The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Right Reverend Augustus Goodhead was a fire and brimstone man. He believed in the path of righteousness and had little patience for the weaknesses of man. He had brought down the wrath of the entire community in the name of the Lord on any who in his opinion strayed from what he considered proper moral behavior. His favorite target was pornography in all its forms. Purveyors of the temptations of lust and sex deserved only Hell and Damnation.

The Preacher’s family was held up as a shining example of purity. They dressed conservatively. Did not speak publicly unless addressed by the Preacher. And never did anything to be gossiped about. The Preacher was quick to criticize any that did not match the high moral standard his family set. Over the years he had made many enemies. It was only a matter of time until the Preacher was delivered his just reward.

Cathy was the Preacher’s only child. She worshiped her father. Over vthe years the Preacher had instilled in her the fear of the Lord, the fear of sex, the fear of boys. The only valid reason for physical relations between the sexes in his opinion was the creation of new life and only then within the sanctity of holy wedlock.

The Preacher was most disturbed when Cathy began to change from a little girl into a young woman. She understood his injunction that her blossoming body must be hidden from the lustful eyes of evil men who would want to touch her in unholy ways. When Cathy felt the normal urges of any young woman, she denied and suppressed them as unclean temptations sent by the Devil.

Soon enough her father declared, he would select a properly moral man to be her husband. It would be a mature, propertied man, 10 or 15 years older then her who could assist the financially ailing parish to do the Lord’s work. Neither Cathy nor his wife would have any say in the matter. When Cathy’s mom heard this she knew it was time to act.

Cathy’s parents had a strange relationship even for the clergy. They never showed any physical intimacy, slept in separate rooms, and said very little about how they met or why they got married. One night the Preacher had too much sacramental wine and told how he had saved mother from a sinful life, but refused to elaborate. Mom would sometimes become steadily more tense and stressed during the week, but after she came back from shopping on Thursday afternoon she’d be relaxed and happy again.

From all external appearances, Cathy’s mom was a proper and obedient wife. In public, she dressed and spoke like a preacher’s wife should. In private, she seemed to have methods of getting her own way. For example, she had her own plan for Cathy’s future that was quite different from the Preacher’s. So she considered how to bring it to fruition.

Mom knew the about the urges that came with the physical changes now so evident in her daughter. Her own passions were as exceptionally potent today as they’d been since puberty. She saw signs that her daughter’s were even more dominant and undeniable. Once there was even a tiny crack in the dam holding them in check, there’d be no stopping the inevitable flood.

Using that knowledge, she quietly undermined selected teachings of the Preacher. She told Cathy stories about the wonderful times she had on dates with boys when she was young. How they made her feel special, took her to exciting places, and had fun dancing or seeing movies. Mom never spoke about sex, but she confided how much she loved being hugged, held close, tickled, massaged and many other things that Cathy would only remember later.

Cathy’s strict upbringing was the only thing that had prevented her from getting nailed years ago. At 18, she was still a virgin. That was amazing because she has a dynamite bod’. The 5′8″ tall college freshman had perfect skin and long wavy brunet hair down to her waist.

Mom was a health nut who’d infected me at an early age. Regular laps at the pool kept my waist at 18″ and hips at 32″. My 120 pounds was mostly muscle, but on a swimmer like me it didn’t show like it would on a body builder. Mom said that I was all smooth curves except for one exception that jutted out spectacularly.

Little could be done about the 33D bust that I apparently inherited from my Dad’s mother. The rest of my svelte little figure makes my breasts seem even bigger. I’ve lost count of the number of times I end up talking to a boy who’s staring at my tits (the lewd name they use). I wish they were a more normal size not what dad calls an unholy temptation. They’re hard to hide even in the bulky shapeless clothes that my dad insists I wear. It’s a good thing that he doesn’t see me in my bathing suit. Even a conservative one-piece hides little.

Mom first seriously raised the idea of going on real, un-chaperoned dates. All the other girls my age had been doing it for years. I was afraid of the idea of because of all the horror stories that dad had told me. Especially scary were tales about how big-chested girls like me are extra desirable to the very worst sort who delight in corrupting young girls. So I sided with Dad who refused to allow me to be exposed to the base lusts of men.

Mom quietly “worked” on both him and me for months explaining it was the normal and proper path for a young woman. There were many virtuous boys from upstanding families who could be trusted not to lead a good girl astray. If the Preacher continued to forbid any form of dating then people would suspect that there was something untrustworthy, unnatural or wrong with their daughter. Then finding a prospective marriage partner for her would be much more difficult. Despite her best efforts neither of us would give an inch.

One Sunday afternoon when dad was away trying to raise funds for the church, mom came to me for a serious talk. She described in detail all the female urges I was sure no one suspected, how she’d seen me looking at boys, how I thought about them kissing me and touching me late at night in bed and when I took a shower. She knew everything!

Mom said, “These urges will inevitably lead to your corruption no matter how strong your virtue. When this happens the Preacher and I will be forced to cast you out and you’ll descend to a life of debasement, disease, and death. It’s my responsibility to give you the strength to resist in ways that only a mother knows.” By the time she was finished, I was shivering in fear and willing to do anything she asked.

Mom went into the kitchen for a glass of my favorite wine, “to calm your nerves”. She mixed in a small packet of white power that had been obtained from a symphonic friend. She handed me the glass, sat down next to me, and prompted, “Now drink it all down dear before we begin,” After I had drained the glass she took out the silver cross she wore around her neck, held it between us and said, “First we will pray for guidance, focus all your thoughts on the holy cross look at nothing else and repeat after me.”

While we prayed responsively I noticed the cross twirling slowly. It caught little flashes of light on its surface. It seemed to twirl faster one way then the other. Mom’s voice was very soothing. It seemed to grow more distant. I could hear it, but not make out the words. My eyelids seemed to grow heavier, and heavier. I couldn’t keep them open no matter how hard I tried.

I must have dosed off, but I was feeling so much better now after praying with mom. Mom said, “That’s much better, now we can continue. You’ll always be ‘My Baby Girl now a Beautiful Princess’ and mother knows what’s best.” I responded, “Mother knows what’s best for her beautiful princess.” It was very important to listen to each word mom said and remember.

We had many talks like this in the days to come. It became a game. Mom would start, ‘My Baby Girl now a Beautiful Princess’ should be dating boys.” I’d respond, “A Beautiful Princess should be dating boys.” It took a while, but slowly she got me past my terror of boys. Once that happened, I came around to her way of thinking, as she knew I would. I couldn’t wait to start dating. Once I joined her side dad finally relented. However, as a condition of his agreement, he set strict rules about curfew and meeting any boy before he was allowed to take me out.

My very first official boyfriend was Jebadiah, or just “Jeb”. The Preacher had personally selected him. He was the son of one of the church Deacons. For our first three dates, Jeb had taken me out to dinner, a church social, and a church picnic. The dinner was nice except I refused to drink any wine except for my favorite which made Jeb a little upset. At the social we danced a respectful distance from each other, but I felt Jeb watching the way my breasts moved a lot. At the picnic we entered the potato sack race together. Jeb seemed to be rubbing up against me a lot more then necessary. That’s probably why we lost. The only other physical contact between us was on my porch at the end of the each date. We hugged and kissed and promised to see each other again. I felt guilty the way I enjoyed how my breasts crushed against his broad chest.

Before Jeb arrived for our fourth date together, Mom spoke to me alone, “between us girls”. She said, ‘My Baby Girl now a Beautiful Princess’ likes when boys touch her. I played along responding, “A beautiful princess’ likes when boys touch her.” I already knew that so I listened intently to what other advice mom had, “Cathy, things change on the fourth date. There’s more touching in ways you’re naive about. You started dating much later then other girls so you have to be a lot more flexible. Otherwise, Jeb and the other boys will stop coming around. Many things will happen tonight that you’re unprepared for. You have to allow them to happen and not resist. Don’t start quoting your father’s scripture to Jeb. Think of it as ‘Going with the flow’. After all, a boy personally selected by the Preacher wouldn’t do anything against the Lord’s teachings. And try to copy how you see the other girls touching boys. Now go get dressed quickly.” I acknowledged, “Yes Mother, you know what’s best for me.”

I came back 5 minutes later complaining, “Mom, I don’t have a skirt to wear.” She went over to my dresser and replied, “I just started the laundry with all your clothes. You have two choices left. This pair of jeans which is a little worn and stained but is clean. And the yellow skirt you never wear.” I harrumphed, grabbed the skirt and shooed her out.

I didn’t like the yellow skirt because it’s so short. It’s the only one I owned that came above the knee, a full four inches. Most of my skirts extend down to the ankle. When she bought it, mom said I had the cutest pair of legs in town and should occasionally show them off more. Dad said a proper young lady should never wear pants for a social occasion, so I really had no choice.

Jeb must have liked my skirt. He kept looking at my legs and complemented me on how pretty I looked. I felt better about the skirt. Finally, something besides my bust was being appreciated. Jeb drove me to a movie downtown. We sat near the back with a group of other kids our age.

The movie was about a group of 6 girl friends about my age. They were constantly thinking and talking about boys. The girls were all very pretty and dressed in skimpy clothes with lots of makeup and jewelry designed to show off their bodies. Whenever they walked, they shook their behinds and made their breasts jiggle licentiously. It was obvious that some of them weren’t even wearing a bra. Jeb’s eyes were glued to the screen.

There were endless scenes of the girls not simply letting, but encouraging the boys to touch them in indecent ways. My dad preached against this type of pornography that inflamed young people and encouraged them to engage in immoral behavior. I thought it was disgusting, but Jeb loved it. When I looked around there were many girls doing the same things shown on the movie screen with their dates inside the darkened theater. They must be harlots like dad said.

I wanted to leave before Jeb got the idea that he could touch me so improperly. Jeb said, “Your mom suggested this particular movie. I’d been planning on taking you to see a nature film about swans. Your mom said to mention something about ‘the flow’ if there was a problem.” I thought, “Well, if it was mom’s idea then I’d give it another chance.” I settled back in my seat without a word.

When Jeb saw me relax, he put his arm around me. That felt nice. In a few minutes he gave my shoulder a hug and put his other hand on my bare knee. It tickled a little, but seemed OK. Then I noticed the couples on both sides of us were not only kissing, but were touching each other in obscene ways. On the right, each had a hand between the other’s legs! I locked my eyes on the screen.

I couldn’t believe the moaning I heard from a boy and girl hidden from view under a squirming blanket on the bed of her bedroom. Her parents had gone shopping for the entire afternoon. They repeatedly gasped out each other’s names. Then their clothes started flying out from under the blanket. When I saw a girl’s bra and panties fall to the floor, I turned my head away towards Jeb.

That’s when he kissed me. At least this, I’d been prepared for, so I kissed him right back. After the first kiss, there was a second, a third, and then many more. Jeb was a really good kisser. I lost track of what was happening on the movie screen.

Jeb seemed to be pushing my lips apart with his tongue. Did he want to stick his tongue into my mouth? That was gross. What would dad say? I wouldn’t allow such a nasty thing.

Then I first noticed Jeb’s hand moving up my between my legs. He was already halfway up my thigh. The warm feeling of his fingers against my soft inner skin seemed to be beaming signals to relax straight into the juncture between my legs. Without thinking my legs began parting. Jeb’s hand increased its speed. Then my virtue reasserted itself. I clamped my thighs together, trapping the invader scant inches from its goal.

I was so distracted by Jeb’s hand that my lips parted. His tongue drove right inside and began darting about, hot and caressing. I heard mom’s voice in my head say, “go with the flow”. So, instead of breaking the kiss, I experimentally touched his tongue with mine. “Mmmmmmm,” Jeb seemed to approve. I liked the feeling too; it wasn’t nasty at all. With his prompting our tongues began to dance about one another, touching and caressing.

The arm around my shoulder pulled me closer as we broke the kiss. We shifted so I was tilting my head up a bit waiting for the next kiss. Jeb shifted too. As he kissed me again the arm around my shoulder came to rest on top of my breast. His fingers seemed to be reaching from my nipple, but that was several inches away. Well, wasn’t that just a normal position to rest his hand?

What should I do about the other hand? The warm feelings of it between my inner thighs were increasing since Jeb began shifting it back and forth. The hand on the top of my breast began a slow circular massage. Was it inching closer to my nipple? I was overcome by the warm feelings those hands were sending into my body. Thoughts became incoherent. My mind drifted in a pleasent fog as we kissed.

I was caught unaware by Jeb’s three-pronged attack on tongue, thigh, and breast. The languor spread to my limbs. My legs relaxed, allowing Jeb’s hand to continue its interrupted advance. He might be a good church going boy, but he was still a boy who knew what he wanted from me.

Jeb’s hand grabbed my nipple between thumb and forefinger. At almost the same moment, his other hand somehow managed to reach all the way under my skirt, push aside my panties, and rested directly on my vagina. The shock of those dual contacts, where no one had ever touched me before, shocked me out of my lethargy. I jumped up, forcing his devious hands to drop away from my body. I excused myself and practically ran for the bathroom. There I stayed until the movie was over.

I shivered at what might have happened. If Jeb had been a little more subtle, I would have been corrupted. I could still feel his fingers on my vagina. If he had begun rubbing there. If his fingers had found my most sensitive spot... I shivered at the thought. It gave me a licentious rush that continued to resonate deep within me. I would have succumbed to the depraved pleasures of the flesh. How could my father have allowed such a boy near me? Was my faith being tested?

I looked in the mirror and saw both nipples poking out from my sweater, not just the one he touched. Neither seemed ready to go back down. It was hard to believe the incredible power of my reaction to such a brief contact. The flesh is weak I saw, just as my dad preached. Would any of this have happened if I’d chosen the jeans instead of this short skirt?

By the time I came out, the movie was over. I had Jeb take me right home. There was no kiss on the porch for him that night. He was through. Mom convinced me that not all boys were like Jeb. She reminded me about the parts that I really liked. I agreed to try dating again with another boy and not tell dad what happened. Otherwise, the Preacher would forbid all dating. I decided to let the boys know from the beginning how far I’d go.

At first, I set very harsh rules, no touching my breasts or past mid-thigh. I enjoyed the kissing especially with tongues. I didn’t mind a hand around my shoulders or even on my knee. Maybe its because my breasts are so prominent that they all made a try for one sooner of later. No matter how they beg or plead, I draw a firm boundary. However, when the myriad offers trickled down to almost nothing, something had to be done.

Mom got me alone for more girl-talk, “My Little Baby now a Beautiful Princess’ lets boys touch her breasts.” Why of course, but for fun I repeated, “A beautiful princess lets boys touch her breasts.” I listened raptly while she explained why I had to change. If a boy spends his money on you for dinner and a movie he expects something in return. Just let him touch you a little and you’ll find that it can be as nice for the girl as it is for the boy. You’ll become much

more popular, but don’t tell dad. He won’t understand. It’s not evil. It’s not unholy. It’s perfectly natural.” I trusted mom and

I was desperate, why did I wait so long before giving it a try?

The first time I let a boy really touch my breasts was a revelation. My nipples are super sensitive. The feelings were amazing. My naughty nipples would harden to little points almost immediately. They shot hot messages deep into my brain. In a few minutes, I was in a sexual fog. I’d lie back awash in the sensations while the boy did anything that he’d want. I never stopped a boy from touching my breasts again.

The part of me that still believed all my dad had preached cursed the fact that I’d been too weak to resist. That part kept shrinking under the continual sensual onslaught. My body loved the attention and couldn’t seem to get enough. Through my weakness, my flesh had been corrupted by the lecherous touch of many boys. No longer was I the pure, moral girl my father preached about. Even Jeb was given another chance to sample the pleasures of my young, vibrant charms.

I clung to the fact that at least one part of my virtue was still intact. I was still a virgin, if only by luck and mom’s advice. She’d been very firm that I shouldn’t let myself be touched until my date parked in our driveway. If I hadn’t listened to her then I don’t know how far things might have gone.

Mom confided in me that although it was very unusual for girls’ breasts to be as sensitive as mine that her’s are the same way. We were the lucky ones that could get much more pleasure then other women from being touched there and other places.

So knowing what might happen, she was watching me. She had turned on the light before things went too far—“Until the right boy comes along”. There was no further explanation for this cryptic comment.

Now I make sure never to let a boy touch me that way unless they were parked in the safety of my parent’s driveway. No boy had every dared trying to score on me in the Preacher’s driveway. That didn’t stop them from giving my body the treatment it craved.

After only a few moments, I’d sigh and lay my head back, already in that wonderful place where boys worshiped my body and lived to give me pleasure. The hands would roam over me without any resistance, heating wherever they touched.

The bolder boys would push down panties and dive into the sweetness between spreading legs. I wouldn’t need to say anything. The soft moans that escaped my lips were more then enough encouragement for deeper male exploration.

There was now no shortage of suitors for lovely, pliable Cathy. The word spread of just how far I would let my dates go. I acquired the nickname “third-base Cathy”. Some took it as a challenge to see if they could get me and themselves to home plate.

A few of these were more skilled in a car. Cathy’s moans would become louder and louder. She’d feel a pressure building deep inside her. Her hips would start moving without conscious control.

Suddenly, the driveway light would come on and all activity would cease. Cathy’s mom had her timing down perfectly. She knew just what to tell her husband and more important what not to tell him to keep peace in the family.

There was now a conspiracy between Cathy and her mom to hide the truth from the Preacher. In a few short weeks she’d been transformed. Where before there was a dutiful, chaste girl who worshiped her dad; now there was a lustful, deceitful woman who hid her increasingly need for the pleasures of the flesh from the Preacher. She began questioning everything he had ever said, but only in her secret thoughts. She feared to question him directly and her earliest training stopped her from taking the final step.

This was an area that mom and dad were in total agreement. She explained about getting pregnant and why it must be avoided. I took this to heart. It would be the one undeniable sign of my fall from grace. The Preacher would cast me out forever.

Still the Preacher was suspicious. He made sure that no boy lasted more then a few weeks. This was far too little and far too late to stop the transformation of his daughter. Her mom knew that Cathy was becoming the type of lascivious vamp that he had often denounced as a one of Satan’s harlots. She secretly encouraged this with photos of many kinds of sexual coupling and stories to go with them so Cathy would be “prepared for her wedding night”.

Cathy toyed with the idea of masturbation. Her friends whispered about it sometimes. Despite the increasing awakening of her vibrant sexuality, she never touched herself except to clean “down there”. Endless hours of personalized preaching by her dad insured that she never seriously considered it. The Preacher’s stark morality had always dominated Cathy’s thoughts and dreams until very recently. Now they turned to other men.

Mom and I had more girl-talk discussions. She asked about my dreams, “My Little Baby Now a Beautiful Princess dreams about sex.” I replied, “A beautiful princess already daydreams of what would happen if the driveway lights did not come on.” I listened closely to mom who said, “If your nighttime dreams turn increasing lurid, you’ll develop urges to be bound, disciplined,

and dominated. The more you resist, the more obscenely depraved your dreams will become. Do not tell anyone or dad will commit you as insane or worse still declared possessed by the Devil.” I acknowledged, “Yes Mother, you know what’s best for me.”

I replay my dates over and over in my mind. I even started dreaming about them. Sometimes, I’d have nightmares about losing my virginity despite my protests and struggles. Since mom bought me satin sheets and pajamas things have changed. The feel of satin against my skin is so sensual and erotic. Can it be related to the way my thoughts and dreams have changed? No longer merely sexually charged, they’ve turned dark and degenerate.

At night, I’ve been starting to have dreams of being captured then tied down helplessly. I’m at the mercy of faceless men who want to break down my resistance and dominate me. The images are like some of the pictures that Mom showed me, except I’m the one being forced to surrender. More recently, my role in these increasingly erotic dreams has become steadily more submissive.

First I’m stripped despite my useless protests. After only a few light caresses, I plead for their touch, to please my captors in any way they command. Sometimes they remove their masks, revealing the face

of a boy I’ve dated. Then I must pay homage to their private parts with my hands, lips, and, tongue. Last, my naked body is aroused by

masked men until I’m driven mad with sexual need. Writhing like a bitch in heat I spread my legs wide to reveal my innermost charms. I beg to be taken. When the final submission comes, I scream in orgiastic joy. Awakening sweaty and frustrated, these intense images now haunt my daytime thoughts as well.

I’m afraid of these dreams. What’s wrong with me? Is it the Devil torturing me for my loss of purity? Is it some kind of weird mental illness? I don’t speak of these depraved dreams to anyone, not even mom.

I commute daily to the local Junior college. Mom wants me to be a business major. With my affinity for math and numbers she says that I could be an accountant or actuary. Dad doesn’t care since he expects to marry me off soon. I haven’t decided yet.

Every night, I come home to mom and dad. Over the years, there’ve been endless sermons on the evils of sex, how lust was the surest road to hell, and how he needs me to remain a symbol of chaste purity for the entire community. I still maintain the illusion that this is true.

At college I’m being exposed to new and different ideas. There are lots of out-of-town students who think that they are majoring in partying and the opposite sex. I’ve heard that at 4-year colleges that the students are a bit more focused on their studies.

The Preacher never allowed discussion of my going to an out-of-town college. He wants me to stay under his watchful eye so I’ll stay immaculate and virginal until he can marry me off to a proper (boring) man of his choice. He wants to do it soon, before I turn into an “old maid”. After seeing examples of those choices, I’ll do anything to avoid them. I want to marry someone close to my own age that I find attractive. I’ve already met my perfect guy. We share a love of my favorite sport, swimming.

Before I started dating, swimming was my only outlet. I’m the top female sprinter in both backstroke and butterfly. I love the feeling of the water rushing against my skin.

Swimming is the only time I don’t have to wear bulky clothes to hide my body from men’s eyes. At first it made me nervous. I felt exposed wearing nothing but a bathing suit that revealed instead of hiding my body and emphasizing my oversized breasts. After talking to mom, I realized the freedom and independence from dad’s restrictions that it gives me.

The men have swim practice just before the girls. They always used to disappear quickly when they were done and the girls swam alone. Right after I started dating, one of the guys started hanging out to watch us. He says he’s trying to improve his performance.

He began to talk to us about our swimming technique. He introduced himself as Tom, a sophomore. The other girls thought he was very handsome. They enjoyed having a man around to flirt with. It became a contest to see who could make his thing hard in the tight bathing suit he wore. It wasn’t very difficult to do. The other girls giggled that it was the biggest any of them had seen.

When I noticed he seemed to pay me more attention then any of the others. It made me feel special, even if I was uncomfortable about the way he ended up starting at my chest. Usually the other girls in their sexy clothes get all the attention. I get ignored except when I’m alone with a guy on a date.

I started looking forward to seeing him. After a few days, I didn’t even care if he was staring at my breasts. For once, I was the center of attention. I even started to do a little snap like mom had shown me, hopping up after picking something up. That really made my breasts bounce. More then once, I saw it made his thing get hard, but I got really embarrassed when he caught me staring at it.

I started daydreaming about him. Then he entered my dreams at night. Along with whichever boy I was currently dating, he became one of those to whom I begged to submit. Sometimes there was a wet spot on the bed when I awoke.

Those dreams popped into my head as soon as I see him. It’s getting so bad that I become aroused when I feel his eyes on me. I jump quickly into the pool so that he doesn’t see my large nipples hardening right through the thin fabric of my bathing suit.

He’s paying less attention to me since I started escaping into the pool. This won’t do. I’m going to have to conquer my shyness. I finally get mom alone when dad’s not around and tell her about Tom. She says, “My Little Baby now a Beautiful Princess will do anything so Tom will ask her out.” That’s why I’m asking her advise, but like always, I reply, “A beautiful princess will do anything so Tom will ask her out”. Mom says, “The longer you’re with Tom the hotter your body gets; the more you trust him and need to obey him. Let Tom see that and watch how hot it makes him.” I acknowledged, “Yes Mother, you know what’s best for me.”

The next day, I did my snap. It had the desired result. Tom stopped to talk to me. Quickly his eyes dropped to my breasts. I felt my nipples hardening, but kept talking. I know he noticed. I kept stealing glances down to Tom’s suit. His thing was getting hard. It looked bigger each time I peeked. Too soon I had to jump into the water and start my laps.

We talked daily now. I regained my spot as Tom’s favorite. We talk while standing inches away from each other pretending not to notice how each young body arouses the other. Every day it became harder for me to tear my eyes away from his thing. He sees me doing it, but we both pretend that’s not happening too.

Once his thing attains its full size, it seemed to be vibrating with a life of its own. I have to restrain an urge to reach out and touch it. Tom still doesn’t ask me out and I am too shy to make the first move.

Unsuccessfully, I tried some of the other girl’s tricks, batting my eyes, tossing my hair, stretching to further accent my breasts, and “accidentally” rubbing against him. It certainly began to arouse me. Now when I noticed his thing get hard, my body responded with that familiar wetness between my legs. Fortunately, that was something he couldn’t discern. I would have died of embarrassment.

One day when I got to practice, I found the bathing suit I kept in my locker had ripped right in the crotch. It was impossible to fix or wear and I didn’t have a spare. Usually, I notice when a suit is starting to wear thing and get another before something like this happens. Conveniently, one of the other girls said she had a spare to lend me. Jen was one of those popular girls with the best and sexiest clothes. Even though she was rarely friendly and sometimes nasty to me, I jumped at the chance and thanked her profusely.

I took the required shower before entering the pool. When I returned,

Jen was already dressed. She offered to hang up my wet towel. I unwrapped the towel from my unclothed body and handed it to Jen. She tossed it to a friend of hers who relayed it into the wet towel bin then Jen handed me the suit.

Taking my first good look at it, I declared, “I can’t wear this!” The bathing suit was a miniature two-piece, not even a real racing model. It was closer to being a string bikini. Jen scoffed, “Don’t be such a prude. This is a really important practice, the district swim-meet is next week. The team needs you at this practice.”

Then a bunch of Jen’s friends appeared in their bathing suits. They started teasing me, “Prude! Virgin princess! Afraid someone will see the holy temple.” I was completely nude surrounded by girls who were fully dressed, heaping scorn and ridicule on me. Under that kind of pressure, I caved in and started to put on the skimpy suit.

It was even worse then I thought. Jen was barely an “A” cup. What looked sexy on her felt positively lewd on me. The top was two inadequate triangles that barely covered my large nipples. All of my enormous cleavage showed. Jen and her friends stood there to make sure I didn’t change my mind. When I hesitated they’d start teasing me again.

The bottom was even worse. Even though I tied it tight, most of my behind was still exposed. The front was cut so thin that no matter what I did a few of my dark pubic hairs could be seen sticking out. Someone quipped, “You need to shave that hairy virgin twat.” The girls all cackled in glee. That was too much, I ran out to the pool without even grabbing a towel.

Unlike the suits I normally wore, I felt my breasts bouncing indecently with ever step. It made me feel naked. I felt the snug bottom sinking into the crevice of my backside. When I heard a jeer behind me about my sexy ass, I tried to adjust it. The only result was that the front became wedged in my vagina.

Then I entered the pool, I couldn’t fix the bathing suit without drawing attention to myself. If I was unobtrusive, perhaps I could slip into the water without anyone noticing.

Tom was already there. He was standing directly between the pool and me. Oh, Lord! What will happen when he sees me? I turned to bolt, but ran into the girls who had hurried after me. They blocked my escape back into the locker room or into the pool.

Jen spoke up, “Oh Tom, I really didn’t understand your explanation of the backstroke yesterday.” Tom replied, “I’ll have to show you to make it clear, but I need one of you to help me demonstrate.” I was trying to hide behind the other girls, but they pushed me forward. Jen lied, “Cathy wants to volunteer.”

Before I could protest, Tom’s tone changed into the same type of commanding voice my dad uses when he demands instant obedience, “Cathy, come here and lay face up on the mat.” Without thinking, I did exactly that.

He knelt beside me, and in the same commanding tone said, “That’s a good girl. Now do exactly as I say or you’ll spoil the demonstration. Relax! I’ll move your arms and legs as needed. And I love how that bathing suit looks on you.”

I felt his eyes on my exposed flesh. It had the predictable effect. My hardening nipples made two little tents in the bikini top that was clearly visible. An image of Tom’s hardening cock flashed unwanted into my thoughts. I heard the girls snickering. I wished I could just sink into the floor.

I can’t remember what Tom said, only the feel of his hands on my flesh. He started with my arms. Tom extended them far above my head,

crossed at the wrists. I imagined them handcuffed and bound. This was so much like my dreams. I was starting to get very horny.

His fingertips felt like firebrands as they moved lightly downward, tickling the hairs under my armpits and lightly brushing the edges of my breasts. I tried to suppress my growing arousal, focusing on how he wished me to move. I began to respond more quickly to his signals.

When he needed to reposition my torso only feather light touches were required. I felt his fingers brush across my hips and belly. I never thought of my belly button as being sensitive, but I felt an almost electric jolt when a finger grazed it. I jerked so hard, it make my breasts jump off my chest. My eyes were still screwed shut. I couldn’t look at Tom’s face. I prayed that my nipples hadn’t popped out of the tiny top.

When he moved down to my legs it seemed necessary for him to push apart my knees. I didn’t move them fearing everyone would see my unshaven bush sticking out of the bikini bottom. His hands moved to the insides of my thighs. Still I resisted despite the hot flashes his touch sent straight into my vagina until I heard the words, “frog kick”.

That’s when I felt the wetness between my legs. I had failed to suppress my reaction to Tom’s touch. Now, I could only try to hide it. It became more difficult as the seconds dragged on. I prayed that no one would smell or worse see the growing dampness on the bikini bottoms. I felt sure it would begin leaking out of me any minute.

Now understanding, I allowed Tom spread to spread my thighs wide to demonstrate the frog kick. Both knees were practically touching the mat. I felt the narrow bikini bottom, already wedged between the lips of my vagina, sink much deeper. Worse still, the top of the sensuously soft material came to rest directly on my already excited clitoris. Each time Tom moved my knees together and apart to demonstrate the frog kick it felt like a finger was stoking the burning flame of sex higher within me.

I could never remember being so turned on. Was it because I wanted Tom so much? Was it because I had to stay perfectly still while his fingers caressed my skin? Was it because I was exposed to everyone’s gaze? Was it fear of being revealed as a horny slut? I didn’t move except to obey his touch. My thoughts ran in useless circles while my arousal grew.

I felt my remaining restraint slipping away. Any second I’d thrust myself into Tom’s arms. My soft hot body would press against his hard muscle uncontrollably seeking release.

Tom must have been reaching for my arms again. It was probably by accident that he lightly brushed against my distended right nipple. My reaction was immediate and uncontrollable. I had been holding my breath and gritting my teeth. Now, a loud gasping moan exploded from my lungs. I lifted up to press my tormented nipple into Tom’s hand. Tom’s hand jerked away. My eyes popped open and saw both erect nipples were fully exposed and between my widespread legs the clear stain of my leaking juices. The smell of my arousal was pungent in the air. I had realized my worst fears. Everyone had seen my body act like the harlots my dad preached against.

Tom looked surprised, but all the girls were laughing at me. In a singsong voice they jeered, “Virgin-in-heat needs hard fucking.” I jumped up to run. As I did the entire bikini slid off me. Someone had untied the strings. Stark naked, tears streaming down my face, I took off for the locker.

I threw on my clothes and ran almost all the way home. It didn’t matter how many classes I’d miss. I couldn’t face anyone.

Mom was sitting on the couch. I threw myself into her arms and cried until she calmed me down enough to speak coherently. I told her everything. Mom explained, “That bitch, Jen and her cronies had obviously planned this. She cut your old bathing suit. I know you’ve been humiliated, but your dad was probably the real target. He has many enemies.”

The Preacher was out on an errand for mom. Mom made me swear not to tell him. He would go crazy and kick me out of the house then be destroyed himself when the word of what happened spread. If I agreed,

she would make a few calls and handle everything. Otherwise, the entire town would be gossiping about this by tomorrow.

What about Tom, was he in on it? Mom said, “Almost certainly not. I know his family and I met him once. He’s not that type of young man. From what you’ve told me, Tom is attracted to you and has always treated you respectfully. Any you obviously have the “hots” for him. Give him another chance and you’ll get more then you ever dreamed.”

That night I dreamed of Tom. How he touched me. His touch making me hot and helpless. He was the one who bound and stripped me. He made me into a slave who begged to be allowed to please him. When I awoke,

hot and sweaty, there was a large wet spot on the bed that smelled of my arousal.

Everything mom said seemed to come true. No one treated me differently the next day at school. Still I couldn’t bring myself to go to swim practice for at least a few days.

It was the end of the day. I was crossing campus on the way to my last class. Suddenly something crashed into me without warning. I dropped like a rock completely dazed. Recovering slowly, I gazed into a pair of concerned and sensitive eyes.

Strangely, I felt a rotating pressure between my legs and growing heat and moisture there. I couldn’t seem to move, pinned by those eyes, almost like they were hypnotic. My breathing deepened. Then my hips pushed forward. Just as I realized how aroused I was the pressure vanished.

Some degree of control returned. My eyes focused on the face with those amazing eyes. I saw a handsome and concerned face. When my hearing and brain kicked back in I realized it was the Tom! He was trying desperately to apologize.

He spoke in such a rush that I could only make out a little of what he said. He’d been trying to catch a football pass thrown by a friend and had not seen her. The resulting collision had knocked us both to the ground, but Tom who was 4″ taller and 40 pounds of muscle heavier then me recovered first.

Once he was sure I was OK, he and his friend Jerry gathered all my books and papers which had gone flying in all directions. My initial anger dissolved as Tom continued to apologize so profusely.

I hadn’t moved, still dazed and flat on my back. Then I noticed him checking me out. He still liked what he saw. He wasn’t turned off by what happened yesterday as I had feared. Neither of us seemed to want to speak of it. My next thought was that I was late for my last class.

I tried to get up, but Tom wouldn’t let me move until I promised to allow him take me to an expensive restaurant to make it up to me. Tom’s strong muscles easily held me in place without hurting. I began to get angry. I was strong, in good shape, and unused to anyone who could physically overpower me so easily.

Just then, I looked down and saw that my skirt was pushed all the way up and everyone could see my frilly white bikini panties. They were soaked. My slit was hot and leaking as if someone had been fondling it. I turned bright red in embarrassment and quickly agreed to whatever Tom wanted. As soon as my hands were free I pushed the skirt down.

Tom didn’t seem to notice, but lifted me off the ground onto my feet like I was a feather. Feeling his strength made my the muscles between my legs spasm. I felt the juices were flowing freely. “Accidently” I stumbled saying, “Oh, I’m still dizzy. Please hold me.” My breasts were pressed against him. He must have felt how hard my nipples were even through my bra. He held me close for a few minutes then I said, “I’m better now.” He released me and replied, “OK, if you’re sure. I really have to go and don’t worry, I already know your address and phone from the swim team records.”

Then he was gone. Even though I was late to class, I felt great. I was finally going on a date with Tom, the man of my dreams (literally). Of course, I could never, ever tell him about those obscenely erotic dreams.