The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Jenna! Keep your hand on her hip, not her butt!”

She shot an exaggerated pout Merry’s way as she moved her hand back up and around. Christine snickered. “Later...” she whispered as her own hand on Jenna’s hip gave her a little squeeze and pat... and slid a bit closer to her butt.

This moment would no doubt be cut from the scene they were currently filming. She wasn’t supposed to be sexually aggressive toward Christine... yet. The clip might be saved, though, and placed in a new context when the plotline progressed far enough for her to start initiating a bit of girl-on-girl petting. She was supposed to start showing subtle hints of that in this scene, but nothing quite so blatant as wandering hands.

She turned toward Christine and grinned nervously. At this stage of her “seduction”, that seemed like the proper reaction to Christine’s gesture.

Merry gave her a thumbs-up signal. Good, she was on track, presenting the first tentative steps that would lead the “uptight straight girl” of the introduction into the explicit lesbian adventures she’d filmed yesterday. She smirked, hoping that it would come across as a nervous grin that would fit in with the innocence she was supposed to be projecting. After the night she’d spent with Christine, she’d have to keep on her toes to look even slightly “straight” or “innocent”. It would have been easier to do the scenes in order, she thought, with her in-character and real-world loss of inhibition and exploration of lesbian pleasure proceeding in tandem.

It couldn’t be helped, she knew. She was used to preforming scenes out of sequence, as necessary to accommodate issues of set logistics and actor availability. This time, there was another reason. Merry had needed to prove to the network that her improvised romantic comedy scenario would ultimately include the sort of explicit sexual performances they wanted. She wondered if Merry had signed a contract that had turned out to be not entirely as expected, and felt compelled to uphold her obligations.

Her musings cut off abruptly as she felt her bikini string snap against her back. “Hey!” she yelped.

“Sorry,” Christine replied, with a tone and expression that made it clear that she wasn’t sorry at all. She turned around. “You can snap mine, if you want. If that’s not enough, you can pull it off.”

She wanted to do just that, but for now she was supposed to treat it as an outrageous innuendo. She raced toward the pool and dived in. Running away rather than protesting would be one of the “subtle hints” Merry was looking for—it suggested that she was tempted on some level, and didn’t know how to deal with it.

As she began to surface, she realized that her top was gone.

The cameras zoomed in on her bare chest. After a moment, she realized that she ought to be indignant about his situation. “What did you do?” she yelled, crossing her arms over her breasts. No doubt this had been arranged—she remembered that Jocelyn had untied and retied her bikini string while she was getting her makeup and sunscreen applied, but hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.

Christine just snickered and dived into the pool. She recovered Jenna’s top and walked over to her, holding out the garment at arm’s length.

Obviously, she was trying to get Jenna to reach out with one arm, limiting her ability to cover up with the other one. “Give me that!” Jenna snapped.

“Here you go!” Christine tucked the fabric into Jenna’s cleavage, blatantly copping a feel as she did. Jenna’s eyes went wide. Christine had touched her there—and pretty much everywhere else—last night, but at a slow gentle pace, asking for permission—which Jenna always gladly gave—at each step. True to her promise, she took a more restrained approach when they weren’t playing to the cameras, not pushing, only offering.

She made a mental note to tell Christine to forget about that promise... or perhaps to ask for round-the-clock cameras in their room from now on. Performing for an audience seemed to be a turn-on for Christine.

Christine giggled, and she realized the predicament that had been set up. Now, there was no way to avoid flashing her tits when she extricated the bikini top. She didn’t really care, but staying in character required her to make a show of defending her modesty. She turned her back on the other woman. There were plenty of cameras covering her from that side, of course, but she pretended not to notice even as realization clicked into place—performing for an audience was a turn-on for her, too. Yes, she would definitely ask for cameras in the room....

Pointedly glaring over her shoulder at Christine—who, sure enough, was leaning obliquely forward to catch a glimpse of naked sideboob—she tied her top back into place.

With that little wardrobe malfunction done, they settled into a swimming scene not unlike any dozens of other modeling assignments she’d done before. The main difference was that during those other assignments she hadn’t been undressing her costar with her eyes while maintaining a careful veneer of prim decorum.

Jenna fumbled with the TV remote to replace the batteries. With a calculatedly clumsy flick of the wrist, she sent one rolling under the bed.

“Dammit!” she muttered as she got on her hands and knees to recover it. Having supposedly just emerged from the shower, she was wearing only a bathrobe. It rode up to expose her backside, just as it had been tailored to do. The cameras—and Christine—would get a clear view of her ass, and the delta-upsilon-kappa-epsilon “DYKE” fake tattoo, without her knowing. That would maintain continuity with the massage scene, which would be the first time the mark had been openly revealed.

Merry had outlined some possibilities for wacky sitcom hijinks, but as usual was trusting them to use the incident as a springboard for comedy and sexual tension. The emphasis in this scene was on the latter; her instructions were to respond to Christine’s come-ons with weak flustered deflections, demonstrating that her bi-curiosity was starting to bubble up despite her denials.

The battery had rolled out of reach; fortunately, another one had been planted under the bed to avoid any delays. She grabbed it and snapped it into place, then tossed the remote to Christine. “Here. Try to find something better than the usual celebrity-gossip trash.”

Christine turned on the TV. She changed the channel to “Backstage Blatherings” and smirked as if daring Jenna to object.

“You’re hopeless!” Jenna sighed. She sat down on the bed to watch the show. Immediately letting Christine have her way while giving the impression that she was perfectly happy with the outcome and had only protested to maintain a false respectable facade was an obvious laugh cue. It was also a rather obvious symbol of the larger story.

The host was saying something about Stefanie Westlow’s latest Carribean vacation, illustrated by a long-range shot of her in a barely-there bikini. “Oooh!” Christine cooed. “Now there’s a nice hot dyke for you!”

Jenna blinked. “What makes you say she’s a... lesbian?” Stumbling over the word and substituting a more genteel one seemed like the right response, and she went with her instinct.

“And what makes you to prissy to say ‘dyke’?” Christine grinned knowingly, reminding the audience that she knew something that Jenna didn’t know she knew.

“’Lesbian’ is more polite,” she replied weakly, in a tone that indicated that she was a bit nervous about this subject.

“Why? They mean the same thing. Or is there some kind of big difference like...” Her tone went deep and rough. “...a dyke slurps up a slut’s cunt...” She tilted her head as her voice became a mocking lilt. “...a lesbian delicately tastes a lady’s vagina.“

Jenna shook her head ruefully as she squelched a giggle. By that description, Christine was definitely more “dyke” than “lesbian”, and she found it quite enjoyable to be her “slut”. That was—for now—not something to show in front of the cameras, though.

“Stop it!” she finally blurted out. Good, it came out in a way Christine would interpret as a dare to keep going. “She’s not... like that,” she said, reusing the nervous-stumble ploy. “She’s married. To a man, I mean,” she added as she remembered that that was no longer a reliable default assumption.

Christine smirked. “She’s married to a man who’s like eighty years old. They have an understanding—she gets to spend his money and bring girls around for the night, he gets to watch.”

“Yeah, right. Where would she find a girl who’d let some old man watch?”

“He doesn’t watch in person.” Christine stared directly into the main camera like a dinner-theater amateur. “She’d got cameras planted all over her bedroom.”

“That’s horrible! What kind of pervert would do that on camera?” It was an effort to keep a straight face at the blatant hypocritical humor.

“I repeat: she gets to spend the old man’s money. You’d be surprised what it’ll buy.”

Jenna paused, as if trying to figure out what to say next. Merry had suggested several conversational ploys that would fit here, she decided to go with the most straightforward one. “You’re full of it! How would you know any of this?” She made a great show of looking Christine up and down... letting more than a hint of her lust show through. “Are you telling me that Stefanie Westlow took you to bed?“

“I never kiss and tell,” Chistine replied archly. “Let’s just say that we know each other pretty well.”

Jenna rolled her eyes.

“Look at me.”

Jenna did, her eyes lingering a bit longer than they should have if she were as repressed and straight as she was pretending to be.

“Suppose, purely hypothetically, you were a gay lesbian queer dyke carpet-muncher homosexual—pick whichever word you like. If you liked girls, would you turn me down?”

“I... guess not.” It didn’t sound like the answer to a meaningless bull-session question. It sounded like a confession, a crack in the dam that would only widen from now on. Jenna continued to stare, casting singles-bar eyes at Christine.

“Well, neither would Stefanie Westlow. Not saying I know from personal experience, but I do know.“

Jenna blinked, pretending—well, not entirely pretending—to be too distracted to focus on the conversation. “What does that even mean? How could you know that if it wasn’t from personal experience.“

“Once again, I never kiss and tell.”

Jenna took a moment to figure out how that answered the question without answering it.

“The bottom line is, she’d a dyke. She might as well have ‘DYKE’ tattooed on her ass.”

There was a long pause. Jenna looked shell-shocked, Christine looked exaggeratedly innocent.

As it happened, the TV now showed a rear view of Stefanie Westlow. She was wearing a thong bottom that did nothing at all to cover her backside.

“Well... she doesn’t have ‘dyke’ or ‘lesbian’ or ‘gay’ or ‘I banged Christine’ tattooed on her butt!” Jenna declared in a absurdly triumphant tone. No doubt the program on their TV had been tweaked to fit their conversation. They’d probably tweak it more precisely in the final program, assuming they could buy the rights and not have to just fake it.

“Apparently not.” Christine paused the program to carefully study Stefanie’s rear end. “I guess I’ll have to keep looking for a girl who ‘does’ have it tattooed on her butt so I know she’s the real deal.”

“That doesn’t prove—!” Jenna stopped herself short. She raised a hand, but decided that clapping it over her mouth would be going too far over the top.

“Doesn’t prove what?” Christine asked.

“Ah... uh... um... never mind!” Not trusting herself to say anything more, she made a show of yawning. “I’m about ready to turn in.”

“Yeah, me too.” Christine clicked the remote, turning off the TV. The lights dimmed, but enough illumination remained to continue filming a “night” scene.

The crews moved the cameras to cover the bed more closely and set them to automatic-recording mode. They left, bidding Jenna and Christine good night with various degrees of smirk and innuendo. The two women got undressed and into bed, ready to film some action that would offered as a special bonus feature to viewers of the main program.

Neither of them was going to sleep anytime soon.

“Are all the girls around here gay?” Jenna was no longer feigning awkwardness about discussing the concept, but did feel a bit rude calling the couple to Christine’s attention.

“Randi and Wanda?” Christine shook her head. “They’re not queer, they’re just friendly.”

“That kiss looked a little more than ‘friendly’.”

“Kissing doesn’t have to be about sex.”

Jenna shot her a “you’ve got to be kidding me” look.

“Here, I’ll prove it.” Before Jenna could react, Christine gave her a peck on the lips. It was quick, light, and innocent, perfect for their “first kiss” scene.

“Now, did you suddenly turn queer?”

“Of course not!” In character, she was past being offended at Christine’s attempts to put the moves on her, but not yet ready to yield.

“Maybe if I slip you some tongue...” Christine mused.

“Hey!” Jenna objected, and then Christine’s mouth pressed against hers. She was perfectly willing to let Christine have her way, and the pretended protest was a perfect excuse to let it happen as part of the scene.

She blinked as the sunlight shone against her eyelids again. Christine smiled at her as she pulled away.

“So, feeling any sparks?”

She definitely was. Maybe it was time to take the show to the next stage and acknowledge the feeling in-character.

“I feel... weird.” That was a nice way of opening the door without pushing it too fast.

“Weird is good.” Christine ducked into a little bazaar, leaving Jenna to stand symbolically alone with her thoughts for the fadeout.

After that milestone moment, the filming kept getting easier. Her gradually escalating in-character willingness to indulge in same-sex flirtation made it easier to project the right tone. She didn’t need to hide her real reactions to Christine any more, just tone them down to a level appropriate for a girl who was considering a lesbian interlude but hadn’t quite nerved herself up to taking the plunge.

Bit by bit, the “romantic comedy” was heating up. Most of the sexually charged scenes they’d filmed earlier to demonstrate the concept to the studio suits—the footsie-playing dinner, the catsuited race—would fit right in with the last few days’ increasingly touchy-feely performances. In the latest session, Christine had suggested that Jenna visit the spa for a relaxing backrub, providing a perfect segue into her nude scenes.

There was just one more task to finish.

Jenna and Christine sat in front of the production booth. Each of them scrolled through a long list of clips. Neither of them had any idea where to begin.

Finally, Jenna turned away from her microphone and looked at Merry.

“Do you really think anybody is going to listen to a commentary track?”