a knock on the door. I swore, scrambling to make myself decent. “One moment,” I gasped, wrapping the tight undergarment around my chest once more; a tight bra was better than no bra. As soon as it snapped into place, my head felt like someone had dropped a lead weight on it; the pain of my hangover was back in full-force. Wonderful. Once fully clothed and settled, I strode over to the door and opened it. Jim had his hand raised as if to knock again, but lowered it upon seeing me.

“Hey boss, you alright?” He tapped his watch, looking concerned. “It’s two hours past closing time.”

“Is it?” I asked vaguely, glancing at the clock on my wall. Had I really been sitting in here for the whole evening? “Oh, well, you know how it is. Busy, busy.”

“Yeah?” Jim peeked over my shoulder curiously. “You working on something special in there?”

“Oh, no, I…” I wasn’t about to tell my employee about last night’s debacle. But I couldn’t exactly say that I’d been lying down on the job either. “I…I’m..uhm…” I was totally drawing a blank and the headache sure wasn’t helping.

“Aaahhh, it’s okay,” Jim said, tapping his temple, “I can see you’ve got something cookin’ in the fire there.” He winked, flashing his trademark good-humored smile. “You tell me when you’re ready. And hey! If you need a hand with whatever you’re working on, you know where to find me!”

I forced a weak smile, nodding my thanks. He asked a few more follow-up questions about the plan for tomorrow’s to-do list, most of which I brushed aside wearily. I didn’t want to talk about work anymore. I wanted to go home and sleep for half a century.

So, that’s exactly what I did.

Well, okay, fifty years is a bit of an exaggeration. I woke up sometime the next morning, groggy, disoriented, and still experiencing a considerable amount of discomfort. The room was dark and still in the gloom of the early morning, even more so now that I could feel the empty space beside me. I guess Peter had decided to take the couch. Again. I slipped out of bed and sighed, slinking off to shower alone.

It was strange for Peter and I, this fight. The whole relationship, in fact. We’d been going strong, partners in love and life for four years. He was practical and I was ambitious, both carving out successful careers while a super-charged sex life patched over whatever emotional necessities were left behind. We rushed forward into our own separate lives, without a thought as to what might become of our future together. Until about a week ago.

I grimaced at the disheveled young woman in the mirror. No stranger to long hours and late nights, passing out in work attire was nothing new for me. I undressed gingerly, not wanting to cause anymore undue throbbing from my still-sore head. My dress-skirt dropped to the floor, followed by a white blouse, pink panties, and my bra.

“Umph!” I can’t describe the exact sensation that followed the removal of that gaudy pink undergarment. Relief, maybe. Or perhaps pleasure. My headache definitely felt better. The point is, the increasingly constricting nature of my bra was not lost on me. Of course, I reminded myself, this bra isn’t even mine. I stepped into the steamy shower, subconsciously following that thought back to that drunken night, and from there, back to Peter’s proposal.

Every girl loves a pretty diamond wrapped around her finger. A physical representation of loyalty, trust, and romance, no matter the size. But when Peter had asked me to marry him last week, all I had seen was a rock. Not in a steady, dependable sense, either. Peter wanted to weigh me down. He’d never admit to it, but I knew what that ring truly meant. ‘Will you be my little housewife?’ Even as I toweled off, I snorted. It was nothing personal against Peter, but there were principals at stake. I was not a prize to be won, nor a treasure to be ogled at; I was a woman. I was the only one who would choose my job, my partners, and my lifestyle. Peter was an incredible man, but not worth losing the respect, freedoms, and career I’d fought so hard to earn.

So, the question you’re asking yourself is, ‘Why doesn’t she just talk to him,’ right? ‘Just work it out, because that’s what couples do,’ right? Well, when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, there’s not a lot of room for debate. My rejection of his proposal had stung Peter, naturally, and I had assumed he’d recover like a big boy. But no, as the week wore on, things only got worse. This whole situation had turned Peter into a petulant child, and I a frigid bitch. We were both passionate and prideful, which meant someone would have to break sooner or later. It’d be a cold day in Hell before that someone was me.

I emerged from the steamy embrace of a hot shower, wrapped in a towel and feeling refreshed. I dried and combed my mid-length blonde hair, styling it into the usual bun. Off came the towel, and on went the clothes. Black panties, white button-up blouse tucked into a gray knee-length skirt, and a matching jacket. Functional business attire, as always. …And yet… I peered down the length of my body, frowning. Something was off, or missing, or…something. The thought nagged at me all the way to the kitchen, where Peter was just finishing his breakfast.

“Mornin’,” I chirped, pouring myself a bowl of cereal. No point in starting off on the wrong foot.

Peter watched me cryptically while he chewed his last bite. “Nipples,” he announced, getting to his feet. He cleaned his dishes and just like that, Peter was gone; out the door and off to work.

I, meanwhile, fumed. Nipples? What the hell was that supposed to mean? A snub? A new pet name? Or maybe…I looked down. Yes, the definitive impression of twin tits were showing through my blouse. Now that I was aware of it, I could feel every unsupported jiggle of my breasts as I stomped back to the bedroom. How had I forgotten to put on a bra?

In fact, now that I was really scrutinizing my reflection, my whole outfit looked off. Missing undergarments aside, my clothes looked far too tight on me. The skirt was snug around the waist and knees, and the buttons of my blouse dug sharply into my stomach whenever I sat down or bent over. “Maybe I grabbed an older set of clothes…” I muttered to myself, doing yet another turn in front of the mirror. I made a mental note to go through my closet and get rid of my smaller outfits. Well, there was no time for that now; it wasn’t a big deal and I was going to be late for work if I dawdled much longer. Big picture, Casey; put on a bra.

Easier said than done, apparently; none of my bras fit. Not a one. Either the cups were too small or the straps too short, or both, no matter how many bras I squeezed my chest into. I was red in the face and five minutes late by the time I came upon my last hope. The pink faux-bra, my sequined savior. “Please, please, please…” I breathed, eyeing the clock. The straps resisted at first, slowly stretching to cover my modest breasts. With a loud snap and a strained gasp of success, the bra was on. After one final adjustment and a bounce for good measure, I re-buttoned my blouse and left for work.

Ding! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—!

“Fuck me, not again.” I breathed in slowly then exhaled in a loud huff. It’s a good thing I wasn’t claustrophobic, otherwise these elevator doors would be a nightmare. Stuck in a partially-open position again, they were the last hurdle between me and my office. Inching sideways, I managed to squeeze through without wrinkling my skirt too badly. Even as I stepped out into the hall, I saw Jim heading my way, waving for my attention. It’s not that I didn’t like Jim, he was a good assistant; diligent and intelligent. He was also way too chipper in morning for my taste. I was debating slipping back into the elevator when he caught me. Awesome.

“Well, well, Ms. Casey Carmen, nice of you to finally arrive,” he grinned, holding out a few files for me.

“You know me, Mr. Jimithy Johnson, busy busy busy. There’s always something that needs my attention.”

“Ah…” Jim’s face fell at my words and he wrung his hands together apprehensively. “Well, now that you mention it…”

“What?” I asked sharply, bracing my hands against the small of my back. The tightness in my chest was returning; Jim always knew just how to stress me out.

“Okay, well, you know the photography team we hired for that piece on agricultural advances? Yeah, they can’t get their equipment up to Floor 104 for the photo shoot…” He jerked his head past me, toward the malfunctioning elevator.

“I see.” I pursed my lips, thinking. “Okay, have them move the shoot downstairs somewhere so they don’t have to fight past the elevator doors.” Miranda Bleu, the scientist heading the company’s biochemistry division, wouldn’t like it, but life was tough sometimes. “Just find an empty section and have them set up there while they do…whatever they’re doing.” I made a brisk bee-line for my office, leaving Jim to take care of the matter. Why do we even need photographers for a piece on agriculture? Pictures of fruit are hardly compelling…

I pushed these trivial problems aside for now; I had my own project to run. There were meetings to organize, offices to call, inter-departmental handshaking to be…shook, and a truckload of paperwork to fill out. It was going to be a long day. I stepped into my office and sighed, thankful that I had a personal, private haven to work in. Except…somebody was already in my personal, private haven.

A young woman sat with her back to me, waiting patiently in the seat opposite my desk. “You’ll want to close that door, sweetie,” the stranger said, “We need to have some girl talk.”

I pursed my lips, not caring for this woman’s tone, even as I did as she asked. Just because I didn’t recognize her, didn’t mean she wasn’t somebody important. Perhaps she was one of the newer executives, come to give me her blessing as well? With that in mind, I went with a hospitable approach, ignoring the loud groan of my chair as I gave the stranger my full attention. She sat silently, studying me in the same way a parent might watch a child as they play pretend. Patronizing me. My dislike for this woman was immediate. “Before we talk, I think an introduction is in order,” I said crisply, shooting her a cool smile.

“What a super-fun idea!” the young woman breathed. She returned my smile with equal shrewdness, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. “Bianca.” No last name, no titles; just Bianca. Her gazed flicked toward the nameplate on my desk, then back up to me. She waited expectantly, tossing a spool of raven curls over her shoulder.

Whoever she truly was, she was certainly no one from the office. The woman’s clothes were tight, cropped travesties, like something you might see on a bad runway modeling show. Her nipples stared at me through her tube top and I stifled an exasperated growl. “I’m Casey Carmen, the VP of Marketing an—”

“—Aaand the slut who fucked my boyfriend two days ago.” Her voice was matter-of-fact and calm, matching the simpering smile she continued to wear.

Ah. I wasn’t entirely surprised that this had come back to bite me. I guess that guy had gotten caught after all, ratting me out in the process. I had no idea how his girlfriend had found out my name or where I worked, but it hardly mattered now. What did matter was my reputation. Office politics wouldn’t care who cheated on whom with whom, only that a cheating VP looked bad for the company. “You’re mistaken,” I answered dismissively, dropping my pleasant pretense entirely. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Bianca?”

“Uhm, I am totally not mistaken,” she insisted, crossing one leg over the other. “Your outfit says it all.”

My rebuttal was thrown by her comment. “Excuse me? My outfit?” I gave myself a cursory glance, shrugging. “What about it?”

At that, the woman’s eyes flashed mischievously. “Oh? You haven’t realized…” A light, tinkling laugh burst from her lips. “Well, you’ll catch on soon enough. I’d keep an eye on that top button, though, if I were you.”

I brought a protective hand to my chest, thinking of the blouse from yesterday. …How tight my clothes felt today… I narrowed my eyes, scowling at the stranger. “I don’t know who you think you are, but let’s clear something up here…” I stood up and braced my palms against the desk, leaning in so that the woman could get a clear view of my top; clean, pristine and fully done up. “I won’t tolerate idle accusations from a vapid blonde bim—” POP!

I halted mid-threat, my expression frozen in clueless confusion. I looked down just in time to witness a pearly white button bouncing off the desk and rolling across the carpet. My breasts spilled forward, hanging heavy in my shirt and desperately straining against the next button down.

“Told ya,” she giggled.

My voice came out scratchy and soft. “H-how did you…?” I shook my head, but couldn’t stop staring at my substantially swollen cleavage. No, it was impossible…

“I didn’t do anything. You did.” Bianca got up, nonchalantly fanning her hair out and down past her shoulders. “You’re totally a liar and totally a cheater. I know you were my b-f’s trashy little squee—”

“I did not cheat with your boyfriend,” I asserted through gritted teeth, though I found myself retreating, no longer leaning across the desk. I coughed as the tightness in my chest ebbed. Now that I was standing upright, my breasts settled back into place, no longer threatening to burst forth to freedom. “Look around you,” I offered, sweeping a hand about my office. “I have a reputation to maintain.” I suppressed another cough, fighting against the itchiness in my throat, but my voice sounded all the more breathy for it. “Do I look like someone who goes looking for one-night stands?”

The woman said nothing. She shouldered her bright pink purse and gave me a long, hard look. “Mmmm, not yet,” she answered. Her heels clacked loudly as she stomped out of the room. Just before she closed the door, I thought I heard her say something. I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded an awful lot like, “Soon, though.”

I stared after her for a long time, thinking about what she had said. Finally, I returned to my seat. It’s not like she could actually do anything anyway. All she had was a hunch, no hard evidence. She just wanted to scare me into doing something stupid. The thought of that simple ‘valley girl’ threatening me seemed ridiculous; enough so that I actually did laugh.

Pop!

Imagine my surprise when my blouse shed another button.

It took me nearly an hour to get back into work-mode; the meeting with the stranger had left me more than a little upset. Not because of the cheating thing, or even the strange threats; no, what rankled me was the girl’s fucking nerve. Marching into my office just to stir up trouble, and on the cusp of my promotion no less. Still… I fingered the fine threading where my two shirt buttons used to be and a drop of uncertainty trickled down my spine.

“She said something about my outfit…” I murmured. It occurred to me just how much my bright pink bra was peeking through the shirt. Is that what that girl had meant? I explored my blouse further, undoing the buttons until I was standing shirtless in my office. Thrust before me was my pair of visibly swollen breasts, cupped very snugly inside the bra. A small tag was stitched into the right cup, bearing one handwritten and hastily scrawled word: BIANCA.

Realization hit me like a truck. It was so obvious; it was all a trick. That Bianca girl must have had a remote to manipulate the cups of this bra, making my breasts seem bigger. Some sort of gimmicky sex toy. As if that would scare me. I laughed again, much more genuinely this time, at my own silliness. Shaking my head smugly, I reached back and popped the undergarment off. “Ha,” I grinned, holding it up to the light. “Not quite as clever as you think, are you?” I couldn’t see any wires, nor any indication that it was anything other than a piece of clothing, but it was the only explanation, I was certain.

I left the bra behind my desk, intending to inspect it more closely when I had time. For now, there was business to conduct. I made myself decent once more and re-evaluated my outfit, pleased to find that my bra was no longer visible. …Because I wasn’t wearing one. Right, I just took it off. I looked uncertainly from my desk to the door, scratching my head. Right, right, because the bra was bad for me. Still smiling, I nodded to myself for reassurance before exiting the room. I had a promotion-winning pitch to deliver.

The relief of braless-ness was palpable with every bounce of my newly freed boobies. The sensation of soft, pillowy flesh crushed inside tight fabric sent strange signals across my body; it was hard to resist the vapid smile spreading ever wider across my lips as I floated along to my upcoming meeting. Of course, none of this struck me as strange until I found myself standing in a room full of people I didn’t recognize, all of them watching me expectantly. Go, stupid! Talk!

“Mkay…so, uhm…” I dragged out the sound, trying to buy myself time to regain my bearings. What was I doing here…? I was standing before twelve people, all seated to face me across the length of a long oak table. I recognized a familiar face in Mr. Harris, jogging my memory. Of course…the executive members…and…my pitch! Duh! I wriggled with excitement before attempting to compose myself. I gave my blouse a tug and my skirt a smoothing-over before diving right in.

“Ladies and gebblemen,” I coughed, “Sorry, gentlemen. A few days ago, Mr. Harris approached me about running some solid topics by you, something that would give our department a fresh new direction to work toward.” I paused, clearing my throat and taking a small cup of water from the pitcher on the table. “Uhmmm, oh, so anyway, I wanted to try…to try…” I trailed off, preoccupied by the strange sensations assaulting me. First and foremost, the fact that my voice sounded even more breathless and hoarse, almost to the point of being sensual. And I was having trouble remembering…stuff. Ideas. The pitch…The pitch!

I shuffled in place uncomfortably, trying to think about anything other than the fact that I was totally blanking during my career-changing presentation. C’mon Casey, say words! Anything! “But yeah, like, I wanted to try this idea where, like, we have this…uhm…dick-otomy, er, I mean, dichotomy between successful women and those who…haven’t set their sights quite as high.” A bit squeaky and rambling, but I made it through the tough part. I looked at the five fellow females in the room, trying to gauge their level of interest; most of the men still seemed ambivalent, but I had expected as much.

“So, Ms. Carmen, tell us more about this dichotomy,” one of the older women asked. “How will portraying these differences in work ethic help our future advertising campaigns? What impact will they have on our marketing department?” She leaned forward, curious, and a few others nodded as well. Good. They were interested.

“Mmm…” I thought hard, biting my bottom lip. I knew I had rehearsed this entire thing…I had thought of every question, rebuttal, and counterpoint beforehand, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember any of it. “Those’re real good questions,” I squeaked, subtly reaching behind my back. Thankfully, I had my entire speech written out on note cards, tucked safely into the waistline of my skirt. “And I think it’s fairly obvious that the answer is…is…” I fumbled with the cards behind my back, only to have them drop and scatter across the carpet. “Oopsies!” I squealed, losing all composure to sudden panic. I leaned down to retrieve them, bending further than my taut blouse could handle.

POPOPOP! Buttons clattered across the table, the only sound in the room—unless you count the hysterical shriek echoing throughout my head. The twelve people in front of me held my future in their hands…and I had my rack out on full display. Dumbfounded and steadily flushing beet red, I watched as all eyes locked on to my bare chest, shock marring their silent expressions. It must have been a full minute before I had the good sense to react, numbly covering myself with my now button-less blouse. Unable to mask the horror on my face, I straightened up, turned, and walked out of the room. I made it as far as my office before I burst out laughing, sinking to the floor with my back against the door. The absurdity of the situation was funny for about three seconds.

Then I bawled my eyes out.