The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Cora made one more attempt to find out something about the spirit she had called up. She didn’t get very far. The ancient texts remained as reticent as ever. It often seemed that the writers were as confused about the spirit world as she was. The books abounded in vagaries, excuses and outright contradictions.

Besides, she didn’t give the matter her full attention.

Cora stretched out full length on her bed, nude but for her favourite pair of pink powderpuff mules. A trio of witchcraft books and a Latin dictionary were spread out in front of her. She flipped pages in the books with one hand. The other was lazily toying with her four-foot-long hair, or sliding up and down the crescent valley between her chest and hips, or fondling her mammoth mammaries.

That last activity proved disastrous to her concentration. Her breasts had grown so sensitive, Cora sometimes wondered if her clit had moved to her nipples. Just measuring her bust, as she joyfully did every morning, was enough to make them swell like rosebuds. Right now, her nipples were standing out, red and swollen, eager for more play. She tweaked them lovingly, then used both hands to lift one breast to her lips. She hadn’t realized until recently that such a thing were possible. “Mmmmmmm, lord I love my big boobs,” she thought, as her tongue circled her aureole.

Everyone else loved her big boobs too. All she had to do was put on a tight sweater (with a bust size approaching 39 inches it was hard to find a sweater that wasn’t tight) and men of all ages fell all over themselves to be near her. Cora still had a relatively slender frame, which only made her blossoming boobs look larger.

Cora was making full use of her advantage. She had perfected the technique of mesmerizing men with her tits, as she had Mr. Jacobsen. Usually, her victims were so fascinated by their buoyant, generous perfection they hardly noticed what they were agreeing to. If one of them hesitated, Cora tabled the matter until later, when the man had his head buried in her chest, kissing and licking and squeezing, or when Cora was between his legs, softening his attitude with a long, slow titfuck. Loving her super-sensitive boobies got Cora so excited she sometimes forgot what she was sweet-talking her man into.

Cora paused for a moment. She wondered again if more than her body was changing. Sometimes she barely recognized herself. She had become so confidently sensual, so seductive. She seemed to know instinctively how to make the most of her newfound beauty.

She wondered if this was the inevitable response to the blossoming of her figure: was her behaviour changing because of the way everyone else treated her? It seemed unlikely that twenty years of mousiness and timidity could be cast aside so quickly. Or was this part of the gift of the sprite? “Your longing will be slaked, your wishes fulfilled,” she had said. Perhaps Cora’s deeper longing, beyond inchoate fantasies of being a desirable woman, was for sexual power.

She rolled over onto her back, casually fondling her breasts with both hands. She found herself reflecting on her most recent date, with a handsome young lawyer. The fact that Cora was a lowly file clerk hadn’t bothered him at all. The fact that Cora had been wearing no bra beneath her semi-transparent silk blouse bothered him a great deal. So did her nyloned foot on his leg, after she slipped off one high heel beneath the restaurant table.

She teased him expertly all evening. By the time they arrived back at his apartment the man was so lust-addled he hardly remembered his name. Cora spent the night delivering all the thrills her body promised. The fellow probably didn’t remember when he had agreed to lend her his BMW “for a few days.”

Cora moaned. She was warming from the memory. Her reflective thoughts dissolved in the physical heat. She kissed herself again, then let one hand wander south. The man’s shiny car was parked behind her building. She would need to find a parking space at work. That wouldn’t be a problem. She moaned again. Her hips thrust up to meet her fingers.

She glanced at the bedside clock. It was after eight. She still hadn’t given her hair its daily trim. She did want to work on the Latin some more, but . . . oh sweet summer Sundays but that felt good!

Maybe the books could wait till later.

The following Monday, Cora was sitting at her little desk in the files room when the telephone rang. She was using the hand mirror to check her make-up and hair. Mostly she was admiring herself. The room smelled of roses from three fresh bouquets.

Cora pondered her face in the mirror. It was still her face. Yet at the same time it was completely different. Her lips had become full and ripe, begging to be kissed. Moles and blemishes kept disappearing. Her eyebrows arched; her eyelashes had lengthened and curled upward on their own. The indifferent brown of her eyes had vivified into a fascinating hue, as bright as sunshine through stained glass.

Somehow her eyes themselves had grown larger. Was that even possible? Cora found these little things as disconcerting as breasts that swelled like bread dough in a warm oven or glossy brown hair that grew centimetres every night.

Before her own looks had distracted her, Cora had been studying some confidential memos from the marketing department. She had a bit of spare time, since one of the interns had volunteered to deliver the morning mail for her. (“Really? My, that’s terribly kind of you to offer. These new boots aren’t really made for walking. You’re sure you don’t mind? It only takes an hour or two. Thank you so much! Oh. What’s this now? Have you got a mailing tube down your pants? I’ll tell you what: you finish the mail real quick and maybe we can go some place and do something about your friend here. OK, darling?")

She put down the mirror when the telephone rang. “Files room,” she said into the speaker-phone.

“Cora!” came a deep male voice. “What is going on here? I want to see you in my office. Now!” It was Bill Trammer, the head of internal accounts. He sounded upset.

“Of course, Mr. Trammer. I’ll be right there.”

Cora picked up her mirror again. She spent a few minutes combing out her hair. She loved the way it tumbled in thick waves down her back. She considered making a few changes to the marketing plan. Mr. Trammer could wait.

Actually, it took rather a while to get to Mr. Trammer’s office. She spent a few minutes flirting and flattering with the men she encountered along the way. That couldn’t be rushed. She also stopped to offer fashion advice to the women.

Cora had started a personal campaign of sexual liberation in the office. She preached her own gospel of female empowerment through sex appeal. Her disciples listened, and believed, and raised their hemlines.

The whole centre of gravity in the office seemed to be shifting toward Cora. An ever-changing entourage of gaping men and admiring women accompanied her down the hall. Men looked up from their work as soon as they smelled her perfume. They sat still, dreaming, long after she was past. Cora lost a few minutes in the washroom, giving a love-struck computer technician a quick handjob in exchange for his watch. It was almost an hour later when she finally strolled into the accountant’s office.

As she had expected, the monthly bill for Mr. Jacobsen’s corporate charge card was sitting on his desk. “Something wrong, Mr. Trammer?” Cora asked.

Trammer was a trim, bespectacled man going grey around the temples. A few weeks ago he had rarely looked up from his work when Cora dropped the mail on his desk. He was looking up now though.

“Cora!” he said, “what . . . what’s all this?” He got to his feet, waving the charge card bill in the air. He was trying to act angry. It would have been more convincing if he hadn’t been staring. His gaze locked on her tits, spilling out of her low-cut, black sweater as she sauntered into the room. Cora got that reaction a lot these days. She liked it.

She kept her voice innocent. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

“I, I mean this,” Trammer said. He pointed at the bill. “This account. Look at all these purchases. Clothing. Jewellery. Shoes. Lingerie. And the amounts—”

Cora stepped around his desk in her high-heeled boots. She was as tall as him now, even without the heels. She leaned over to examine the bill in his hands. “Oh, are they very dear?”

“Dear! They’re . . . ah . . . uhm . . . enormous.” He found himself looking at her chest again, suddenly very near as she leaned over him to read the bill. “Enormous,” he said again.

Cora regarded him with big brown eyes. “Gee Bill, I still don’t see the problem. Mr. Jacobsen said I could buy a few things. Don’t you remember? He lent me the company card so I could update my office wardrobe.” She indicated her new attire with a sweep of her hand. In between the sweater and boots was a tight leather miniskirt, also in black, and smoke stockings that seemed made for her lovely legs.

Trammer found himself staring again. “Now . . . now Cora, don’t you try that. . . I can’t approve spending company money on personal effects. Even if you have, uh, rather improved your, uhm, professional comportment lately. And, and you know that Mr. Jacobsen’s signature doesn’t, really, prove anything.”

Cora knew what he meant by that. It was becoming an open secret around the office that Cora had her horny, helpless boss wrapped around her little finger. Even without the tranquilizers in his coffee, the man couldn’t seem to say no to his fabulous file clerk.

Cora liked to lean way over to lay things on his desk, providing him a breath-taking view of her 39-inch bust down whatever revealing garment she was wearing that day. Then she would ask in her sweetest little-girl voice if she could trouble him for his signature, here . . . and here . . . and here. The man seldom noticed what he was signing.

And if that didn’t work, Cora would slip into his lap and fuck his lights out.

Mr. Trammer was being more obstinate. Cora decided to appeal to his business training. “Well, Bill, you certainly are thorough, aren’t you,” she said. It’s good to have someone who can keep expenses from swelling . . . out of control. She was still standing close beside him. She ran two fingers down the throat of her sweater. The action drew Bill’s eyes away from the papers in his hands and back to her tits, where they belonged.

“I mean, without guys like you working so hard all the time, our costs would get bigger, and bigger . . . and bigger.”

Trammer seemed distracted. “Yes, well, uhm, about these purchases—”

“Oh, I can see you’re a very hands on manager,” Cora interrupted. She slid forward a little, letting her chest rub his arm. “You want to handle this file yourself, huh? You’ll strip away any cover-up until you see everything. She was pressing close to him now, almost whispering in his ear.

“Uhm, uh, Cora, that’s not—”

“Don’t worry, I have complete documentation. See? Everything you need is in this file.” She laid a thin folder on the desk. “Go ahead. Take a look.”

Trammer opened the folder. Inside there was nothing but a single black, silk stocking. It was identical to the stockings Cora was wearing beneath her leather miniskirt. “What’s this?” he wondered.

Cora picked up the delicate garment. “Why this is my expense claim, Bill,” she explained. “From Villa Florencia. The finest silk. See how soft and smooth it feels?” She tossed the stocking playfully down his face. It smelled of Cora’s favourite perfume.

“Isn’t that nice?” the busty beauty pressed on. “It says so much about the status of this company that we insist on the best for our staff. Wouldn’t you agree that’s money well spent?” She ran the stocking gently down Trammer’s cheek, then across her cleavage.

“But, but, this isn’t, isn’t proper—”

“Oh but of course it is, darling. People work best when they feel good about themselves. Silky underthings make me feel soooooo good. Look, I’m wearing some right now.” She lifted one foot and set it deliberately on his chair. Her black mini slid up to reveal one garter strap. Trammer’s gaze dropped to the sweep of leg between long leather boot and short leather skirt.

“Mmmmmm, silk stockings feel delightful against my skin. See what I mean?” She took his hand and rested it lightly on her exposed thigh.

Trammer gasped. He didn’t take his hand away. “C-Cora, I, I don’t, uhm, I don’t—”

Cora ignored his protests. She let her fabulous body work its magic. She pressed her chest against him. She flexed her elevated leg back and forth, enticing his hand to slip up and down her silk-encased thigh. She nibbled on his ear.

“I love the feel of my silk stockings,” she whispered. “I want you to feel it too.”

It took the befuddled accountant a long moment to recognize the sound of his zipper being lowered. By then it was too late. Cora’s hands were already inside his trousers. A moment later his tumescence was hanging out like a fishing pole.

“Ooooh, Billy, you are an upstanding member of the company staff, aren’t you?” Cora cooed.

Trammer might have tried to say something. Cora smothered it with a kiss. She set her foot back on the carpet. She sank slowly to her knees before him. She kissed the head of his cock, twirling her tongue around it excruciatingly. Trammer gasped. Cora ran the stocking up and down his length like she was shining him up. Finally she slipped the feminine undergarment over his shaft until it was enrobed in fine silk.

She began to stroke her stocking lightly across his cock. “There, you see? Doesn’t that feel posh? You see why I love to wear nice things?”

Trammer stumbled backward. He caught himself against the desk. A few moments earlier he had been discussing business expenses. Now somehow he was leaning against his desk, glassy-eyed and gasping, while a fantastically built woman gave him a scented-silk handjob in the middle of the office. “Now then, Bill,” Cora said reasonably, “You’re not going to give me a hard time about a few pretty things to wear around the office. Are you?” Cora stroked a little faster. Trammer grunted, and his eyes rolled back in his head. His glasses were steamed.

It took two and a half minutes for Cora to guide him to his climax. He blew his load into her stocking with a loud cry.

The purchases were approved.

Friday morning of that same week found Cora in her apartment, immersed in her daily ritual of admiring her own beauty. She was standing before her bedroom mirror, gloriously nude, studying her reflection with a mixture of vanity and disbelief.

“This is starting to get ridiculous,” she said out loud. Indeed, her boobs verged on the impossible. She was over forty inches in the bust now, even when her perky, pink nipples weren’t stiff. Her breasts were twin hemispheres of succulent perfection, jutting out from her chest as buoyantly as balloons. Yet the rest of her figure was girlish and Playboy perfect.

She had gained almost ten inches in height.

Still watching herself, Cora flicked her golden-brown hair one way, then the other. She watched it swing back and forth. It tumbled down in glistening cascades to the middle of her bum. It simply would not tolerate being any shorter. She wore it a dozen different ways, sometimes up, sometimes down, in braids and curls and ponytails.

She visited her stylist for a trim every Friday. The young woman seemed to be falling in love. She trembled with desire as she worked. “It’s so beautiful,” she kept saying, a touch of awe in her voice.

Cora wondered briefly if she should seduce the girl and get it over with. She could have hairstyling for free. It would be easy: Cora’s eyes sparkled with sexual promise; her smile heated a room like a propane torch. She had stopped wearing make-up because it made no difference.

Cora ran one hand down her flank. She curled her toes into the deep carpet like a purring cat. The carpet was brand new. The building supervisor had installed it, at no charge. New appliances were coming next week. The poor man’s cock was still recovering.

“Hi Cora! Can I talk to you for a moment?” someone said, later that morning. The woman at the door was in her mid-thirties, but cute and in good shape.

Cora looked up from the confidential report she was reading. She diverted the most interesting pieces from the mail each morning. She liked to keep tabs on which business decisions might need adjustment.

Cora was in the files room, relaxing in the plush executive chair she had sweet-talked Bill Trammer into buying for her. She had her feet on the desk. Her saucy minidress was wine red, with pretty pink ruffles around the sleeves and neckline. It was short, of course, to show off her legs, and stretchy-tight to show off everything else. Cora had a lot to show off these days. Her rose-pink platform sandals had extra-high wedge heels.

It was almost mid-morning before Cora finally arrived at work. She had been out very late clubbing the night before. She wasn’t too concerned about being late. Mr. Jacobsen was hardly going to make any complaints that might endanger his access to Cora’s charms.

Even if Cora was late, the mail was efficiently delivered. Several young men competed for the privilege of doing it for her. She sent one of them on his way with a kiss that promised much more when he finished. She gave the also-rans the consolation of doing her filing for her.

Cora still delivered Mr. Jacobsen’s coffee herself. She wasn’t slipping him drugs any more, save for a bit of rum to help him mellow. Still, she liked to keep him at the right level of horniness. She thought of it as office management. A pleasant make-out session in her boss’s lap, and if he was good, a few minutes on her knees beneath his desk, were enough to ensure that the middle-aged manager remained distracted and compliant. Everyone in the office was grateful for the improvement in his mood.

“Morning Glenda,” Cora replied, smiling. “Hey, aren’t you looking hot!”

Glenda stepped gingerly into the room. She was still a little unsure of her glossy high heels. “Cora, uhm, I’m not sure about this,” she demurred.

Cora swung her feet to the floor gracefully. “Oh stuff, honey. What’s to be unsure about? Didn’t I say you look sweet in that style?”

The other woman fidgeted with the hemline of her dress. It was a cheerful floral pattern, and very short. There were tiny white flowers embedded in her hose. “Well yes, but, uhm, I’m really not sure, like in the office? I guess I don’t have to wear slacks every day, but this . . . " she gestured vaguely. She was wearing lace gloves that matched her coral pumps.

Cora got to her feet. “Honey, you’re just not used to it. It takes a while to accept being beautiful.” She picked up a bottle of champagne that was cooling beside her desk. She filled two glasses. “Here, have a nip. Let’s drink to your new look.”

Her companion found herself taking the long-stemmed glass. She took a nervous sip. “Sure, Cora that’s easy for you,” she said. “You can get away with it, but, I don’t know . . . I don’t feel quite . . . should I be doing this?”

“Oh, mediocrity dies hard,” Cora sighed. She put her arm around Glenda’s shoulders. In her platform heels she was inches taller than the older woman. “Listen, honey, remember what I said about empowerment? About releasing the real, smart, sexy woman inside?”

“Y-yes”

“And don’t you feel sexy now, hmmm?”

“Well, OK, yes, I do, but . . . it’s the office.”

“So? Who says you have to stop being a woman because you have a job? You have a right to enjoy your sensuality, wherever you are.”

“Yes. You’re right of course. But still . . .”

Cora whispered in her ear: “Has Kyle noticed?”

“Notice? Of course he has! What would you expect in this dress? He can’t stop staring at my legs.” Kyle was a co-worker whom Glenda had confessed, after rather more champagne one afternoon, to finding cute.

Cora continued to re-assure her micro-skirted companion. “Isn’t it a rush? Knowing that he’s looking at you; admiring you; memorizing your looks for later; completely unable to stop staring when you walk by. You can distract him so easily. You have so much power. All it takes is a smile, a wave, a little wiggle, or a dip into the lower drawer of a filing cabinet, and he’s all yours. No man can resist a sensuous woman.”

“Yes, but, I’m—mmmmm” Cora put her champagne glass to her lips to silence her.

“Now don’t worry about that,” Cora said kindly. “It’s all innocent fun. It makes your day a little brighter, and makes sure you get the respect and attention you deserve. Nothing else has to happen.” She paused to lower her lips to Glenda’s ear. “Unless you want it to,” she whispered.

Glenda tittered girlishly. “Of course. You’re right. It’s all just . . . fun. Flirting, like. I feel so naughty. I’m drinking during the day too!” Both woman laughed. They drained their glasses.

“Thank you, Cora,” Glenda said. “I count on your advice.” She kissed her, quite warmly, and handed back her empty glass. “I’ll see you later, ‘K? I’m going to give Kyle an eye-full.” She was strutting a bit as she left the room.

Cora smiled as she watched her go. Glenda’s bold new style was sweeping the office. Her colleagues flocked to Cora for advice on how to release their inner sexpot. The men in the office were all smiles. The women were all Cora-wannabes.

There was one conspicuous exception. Cora had just returned to her desk, after admiring herself in the big mirror on one wall, when another female voice roused her.

“There you are, you harlot!”

Cora turned. “Ashley. How nice to see you.”

The secretary was standing in the doorway to the files room, hands on her shapely hips. As usual, she wore a tasteful skirt-suit with an abbreviated skirt. The scowl on her face spoiled the look. “Stow it,” she replied. “I’ve had about enough of your machinations.”

Cora approached her diffidently. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean. The way you flaunt your body all day. The way you manipulate everybody. You’re just a file clerk, damn your eyes. You have no right pushing your nose in other people’s business. I want you to stop interfering with my job!”

“Interfering?”

“Don’t play dumb. You’re opening Mr. Fargo’s mail. You’ve broken into the E-mail system. You would have been sacked by now if you didn’t have Mr. Jacobsen all ga-ga over you. That business about pay equity—that was you, wasn’t it.”

“Ashley, how can you complain about an action that raised all the women’s salaries?”

“All the women? Not quite, bitch. Somehow I got demoted in that shuffle. I’ve been working here for seven years! How am I—wait a minute. That, that was you! You did that too, didn’t you!”

“Me? Why, I’m merely a file clerk. What do I know about salaries?”

Ashley’s face clouded with rage. “You did do it. You fiend! You manipulated Jacobsen with those overgrown tits of yours. Well that’s enough! You are through here, Cora. I’m going to launch a complaint and have you turfed out on your double-pierced ear. Don’t think I’m going to stand here while you sleep your way to the top!”

Cora reeled from the other woman’s vitriol. She was struck by the jarring contrast between Ashley’s appearance and her personality. Though few could compare with the remodelled Cora, Ashley was a beautiful woman. It was too bad she was so calculating and bitter. Something had to be done.

Cora slapped her. She slapped her briskly, across one cheek, as an impatient parent might slap a whining child.

For a moment Ashley stood there, mouth open, too stunned to react. Cora slapped her again, on the other cheek. Ashley stumbled backward, almost falling off her heels in surprise. Just as abruptly, Cora stepped forward and kissed her.

It was not a chaste kiss. Cora held her by the shoulders. She worked her lips across the other woman’s mouth. She pressed her voluptuous body against her. Ashley made squeaky sounds of protest and alarm. Cora was taller than her, and stronger. The kiss was long, wet and thorough.

When Cora finally let her go, Ashley was gasping for breath. She shook her head in confusion. “What,” she panted, “why did you—”

Cora slapped her again. That shut her up. Then she delivered a second kiss, even hotter than the first. She enjoyed the feel of Ashley’s lips against hers and the warmth and softness of her body. She breathed in the clean, sweet smell of her hair and skin. She slipped her tongue into Ashley’s mouth.

The secretary rallied a defense. She struggled to push Cora away. Cora wrestled with her, still kissing and tonguing, until she held both of Ashley’s wrists in her right hand. She pulled them up over her head, ignoring the helpless blonde’s squealed protests. She pushed her up against a wall.

Ashley squirmed and kicked. Cora kissed her face, her neck, her eyes. She ran the tip of her tongue around her lips, tasting lip gloss. She nibbled on her ear. With her free hand she dove under Ashley’s short skirt, looking for more sensitive places to adore.

Cora broke the kiss for a moment, but didn’t let her adversary go. “You are a hot babe,” she whispered. “Why do you have to be such a brat?”

Ashley didn’t reply. She was round-eyed and bewildered. Her chest rose and fell against Cora’s massive boobs. Her face was flushed.

Cora kissed her once again. Down below her free hand found its target. She began to stroke the shapely blonde through her underthings.

“Now you listen to me, you spoiled little tramp,” Cora whispered. “I don’t like you hiding your treasure.” She made a deft stroke with her lower hand to make her meaning clear. Ashley’s silk panties were wet. “When you come to work tomorrow, I want free access to your cunt. No excuses. Until then go away and don’t pester me. Are we clear, blondie?”

Ashley nodded her head vigorously. Her eyes were huge. Cora relaxed her hold on her wrists and stepped backward. Instantly Ashley bolted from the room like a frightened dog. She didn’t stop to straighten her clothing.

Cora watched her panicked retreat. My, she does have a sweet figure, she thought. Where had that burst of aggression come from? Well, Ashley had it coming. She wondered if the secretary was spooked enough to actually do what she was told.

The setto with Ashley had Cora’s blood running. She got out her mirror and checked her hair and face. When she was certain both were exquisite she wiggled off to find a male co-worker to fuck.

She got lucky: she found two.

“Mmmmmmm, yes, darling, fuck me!” Cora cooed, about twenty-four hours later. She was sitting on the polished cherrywood desk of the company’s Vice-President of Internal Operations. The Vice-President himself, a distinguished, fiftyish man with grey-streaked hair, was standing in front of his desk, between Cora’s legs. He was still wearing his proper white shirt and tie. His pants and boxers were around his ankles. Cora’s arms were around his neck; her slick-tight pussy was around his cock.

Cora was still wearing most of her office attire for the day: a thin Jersey, flaring miniskirt and thigh-high stockings, all in deep forest green. The striped stockings had frilly garters right at the hemline of the skirt. Her black suede ankleboots were resting on the arms of the VP’s padded chair as he plumbed the depth of her pussy with grunting enthusiasm.

Cora knew exactly why the VP was so excited. She had been teased him mercilessly for the past two hours. He had taken her out to lunch. In return, she had driven him to distraction.

The Vice-President, recently divorced, had become curious about the stacked babe with long, brown hair who everyone seemed to be talking about. Why had he never noticed her before? She was apparently a file clerk or some such. Yet she seemed to run the whole office. He became more curious when his faithful assistant confided, winking, that Cora was the reason she had started coming to work in thin, silky things and white stretch boots.

Over the course of a long lunch Cora had transformed the Vice-President’s curiosity into urgent arousal. He was fucking powerfully now. His pelvis thrust forward and back as he plunged into her. His face was damp with perspiration. His glasses were askew. “Cora!” he grunted. “Cora, Cora, oh god Cora, so fucking gorgeous Cora, Cora, Corrrrrra!” He came inside her with the vigour of a teenager. Eventually he pulled out, gasping, and collapsed into his chair. Cora slid off the desk and onto the arm of his chair. Her long hair draped around her shoulders like a cloak of fine satin. “That was wonderful, Harry,” she told the spent VP. “Can we have lunch again sometime?” She leaned down to kiss him.

“Tomorrow,” was all he said.

Cora was in a cheerful mood as she sauntered back to work. It was a busy afternoon. She helped a financial planner with some cost projections, re-assured Carol that her daughter’s hip-huggers looked great on her, and no they-weren’t too tight, then wandered back to the files room for some champagne and chocolates. She looked around for Ashley.

The secretary was not at her desk. She wasn’t in the coffee room either, her favourite haunt, or off flirting with the menfolk. No one seemed to know where she was. Could it be that Cora’s nemesis was avoiding her?

Cora found her eventually. Ashley was working away quietly in a corner of the library. Cora admired her rival’s figure for a moment as she stretched to reach a high shelf. Ashley’s teal dress was flattering and brief. It looked liked she was wearing stockings.

“Hi Ashley,” Cora said.

The blonde secretary jumped. “Oh. Uhm, Cora,” she said, not looking at her. She gripped the bookshelf with one hand.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Cora said. “Is anything wrong?”

“Leave me alone. Please,” Ashley replied. Her voice was subdued.

Cora laid a hand gently on hers. “I don’t understand why you’re so truculent. We should be friends. Good friends.”

Finally Ashley looked up at her. Cora saw confusion in her eyes. “Please, just let me be,” she pleaded. “I’m s-sorry if I picked on you before. I won’t bother you, if you—”

Cora closed her lips with two fingers. “Now now, none of that. I want us to get along.” She was standing close to her now. Her stupendous chest was brushing against Ashley’s. Cora felt her nipples rising. “Now honey do you remember what I told you yesterday?”

Ashley looked away. “Cora, no, I—”

“Let’s see if you’ve behaved yourself,” Cora said, leaning in to kiss her.

The lithe blonde stiffened, but made no genuine effort to escape. Her free hand flailed about weakly. She made little grunts of protest into Cora’s mouth.

Cora worked her lips against her. She snuggled up close. She slid one leg forward, rubbing her stockinged leg against Ashley’s. Without breaking the kiss she dipped one hand down to the hem of Ashley’s short dress and slipped up underneath. Above the stocking-tops she discovered soft, moist flesh.

“Well, you have been a good girl,” Cora whispered in her ear. Her fingers began to stroke in and out deftly.

Ashley whimpered. “N-no, Cora, please don’t, oh no, noooo.”

“Oh but honey you’re wet. You’re in need of some sweet lovin’, girlie.”

Ashley moaned helplessly. She slumped back against the bookshelf. Her hips had begun thrusting, apparently without her consent, in rhythm with Cora’s hand. “N-noooo,” she moaned. “It’s not, not fair. You’re so, so, oh god you’re so beautiful. Please. Please stop this. Please, I can’t—oh god!”

“Now now, it’s OK honey,” Cora cooed, as if she were mothering a small child. “Come here now.” She cradled the pretty blonde’s head against her massive chest. Her fingers moved faster.

“Listen, babe, when you leave work I want you to come to my place. Don’t go home first. There’s nothing you need there any more. Do you understand, honey?”

Ashley’s breathing was ragged. She was humping shamelessly against Cora’s fingers. She grabbed her long hair with one hand. “Oh god, oh fuck,” she exclaimed, eyes half-closed. “Oh yes. Yes. I, I understaaaaand. I understa—oh! oh god! oh yes! Yes, Yes, YES!”

The orgasm hit her like an electric shock. She stiffened and gasped. Cora felt liquid drench her hand. She held her companion against her body, letting her ride the rollercoaster.

Eventually, her climax subsided. Cora stood her up against the bookshelf. She reached into her bosom and withdrew a key. “This will get you into my apartment,” she told her new friend. “Make sure you have a drink ready for me when I get there. I expect dinner at six-thirty.”

“Yes Cora,” Ashley said softly. “Six-thirty.”

“See you later,” Cora said. She gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then left her there to recover. This time she had no doubt that Ashley would comply. Life at home and in the office just got a whole lot easier.

Cora decided not to bother with witchcraft any more. She had only conjured a spirit once, and it turned her whole life upside down. She had plenty to keep her occupied, now that she was a super-busty bombshell who could seduce just about any man she set her sights on. The future promised great fun: a whole office to run as she pleased, adoring male companions, and lots and lots of hot sex. At home, she had a docile, gorgeous handmaiden to make sure she never had to cook or do laundry or go to bed without an orgasm.

That very morning, in the shower, Cora had watched the last of her transformation. A tiny scar on her left index finger, a legacy of a childhood accident with a pair of scissors, had simply washed away. Cora watched the tiny bit of tissue swirl down the drain between her feet. The skin on her finger was smooth and flawless.

The old Cora was gone too. She was a memory that Cora carried around in her head, like a favourite old book that one keeps but never reads again. The new Cora was far more interesting—and ready to make up for a lot of lost time.