The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Cora didn’t succeed in her quest for a well-fitting brassiere. She did come up with an alternative. She tested the idea one workday morning.

As usual these days, she awoke spontaneously before the alarm went off. She sat up in bed, beautifully nude. She stretched luxuriously. Her old pyjamas didn’t fit, so she had abandoned night clothes altogether. She tossed her head from side to side, flinging her long hair about. She felt terrific.

It had been another night of delicious erotic dreams. These usually involved Cora being served and pleasured by armies of love-smitten men. She sighed at the memories.

Still nude, Cora bounced out of bed. She strutted over to the bedroom mirror to admire herself. It was her new morning ritual.

There was much to admire. Cora’s chestnut hair had grown long, thick and beautiful. She hadn’t bothered to visit the style shop this week. Instead she had cropped her hair herself, nervously using scissors while she watched in the mirror. The cut was imperfect, but it hardly mattered. In a matter of days she had grown it all back.

She had continued to grow elsewhere too. She was more than six inches taller now. Her blooming breasts had added another inch or so since the last time she had measured. When her nipples were red and distended, like they were now, her tits were even more impressive.

“My word, I’m—hot!” Cora cried out loud. It was a fair assessment. Her lips were thick and red, made to be kissed. Her eyes shone.

She hefted her globes for a moment. She pinched a nipple. A shiver of excitement lanced through her. Still watching herself, she slid one hand downward, following the hill and dale of her curves, to where her down of pubic hair had spontaneously rearranged itself into a neat triangle.

She slipped a finger into her wanting cleft. She was still wet from dreamland. She stroked herself for a few moments, until her breath began to run short. She was steamy this morning. She was hungry too, but that could wait. First, she decided, biting her bottom lip, a nice long shower, and a couple of strong, sweet orgasms. She pulled her fingers away long enough to skip off to the washroom. She turned on the shower, stepped under the hot spray, and finished the job.

Almost an hour later, after breakfast and her morning ablutions, Cora pranced back into the bedroom to get dressed. She tossed off her housecoat. She fished around in a shopping bag with the name Skin Tunes inscribed across it. She pulled out her latest solution to the underwear problem: a semi-transparent, black body-stocking.

Cora had never worn anything remotely like it before. She sat on the edge of the bed and slinked the garment up her smooth legs. Then she stood and worked it up her torso, ending by slipping her arms through the sleeves.

She considered the result. The spandex-enlivened material clung to her newly acquired curves. The fit over the bust was most impressive. Her breasts needed very little support despite their size. The stocking displayed them perfectly. It was equally flattering to the semi-spheres of her bum. She ran her hands down her hips, then inward.

The bodystocking had one more convenient feature: a small, neat cut-out around her pussy. She explored the benefits of that for a moment, until her temperature began to rise again and her nipples were rounded peaks distending her stocking. Reluctantly, she drew her fingers away. Any more of that and she would be very late for work.

Cora returned to her pile of shopping bags and drew out the rest of her day’s wardrobe: a flattering orange-brown suit jacket and matching miniskirt. She slipped them on. She admired the result again in the mirror. The single button jacket sort of covered her chest without really hiding it. The snug skirt made the most of her nylon-encased legs.

A few weeks ago Cora would never have contemplated wearing such an outfit. She wondered briefly where she found the moxy to try it now. Her self-confidence seemed to be increasing as fast as her bust line. She turned her leg this way and that, admiring the curves of her exposed thighs. Everyone would be staring at her legs—or craning to get a glimpse down her jacket.

Cora giggled. Was this outfit too hot for the office? Probably. Was anyone going to complain? Probably not.

It needed the right shoes though. The comfortable flats and oxfords she had taken to wearing with her skirted look would not work with this outfit. Cora spent a lot of time on her feet. She walked over to her closet and picked out a pair of black pumps with medium heels. She had bought them years ago, for a wedding.

Unexpectedly, the heels felt perfectly natural. She took a few experimental steps. She figured the heels might take a little getting used to. In fact it took about three strides. By the time she had crossed the bedroom to the mirror she felt like she had been wearing heels all her life.

Maybe she should have worn heels all her life. She was frankly amazed at how the modest heels set off her legs. She looked so good in heels, hose and miniskirt, she might get men to look below her chest.

Cora was practically singing as she slipped out the door, quite late for work. Her heels clicked smartly on the sidewalk. Heads turned to admire her walking by. This, she decided confidently, was definitely the style for her.

A few days later Cora found herself in the lunchroom at work, pouring yet another cup of coffee for Mr. Jacobsen. She was humming to herself as she worked. She looked fabulous.

Today she was sporting another variant of her new style. She wore a snug red miniskirt and a tight pink sweater that clung to her ever-swelling chest like a lover’s embrace. The skirt was short enough to flash the lace tops of her seamed stockings when she walked.

Her shoes were red, and high-heeled, of course. Cora had bought these impulsively after work one day. Her decision to go with heels all the time demanded a wider selection in her closet. Her new shoes had about an inch more heel than her old ones.

Cora tossed back a three-foot lock of lustrous brown hair. She hadn’t cut it in a few days. She poured Mr. Jacobsen’s coffee, black, the way he liked it. Reaching into a lower cupboard, she retrieved a flask of rum and a bottle of sleeping pills. She poured a small shot of rum and half a pill into the coffee, then returned the things to their hiding place. She watched the coffee fizz for a moment. She grinned mischievously.

“Hi Cora!” said a friendly voice.

Cora turned about, smiling. “Hi Raylene,” she said.

Raylene was another young woman who worked in the office. She was a pretty thing with blonde hair and freckles. She minced over to where Cora was standing, smiling slyly. “Well?” she asked.

“Well what?”

“Come on, don’t play dumb. Tell me. How was your date with Davy?” She referred to a young executive who worked on another floor. Cora had met him in the elevator.

Cora looked at the floor. “It was . . . nice. He took me out to dinner. Then we went dancing. At the Regency Club.”

“Wow! The Regency. That’s pretty exclusive territory, girl. He must have really wanted to impress you. Did anything, you know, develop?”

“Raylene!”

“Wellll, you know. Come on, you can tell me.”

“We went back to his condo. He kissed me. We went to the bedroom. That’s all I’m going to tell you.”

“Oh! That’s all right, I can fill in the blanks. It must have been famous. He’s so hunky.”

Cora smiled but said nothing. She was still adjusting to being attractive. Cora was no virgin, thanks to a fleeting liaison back in high school. Since then, lovers had been few and far between. She had been asked out more times in the past two weeks than in all of her previous life. When the rich, handsome Davy asked, Cora decided to say yes.

Cora’s description of her evening out was heavily edited. She hadn’t mentioned Davy’s jaw-dropping reaction when he picked her up. Her tangerine dancing dress strained over her 38-inch chest and left most of her legs on display. She had worn her red high-heels and very little in the way of underwear.

She also left out the way every man in the restaurant had been staring at her, including the eagerly attentive waiter; nor how Davy kept holding her close on the dance floor to hide his boner. She also hadn’t mentioned how their evening’s intimacy began with a clandestine handjob in the backseat of the taxi (“Are you all right sir? Are you feeling unwell?") and ended when Davy fell asleep beneath her, hours later, after Cora had milked him slowly to two more ejaculations.

“So, are you going out with him again?” Raylene wanted to know.

“Maybe.”

Cora had decided to make him earn it. He had already sent her a dozen roses. She figured he might bring her a few presents if she tempted him with the prospect of more sex. She wondered if he could be persuaded to buy her some nice clothes. She really couldn’t afford to dress like this on her wages.

“I’d love to get a date with a fellow like that,” Raylene said wistfully. “I wish I had your . . . magnetism.” The last word may have been a euphemism. Still, Raylene herself had hardly noticed Cora until a few weeks ago.

“Well, remember what we discussed. It’s all in how you carry yourself. Men like women who like being sexy.”

“I know. You are so right. Look, I took your advice. See?” She lifted her arms so Cora could inspect her attire. Raylene was dressed in a rainbow-striped sweater and a decidedly brief white skirt. A wide blue belt looped loosely around her waist, decorated with a big silver buckle. “Isn’t this a kick?”

“You look fine,” Cora agreed. “You have a great figure for minis. You should wear them all the time.”

“Really?” She looked at Cora avidly, willing to be convinced. Until this week Cora had never seen Raylene in a skirt, much less one that ended above the knee.

“You know what else you should try? Stockings.”

“Are you serious? To the office?”

“Why not? They look super-sexy, they feel delicious against your skin, and the guys love ‘em. Look, I’m wearing some now.” She lifted her own skirt a few centimetres until the garters came into view. Cora especially liked stockings because they facilitated handplay in the washroom. Sometimes she wore one of her crotchless bodystockings instead.

“Wow,” Raylene breathed. “That is so cool.”

Cora looked at her watch. “Oh. I’d better get this coffee to Mr. J.”

“I don’t know how you stand working for that man. He is like, completely Type A.”

Cora looked down at the steaming cup of coffee in her hand. “It’s not so bad. He’s much more relaxed lately.”

As she made her unhurried way to Mr. Jacobsen’s office, Cora contemplated the hutzpah of systematically doping her boss’s coffee. Such bravado would have been entirely beyond her before . . . all this started. Mr. Jacobsen hardly noticed what kind of coffee Cora made. He was too busy staring at her chest.

Cora realized now that not just her body was changing. Somehow her personality was rebuilding itself to suit her appearance. The charisma that Raylene had referred to was undeniable. Though it was not quite noon, Cora had already lined up two more dates. She was certain they would both end with great sex.

In the past few weeks Cora had made two more attempts to conjure the spirit that started everything. Neither spell succeeded. She wasn’t surprised. “Farewell, Cora,” did sound rather definite. Still, Cora had hoped the spirit might come back long enough to explain what was going on.

On the second occasion, the smell of the burning concoction brought an irate visit from the building supervisor. It was after midnight. The man was in his housecoat, apparently torn from his bed by an annoyed tenant. Cora was in a robe too. She had thrown it on hastily when the door buzzer sounded.

The supervisor did a double take when Cora opened the door. Was this sultry babe the same mousy thing he had talked to last month? It didn’t take Cora long to convince him that it was all a misunderstanding. She was baking something. The smell would dissipate quickly. She was on her way to bed herself.

The supervisor was quickly mollified. Cora’s robe had come sort of half open as she talked. She sort of left it that way. She invited the supervisor to drop in some time, to see what was cooking. The suggestion dripped with sexy double meaning. She sort of left it that way.

Back in the office, Cora reflected on how boldly she had dealt with the building supervisor. Was she becoming a different person? She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a window. She brushed back a lock of hair, watching. It was still hard to believe she looked like this.

And her breasts were still growing.

By Friday of that week, Cora’s “magnetism” was attracting every man in the office—and a few of the women. She basked in it. She flirted and teased with everyone. Men adjusted their underwear every time she passed. Her mid-morning mail delivery brought the office to a standstill.

It was easy to see why. Cora was the consummate office professional in a stylish pinstripe suit, even if the mini-length skirt barely covered her stocking-tops. She had bought the expensive outfit a few days earlier—or rather, one of her dates had bought it for her so she could accompany him to a highbrow social event.

Cora was making the suit look better than its designer could have hoped. The tailored jacket strained its buttons. High-heeled, open-toed slides on her feet shaped her legs and made her look even taller. Cora discovered the two and a half inch platforms gave her no trouble at all.

Cora was wearing only a thin, mauve camisole beneath her suit jacket, despite her now dramatic chest. In fact she had quite given up on brassieres. They never fit for very long and her pneumatic breasts hardly needed support.

The extra bounce in her walk did seem to distract the men in the office though. She got Franky so worked up, just leaning close over his desk to deliver his mail (with one knee up on the arm of his chair, and her glorious, half-covered boobs a few inches from his lips, and of course she had to retrieve the letter she accidentally dropped in his lap) that they decided to slip into the file room for a quickie. The poor boy was on her before she got the door closed.

When Cora strolled back to work twenty minutes later, pausing for a moment to adjust one stocking, she discovered Carol, a middle manager with an office of her own, frowning at her computer. Cora laid the morning’s deliveries on her desk. “Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked.

Carol started. “Oh, hi Cora. Sorry, I’m a mite distracted. Trying to figure out this new time allocation worksheet. Oh my, thank you, that feels nice.” Cora stepped up behind her and began to gently massage her shoulders.

On Cora’s advice, Carol had done her hair, dying out the streaks of premature grey. She was wearing more cheerful colours too, another of Cora’s suggestions.

“What’s the problem?” Cora asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing to trouble you about. There’s supposed to be a function that optimizes work schedules for the job-sharing people. I’ve been trying to make it work for the last half hour.” She leaned back against Cora’s chest, enjoying the massage.

Cora said: “My goodness, you’re tense. Why don’t you take a break for a moment. Rest your eyes. Let me get rid of some of this stiffness.” She worked Carol’s shoulders firmly. Carol sighed. She closed her eyes. Cora’s soft breasts cradled her head like double pillows.

Still working her shoulders, Cora reached around deftly and unfastened the first few buttons on Carol’s gold blouse. “Mmmmm?” the older woman murmured, eyes still closed.

Cora explained: “I need to get at your shoulders.” She undid another button. She slid her hands down inside the collar and massaged Carol’s upper arms. The action pulled Carol’s half-open blouse off her shoulders.

Carol squirmed beneath her. “Uhm, Cora, I don’t think—” she began.

“Shhhhh. Relax for a minute or two. You know, I think I see the problem with this program.”

Carol’s eyes opened a bit. “You do? How—”

“Why don’t you set the work requirements for the week, along with the proportions for each time-sharer and let the program work backwards to determine the schedule?”

“What? Why of course! That’s got to work. Yes, I can see that now. But, how could you—I’ve been working on this for hours, and you just got here!” She was so caught up in Cora’s unexpected solution that she hardly noticed her bra straps being deftly lowered.

“Maybe it’s simply a fresh pair of eyes,” Cora assured her. She had returned to massaging Carol’s bare shoulders. “Sometimes we get so close to a problem that we can’t really see it.” Her hands were drifting lower. She could see the other woman’s breasts emerging from the lowered bra. The nipples were erect.

“Uhm, Cora, I, I think maybe that’s enough now,” Carol said nervously. “You’ve been a b-big help, but, uhm, I really should get back to—”

“It’s almost coffee time,” Cora interrupted her. She pressed her own, larger breasts against Carol’s cheek. “You should chill out for a few minutes. You’ve made progress in your work, why not take a moment to enjoy it.” She was leaning over, breathing in the older woman’s ear.

“Uhm, well, all right. But I—”

“By the way,” Cora interrupted again. “You look lovely in this colour. Everybody has noticed. I’ve seen lots of the guys looking at you.”

“You, you have?”

“Definitely. Have you considered trying something a little more flattering? You have a lovely figure Carol.” She sealed this last suggestion with a delicate kiss, light and slow on Carol’s cheek. One hand flitted across her breasts, almost incidentally caressing a nipple as it passed by. Carol inhaled sharply.

Cora was still whispering encouragement. “Your new hairstyle makes you look so much younger. Why not go with it? There’s all sorts of cool fashions where the twentysomethings shop. Go ahead and explore a little. Release your inner teenage temptress. Nothing is sexier than a girl who can be hip and womanly at the same time.”

Carol made a little moaning sound. Cora could see she was soaking up the ideas like a sponge. Carol had her eyes closed, leaning back against Cora’s chest. Cora was still stroking and massaging her shoulders and torso. Her hands lingered a little longer on her half-exposed tits with each pass. She freed one nipple, then the other. Carol’s hands gripped the arms of her chair.

Cora planted little kisses on the manager’s neck. “I definitely think you should try some sexier styles,” she told her. “Unless you don’t want to be an office beauty who has every man in her section eating out of the palm of her hand.” She slid her hands down into Carol’s bra and lifted both breasts completely out of the cups. She pinched the nipples lovingly.

“Oh!” Carol exclaimed, stiffening. “Oh, I do want that!” she blurted. “Cora, you make me feel so alive!”

Cora straightened slowly. “I have to run along now. Come on, go get yourself some coffee. There’s a couple of cool catalogues in the lounge.” She stepped away softly. She left the other woman rigid in her seat, panting, speechless, her fully exposed breasts heaving.

Cora waited in the corridor, out of sight. A few seconds later Carol bolted from the room. Her bra was gone completely. Her blouse was rebuttoned but only partly tucked in. She was heading not for the coffee room but the washroom. Cora smiled fondly. She was confident Carol would find her own way to relax.

Cora sauntered off in her platform heels to make some more doped coffee for Mr. Jacobsen.

Cora was emerging from the coffee room, cup in hand, when she ran into Ashley again. The blonde secretary ended up with half a cup of coffee on her white silk blouse.

She was livid instantly. “You—you did that on purpose, you bitch! Damn your eyes, what do you think you are doing! Look at the mess you made.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Cora replied. “I simply didn’t notice you there.” She was at least an inch taller than the other woman now, even without her extravagant platform shoes.

Ashley caught the new tone of condescension. “Don’t hand me that line, you little witch. This blouse is ruined completely. I ought to pour the rest of that coffee over your head!”

“Now, now, there’s no need to over-react. It’s just a coffee stain. Besides, that blouse doesn’t look too expensive.”

“Why, you—this blouse cost more than your whole wardrobe. And a new one is going to come directly out of your pathetic salary.”

“Why do you have to be so unpleasant?” Cora asked reasonably.

Ashley glared at her. “Look, I’m not the one that’s strutting about the office in hooker-ware, coming on to all the men like an oversexed—”

“Oh, I get it now,” Cora interrupted. “You’re jealous. Yes! You see other women as competition instead of friends because they might deprive you of attention from men. Yes, that’s it, isn’t it. The last thing you want is for guys to start making comparisons.”

For a moment Ashley simply looked at her, dumbfounded either by the bluntness of Cora’s rebuttal or it’s accuracy.

“Well, don’t worry, honey,” Cora continued, “you’re really quite pretty in your own way. Though, you might want to consider wearing a wonderbra. With a little extra lift your tits won’t look so small.”

“You bitch!” Ashley snarled. Her voice carried hurt as well as anger. “Just because you’ve suddenly turned into some kind of . . . . That doesn’t give you the right . . . . Don’t talk to me!” She turned and almost ran away, high heels snapping.

Cora watched her go. She has a sweet ass, she thought idly. She felt a little guilty. She hadn’t meant to hurt Ashley, just bring her down a notch or two. Oh well. She poured the rest of the coffee down the sink. She poured a fresh cup for Mr. Jacobsen. She made a mental note to buy another bottle of rum.

The following Monday at about the same time, Cora was sitting at her little desk in the files room, sorting through the morning mail. She was leaning back casually in her chair with her feet up on the desk, not worrying too much about the tiny skirt she was wearing. Her seamed stockings and high-heeled sandals displayed her long legs provocatively. She had been stopping conversations and stiffening underwear all morning.

Cora was passing the time reading all the reports and inter-office memos she was supposed to be delivering. She paused for a moment to admire the newest bouquet of flowers sitting on the filing cabinet. It was from one of her weekend dates. It competed with several other bouquet’s scattered about the room.

Cora picked up the hand mirror that was never far away. Her face and hair looked splendid, of course. She was wearing bright new earrings. They were a gift from one of her paramours.

Cora smiled fondly. So many men. So many sweet, horny men willing to please and pamper a pretty girl with big tits. She snatched an exotic chocolate from the open box on her desk and popped it into her mouth. The weekend had been great fun—even if she didn’t get much sleep.

Chewing contentedly, Cora returned to perusing the confidential reports in her lap. She was concerned about the financial projections contained in the quarterly business plan. Cora didn’t have any formal training in business, but she could read the newspaper. Some of the assumptions in the latest plan weren’t very realistic.

She thought for a moment. Maybe this could be fixed. She would need passwords to get at the restricted files. The manager of the computer network was a likeable fellow. Cora had been teasing him for weeks. She wondered if he could be sweet-talked into sharing some confidential security information. She looked down at her straining, low-cut sweater. Of course he could.

She swung her legs down. She got to her feet and carefully adjusted her garter straps. Her strappy sandals were golden yellow, the same colour as the rest of her skimpy outfit. She fluffed out her glistening brown hair. She tossed the quarterly business plan in the rubbish bin. Then she sauntered off to seduce the married head of the computer division.

“More coffee, Mr. J?” Cora asked. “I made a fresh pot.” She was standing in the doorway to his office, bearing a steaming cup of coffee on a silver tray. She bent one long leg fetchingly.

It was a few days after a revised quarterly business plan had landed on the desks of the company executives. It had created a stir. The rumour around the office was that the financial planners themselves might not have written parts of the report. They were quick to claim the credit though, when other executives praised the innovative ideas it contained.

Mr. Jacobsen looked up from his computer. He looked groggy. His tie was askew. “Uhm. Yes. Coffee. Good idea,” he said. “Feeling . . . sleepy today.” He apparently hadn’t connected his dullness with the two cups of coffee Cora had served him earlier. Nor was he too sleepy to gape at Cora as she glided into the room.

Today, Cora had forgone her usual skirt-suits for a more playful look. The white peasant blouse was short-sleeved, and just low-scooped enough to reveal the slopes of her blossoming thirty-eights. The little kilt that went with it was brightly coloured plaid. Cute white stockings sleeked up her legs, gartered at mid-thigh with white silk bows. She was even wearing black mary-janes, modified to include high platform heels. She looked like a classic school-girl fantasy, as interpreted by a porn star.

Cora rounded Mr. Jacobsen’s desk and set the cup of coffee before him. “Maybe this will help you wake up,” she said. She seriously doubted it though. This third cup of coffee was as adulterated as the first two. “What are you working on?”

“Huh?” her boss grunted, distracted. Cora had bent over a little to set down the cup. “Working? Oh, uhm, yes, working on . . . salaries. Salary adjustments. Need to make women’s . . . bigger.” He was still staring down her blouse.

Mr. Jacobsen was having as much trouble as everyone else adjusting to Cora’s transformation from waif to Wow! in a matter of weeks. Cora made sure he noticed. Knowing his weakness for a well-endowed female, she took care to reveal a little cleavage—or more than a little—whenever she was in his office. Lately it seemed her boss was charting the progress of her inflation as keenly as she was.

Cora knew what he was working on, of course. After Cora’s anonymous memo had somehow leaked to the press, the company was stung by the bad publicity. Orders had come down from the Board. Adjustments were to be made, and quickly. Every section head was instructed to augment salaries of female employees as necessary, preferably without affecting profit. Mr. Jacobsen had been struggling with this impossible task all week. “Mind if I take a look?” Cora asked, as if it were the most natural thing. She stepped close beside his chair, leaning over to study the screen.

“No, wait . . . you can’t . . . those files are confidential . . . you shouldn’t . . .” Mr. Jacobsen stuttered.

A few weeks ago he would never have tolerated such familiarity from a file clerk. A few weeks ago Cora hadn’t looked like she did today. He could see her ballooning breasts hanging down inside her low-scooped blouse. Farther below were the equally fetching globes of her ass, scarcely covered by the short kilt. Cora had even done up her hair in two long ponytails, bound with white ribbons.

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Here, have some coffee.” She straightened long enough to hand him the cup. Her boss found himself taking it.

“Wait, Cora, just a—”

“Shhhhhh. Not another word until you’ve had some coffee. It will perk you up.” She urged the cup to his lips.

Obediently, Mr. Jacobsen began to sip the doctored coffee. “Hmmm, that’s good,” he said absently.

“Glad you like it,” Cora said, smiling. “It’s a Jamaican blend.” The rum was, anyway. “You know, I just had an idea.”

“Idea? What?”

“You’re not going to get salary parity just through increases in benefits.” She gestured vaguely at the computer screen. “You can only add one or two percent that way. Sooner or later you’re going to have to raise the base salaries.”

“Well, I, I suppose that’s true, but, uhm . . .” Jacobsen replied, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “But, I thought that first I should try to—”

“Oops, I’m slipping a bit,” Cora chirped, giggling. She bent over to carefully adjust one of her frill-topped stockings. She was standing right in front of him. She took her time re-tying the ribbon. “These stockings tend to come undone. Cute though, don’t you think?” She flexed her leg back and forth.

“Uhm, yes, certainly,” Jacobsen mumbled. His eyes were all over her thighs. He gulped coffee. “Listen, Cora, I don’t think—”

Abruptly Cora turned about, putting her raised heels together. “Are my seams straight?” she asked over her shoulder.

He was caught off guard again. “Seams? What?”

“On my stockings, silly!”

“Oh. Uhm, yeah. Sure. They’re . . . good.” Cora bent over a little, resting her fingertips on his desk. She flexed one knee, then the other, swishing her little plaid kilt back and forth, back and forth, a few centimetres each time. The hemline slipped by the edge of her white lace panties.

“Listen, why don’t you try this,” Cora offered. She turned around and leaned casually against his desk. “Raise the women’s base salaries by eight per cent. Make the pension top-up retroactive for, say, five years. Then you can fine tune individual salaries to make up the difference. Oh, you spilled coffee on your tie.”

“What? How much?” said Jacobsen, struggling again. “Oh, uhm, I must have spilled . . .”

“Mr. J.? What do you think? Eight per cent.”

What? Oh, . . . well, I guess that might work, yes, but . . . but what about . . . profit margins?”

“Oh pooh on profit margins,” the brown-haired beauty cooed. She stood up again, then lifted one knee onto the edge of his chair. “Of course there will be a little teeny profit dip if you let all these women realize their full potential.” She ran one long nail down the list of names on the monitor. “But this company made like oodles of money last year. Even allowing for—” She leaned toward him, bringing her heavy chest very near—“inflation.”

Mr. Jacobsen said nothing for a moment. He was devouring the view with his eyes. Cora took the empty coffee cup from his hand. She set it on the desk.

Mr. Jacobsen rallied gamely. “Cora, I, I think you—”

“You think too much, Mr. J. You’ve been at this all week. It’s made you tense and grumpy. You need to relax a little bit.” She was still leaning over him. She diddled his tie with one hand.

Jacobsen was agog. He was trapped in the full beam of Cora’s sexual aura. Here was a file clerk that he had only noticed long enough to bellow at, somehow transformed into the archetype of sexual temptation.

“You’ve been working much too hard,” the shapely siren sang. “Maybe that’s why you’ve been sooooo tired all week. You need to take some down time. Relax for a few minutes.”

“N-no, need to finish . . . ”

“Oh, that can wait a while. What’s the rush? Take some time for yourself. You look so tired. So sleepy.”

“Uhm . . .”

Jacobsen’s protest were growing more feeble by the moment. Three cups of laced coffee were clouding his mind. Cora’s giant chest held his gaze like a magnet. She shifted her weight a little, letting her jumbo jugs sway back and forth hypnotically. His half-closed eyes followed the movement.

“That’s right, honey, let yourself go,” Cora sang. Her voice floated over him like a lullaby. “You’re a tired little boy. Time for a good nap. So tired. So sleepy.” She matched the rhythm of her voice to the gentle sway of her tits. Back and forth. Back and forth. Her unbound nipples made little dents in her blouse, marking the movement.

“That’s right. Close your eyes and relax for a minute or two. The world can wait. Close your eyes.”

“But . . . wait, I . . .”

“Oh, Mr. J. you are wound up like a clockspring. You really do need to unwind. Here, let Cora relax you so you can sleep.” The hand that was toying with his tie slipped downward, until it was resting lightly on his crotch. He was hard as a hammer beneath her fingers.

Jacobsen was too far gone to fully realize what was going on. He made a feeble sound as Cora began to stroke him though his suit trousers. “N,no . . . shouldn’t . . . s-someone could come in . . .”

“Shhhhhhh, now take it easy baby. I locked the door. No one is going to come in. Just relax, and let Cora get rid of all that tension so you can sleep.” She began to stroke faster. She ran the palm of her hand up and down his length. She petted him with her fingers. Her enormous knockers swayed before his eyes.

Jacobsen was responding in spite of himself. He twitched in the chair. His hands gripped the arm rests. His head lolled about, helplessly following the pendulum sway of her chest. He groaned.

Cora mothered him as she jacked him more swiftly. “Oh, poor Mr. J., you’re all hard and tense. You need to cum soooo bad. Cora’s curves have got you really turned on, haven’t they? That’s OK, show me how much I excite you. Come on honey. Love my titties and give yourself a nice, relaxing cum.”

He didn’t last long. Jacobsen was gasping with every stoke now, obviously nearing his peak. Cora leaned forward and smothered his cries in her bosom. He stiffened suddenly. With a low groan he began to ejaculate into his underwear. Cora kept stroking, prolonging his climax, pumping him dry.

Finally he was finished. He slumped back in his chair, spent and happy. His eyelids drooped. “tha, that wuz amazing.” he muttered, eyes closed. He was breathing slowly. “mazing.” His head nodded. He drifted off into contented sleep.

Cora studied him for a moment. She flicked back one of her ponytails, and carefully adjusted her stockings. She sat down on the arm of his chair with her legs across his lap. “You look much more comfortable now, Mr. J.” she told him. “You take a little nap there, and I’ll finish off these pesky salary adjustments.”

She turned her attention to the computer. Her fingers danced over the keyboard. She augmented the women’s salaries generously. She reduced the senior executive bonuses to offset the cost. Then she placed herself into a new job category, with a substantially better salary. She reduced Ashley’s pay by 20% to compensate.

“You don’t mind do you?” she asked her sleeping superior. “I really need a whole new wardrobe.” Mr. Jacobsen grunted, but didn’t wake up.

Cora closed the file, changed the password, and sent it off to accounting. “There, that’s all done,” she said, getting to her feet. “Don’t you feel better now?” Mr. Jacobsen slept placidly. There was a wet stain on the crotch of his pants.

Cora rummaged around in the drawers of his desk until she found his company credit card. She giggled impishly. She put his telephone on hold so he wouldn’t be disturbed. Her glossy brown hair swished back and forth as she flounced out of the office.