The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The first day, the woman just walked right past them. And from that moment on, the woman became The Woman.

Catherine didn’t notice her until almost the moment she passed, but her daughter Jessica did.

“Wow!” said Jess. And she stopped and turned. And so Catherine did too.

“Did you see her, Mummy?”

“No,” murmured Catherine distractedly, not sure why she was watching a pair of long legs in designer jeans striding away down the street. And it wasn’t strictly the legs she was watching.

“She was really pretty.“

“Hmmm,” said Catherine, the spell starting to wear off as The Woman became more distant.

“Do you think she was a princess, Mummy?”

“Oh I should think she almost certainly was, yes,” said Catherine, really not sure what had just happened. “Now, come on. Let’s get you to nursery.”

And they walked on, with Jess asking unanswerable questions about princesses and ladies-in-waiting, and, eventually, frogs.

The second day was different, but the encounter occurred at almost the same spot on their walk down the quiet leafy street from the car to the nursery.

“It’s her!” said Jess, too loudly, suddenly tugging at Catherine’s hand. Possibly she’d been keeping a hopeful eye out.

But Catherine had already seen her herself this time. Possibly she had been too.

What was it about this woman? There were plenty of very attractive, affluent young mothers around them. And most of them were looking more or less their best in their designer casuals. What marked her out?

Catherine had no idea, but something certainly did. For none of those other women could stop both her and her young daughter in their tracks like this. Not that anyone else seemed to notice her.

But this time The Woman stopped in her tracks too—to talk to Jessica.

“Hello! What’s your name?” she asked, stooping down and scooping Jess up into her arms.

Catherine expected to feel alarmed at this. She was very protective of her daughter. But she found herself full of pride that this unfathomably amazing woman had taken an interest in her beloved Jess. And really, what she felt went beyond pride.

Jess seemed inordinately pleased too.

“I’m Jessica. And this is my Mummy,” she beamed.

The Woman acknowledged Catherine with a glance and a smile before turning back to the young girl in her arms.

“Jessica, eh? Well that’s a very pretty name for a very pretty girl,” said The Woman. Then she gave Jess a quick kiss on the forehead and put her back down.

“Well, I’ll see you,” she said to both of them, still smiling warmly.

And then she was off, purposefully striding down the street, much as she had done the previous day. And as on the previous day, both Catherine and Jess stood and watched her walking away.

“She said I was pretty!” said a very excited Jess.

“Yes,” said Catherine, hoping the clenching of the muscles in her thighs wasn’t producing a visible squirm.

The spell was certainly stronger today.

“Are we still going to the nursery, Mummy?”

When Catherine finally registered the question—or rather the little squeeze of her hand that followed it up, she realised that she was standing, staring at an empty street. The Woman had gone.

“What? Oh, yes. We’d better get going hadn’t we.”

“I should think so!” said Jess, with imitative indignation, and Catherine laughed.

They walked on in silence but Catherine could tell that Jess was still delighting in the compliment The Woman had paid her.

Such was the self-evident wonderfulness of The Woman that it did not occur to Catherine that it was odd that a stranger should have been so forward—picking Jess up and even kissing her. Rather, she too was thrilled that her daughter should have been singled out for such treatment.

At the door of the nursery, Catherine rang the bell and announced herself, and they buzzed her in. Inside she knelt down and gave Jess a hug.

“Are you going to the gin-maze-zium today, Mummy?”

It was the usual question.

“Well, I might go there, or I might just fly to the moon.”

It was the usual response.

“Now you go and have some fun,” said Catherine, and she kissed Jess on the cheek.

“Fly to the moon, Mummy. Because that might be fun as well,” said Jess, deviating from the script and making Catherine chuckle. Then she kissed Catherine on the cheek and they were back on track.

“Bye love,” said Catherine with a final hug.

“Bye Mummy.”

And Catherine stood up, watched Jess toddle across to her friends, and turned to leave.

And that was that.

In the early autumn breeze outside, Catherine thought she could feel something on her cheek and she absent-mindedly rubbed at it. But there was nothing there.

Most days, after she’d dropped Jess off, she would drive to the gym, unless she had one of her occasional appointments with the hairdresser, or some similar beauty treatment.

Unlike many of her peers dropping their kids off at the nursery, she tended not to dress to impress. But anyone bothering to look beyond her often well-worn clothes could hardly fail to notice that she was a very attractive woman who obviously cared about her looks and looked after her body.

Catherine had been a successful model once, before: before her life had changed; before Jess. But though she was only just twenty-five now, all of that felt like a lifetime ago—and someone else’s lifetime at that. She’d had such ambition for her modelling career. But all of that had just evaporated, and the whole thing seemed ridiculous now. Still, old habits die hard.

It was perhaps odd that she went to all the trouble of looking good, only to hide the results behind these rather shabby sweaters and loose-fitting old jeans. But looking good was, she figured, something she did for herself; and she favoured comfortable clothes for similarly selfish reasons. Becoming a mother had certainly transformed her selfishness. Besides, what she and her peers might consider shabby would hardly be considered so by most of the population.

Today was just a gym day.

But having driven there, parked the car, and walked up to the entrance, it was only when she saw her finger pressing a doorbell that she noticed that this wasn’t the gym at all. And then she realised that she had driven to somewhere else entirely.

Despite her confusion not having yet been resolved, when the door opened she was somehow not quite surprised to see The Woman standing there. And certainly her immediate emotional response to this was one of great pleasure. But she did not understand these reactions, any more than she understood how she had arrived here.

“Hello Catherine. I was expecting you.”

The Woman smiled.

It was soon evident that Catherine was too disoriented to be able to find any suitable words. But The Woman seemed to be expecting that too.

“Just come in,” she said.

And Catherine did.

The door closing behind her seemed to change something, but Catherine couldn’t have found words to describe that either. The only thought she had was that the real world was outside that door, and that she was no longer in it.

This really was somewhere else entirely.

But that was just a feeling, and it was surely at odds with the really only slightly strange room in which she now found herself.

It was a small, rectangular room with plain white walls and ceiling, and a wooden floor that was almost certainly plastic. The oddity lay simply in its emptiness. Apart from the front door behind her, the only features were two plain white internal doors—one in the wall opposite, and one to her right.

Had this been a flat—and it surely had been once, this room would have served as something between a hall and cloakroom. But if it was a flat, it was hardly homely. And yet Catherine felt somehow, if not at home, then at least safe here.

“This way.”

The Woman led Catherine straight on, through the facing door. The room beyond was somewhat larger, but not large. Originally it had been a living room, perhaps, but now it was devoid of life. The decor was identical to the previous room. And again there was a door ahead.

But this room did have furniture. Two small black leather armchairs stood—or perhaps sat—facing each other, no more than three feet apart, in the centre of the room, and at a diagonal to it.

Though they looked comfortable enough, their design seemed to emphasise functionality, and Catherine found herself thinking of doctors’ surgeries and psychiatrists’ couches.

“Take a seat.”

Catherine sat down in the chair The Woman had indicated. Her head felt strange—thick and syrupy, but it was not an unpleasant feeling. She felt increasingly as though she was in a dream, but she thought she knew that she wasn’t.

“You’ve done well, Catherine,” said The Woman, sitting down in the other chair.

She really was beautiful—flawless. Her eyes were blue; her blonde hair was shortish; and her clear skin only lightly tanned. She looked more like a model than Catherine did. She spoke slowly and calmly, her voice warm and quite deep. There was just a trace of a Scandinavian accent.

She was still wearing the jeans from earlier. And Catherine recognised the checked shirt too, which may have been a man’s.

Catherine realised suddenly that her mind had been wandering and that The Woman was expecting her to say something.

“I don’t really understand what’s happening,” she said, feeling only that she should be feeling more concerned about that.

“I know,” said The Woman, not unsympathetically. “And in many ways it is pointless for me to explain, but I have found it to be helpful, with some subjects.”

“I feel like I’ve woken up in someone else’s therapy session,” said Catherine, not really realising that she was interrupting. She hadn’t quite locked into this conversation yet.

The Woman smiled, politely, professionally.

“The simplest way I have found to describe what you’re experiencing is to say that I have created a room in your mind and you have entered that room. It is not entirely accurate to say that I have control of your mind inside this room, but I do control the room. And the influence of the room upon your mind is very strong. Does that make sense?“

It must have been the influence of the room that made Catherine say, “Your voice is as beautiful as you are.”

The smile this elicited was beautiful too.

“Thank you, Catherine. But did the words make sense?”

Catherine gave this some thought. Somehow she was able to recall every word The Woman had said, though she’d have sworn she hadn’t heard anything but the sound of that lovely warm voice. She found that the words made sense even if she didn’t quite understand them.

“Are you saying that we’re not really sitting in these chairs, in this room?”

“Oh this room is quite real. These chairs are real. I am real. No, the room in your mind... oh this is impossible to explain... but it is your mindset, if you will.“

Catherine was focussing on the words now. And that may have been The Woman’s only intent in explaining any of this.

“I see, I think. But I don’t really understand.”

“But this doesn’t actually trouble you? You feel calm and relaxed?“

Catherine gave this a little thought too.

“It doesn’t trouble me, no. And I do feel very calm and relaxed.“

“Well, it’s a very calming room, isn’t it? And don’t worry: when I remove the room, you will not remember any of this and everything will be as it was before.”

“Then what is the point of my being in the room?”

Catherine’s near monotone robbed the question of any trace of emotion.

The Woman chuckled.

“An astute question. Let’s just say that if I slip something into your pocket while you’re in the room, it will still be there when you leave.”

“I understand, I think.”

Catherine felt so calm and relaxed that the idea of this room, and the associated discussion, seemed entirely academic and disconnected from her.

“Good. And it’s no accident that it feels like a therapy session. Certainly the intention is only to help you.”

“Thank you. I feel very grateful. And I do love your voice. And I think you’re very beautiful.”

“Thank you, Catherine. And you’re doing fine. Everything is fine. And you’re telling me what you’re feeling, which is all you need to do.”

“I... need to tell you what I’m feeling,” said Catherine, as if she were answering a question.

“That’s right,” said The Woman, softly.

“I want to help you in any way I can,” said Catherine, as if she were explaining her previous answer to herself.

“That’s right, Catherine. That’s what you want to do.”

The Woman waited a few seconds to see if Catherine would express any further feelings, but nothing came.

“Well, as I say, you’ve done very well—both with Jessica and yourself.”

“I love Jessica,” Catherine interjected.

“I know,” said The Woman. “You love her very much. But you have also kept yourself in excellent shape.“

“I need to do that. I... I need...”

“I know, I know,” said The Woman. “And you’re doing it very well.”

“Thank you,” said Catherine. “It feels good to hear that.”

“Good,” said The Woman. “And, now, Catherine, I’m pleased to tell you that all that hard work at the gym is about to pay off. One of the Sons is coming of age. It is not my place of course to question or judge him, but I will observe that he differs from his brothers somewhat in his tastes and his way of thinking. All I need tell you is that you meet his requirements for a mate perfectly.”

“Mate...?”

Catherine seemed about to rouse herself a little but The Woman simply raised her left hand and Catherine’s mind was calmed.

As The Woman lowered her hand again, she began to tap the arm of her chair with the index finger of her right hand, slowly, gently, but deliberately.

Catherine’s eyes shifted to watch the finger.

“You want...,” prompted The Woman.

“I want... to help you in any way I can.”

“Good. That’s good, Catherine. Now, you will be at your most fertile next Thursday.”

Catherine dragged her gaze away from the tapping finger and back to The Woman’s face, but her calm remained undisturbed. She expressed her confusion without any demand for an explanation.

“I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t know how you know this.”

“You have forgotten many things, my dear. But that is how it should be. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” said Catherine after a few seconds. Again it was almost a question.

“And that is good.”

“It is good,” said Catherine. And then again, as if to herself: “It is good.“

“That’s a good girl,” said The Woman. “And now, I’m afraid, you’re going to have to zone out for me.”

Catherine slammed the car door shut.

“It’s definitely a Me Day today,” she thought.

First it had been that spur of the moment decision to just forget about the gym this morning, and to go for a nice relaxing walk in the park instead. Now she’d decided to drive to the rather select local shops and indulge in a little clothes shopping.

Perhaps it was down to that woman—the one who’d stopped to talk to Jessica this morning. Perhaps, with her perfect clothes that showed off her perfect body, it was she who had triggered in Catherine this sudden desire for a new outfit.

Perhaps Catherine was just jealous of the outright awe The Woman had inspired in Jess.

Or perhaps she had something to prove to herself. After all, they were surely about the same age, she and The Woman. And though The Woman certainly had something, Catherine could not in all honesty accept that that something could possibly be a better body than hers.

Well, she could try some jeans on anyway.

And while she was here, why not make an appointment with the hairdresser? And maybe...?

On a Me Day, the possibilities seemed endless. And she still had, oh, well, almost two hours before she needed to pick up Jess.

Not quite endless then. But she would make the most of it.

Me Days were a rarity.

Catherine couldn’t recall having had a single one since Jess was born. In fact, if it had occurred to her to try, she would not have been able to recall ever even having used the term before.

She would never have described herself as driven, or focused. Yet she had stuck to her almost daily gym routine more like an athlete than someone seeking merely to keep herself in trim. Not that she had the physique of an athlete; she was keeping herself in a very particular shape.

Perhaps one reason she did not allow herself to let up was the fear that one day off would lead to another. And perhaps she was right to fear that.

Certainly in the five days that followed, she did not attend the gym once. Her newfound desire to dress well and look her best seemed to have taken over, with most of her time taken up having her body pampered to a meticulously planned schedule.

It was on Thursday morning that Catherine had it confirmed that her efforts had not been in vain. In the car, on the way to the nursery, Jess said from the back seat, “You’re very pretty, Mummy. I never knew that before.”

“Thank you, Jess,” said Catherine, with an amused smile. “But you know, I’m just trying to compete with you.”

And she spent the rest of the journey explaining what compete means.

Catherine had already decided that morning that she couldn’t put the gym off any longer, and having dropped Jess off, she drove straight there.

Having parked the car, and walked up to the entrance, it was only when she saw her immaculate manicured finger pressing a doorbell that she noticed that this wasn’t the gym at all. And then she realised that she had driven to somewhere else entirely.

Despite her confusion not having yet been resolved, when the door opened she was somehow not quite surprised to see a woman she vaguely recognised.

“Hello Catherine. I was expecting you.”

Catherine realised then that it was The Woman. Not that that explained anything.

“I hope I’m ready,” said Catherine, though she didn’t really know what for.

The Woman apparently did though.

“I’m sure you are,” she said. “Please come in.”

Catherine soon found herself—if found was the right word—in a room furnished only with two chairs. Yet the two women did not sit down. Instead they stood, with The Woman spending some time looking Catherine up and down, while Catherine tried to work out why this was all as OK as it somehow felt.

She knew exactly why she was here now, and yet she didn’t know how she knew. But the longer she stood in the room, the less that seemed to matter. Somehow, in here, it felt right for her head to feel so thick and slow, so syrupy.

“You have dressed perfectly, Catherine, and you look perfect. Well done.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, I need to take some photos of you in those clothes.”

“Is this for him?”

“Yes.”

Catherine felt immensely pleased and proud. But she was also puzzled.

“Isn’t he going to see me anyway?”

“Well, he wants a record of you. And... as I told you before, he is young. He wants to see you in these clothes; he wants to see you as you are now, before he mates with you. But for the mating... well, like any young man, he has certain... fantasies.“

“I thought this was his fantasy,” said Catherine, vaguely waving a hand to indicate her new designer casuals. “I thought I was his fantasy.“

The woman is wearing a dark business suit today, but she’s barefoot, and with a camera in her hand she looks more like a bohemian than some office worker.

“His fantasy... Just stand closer to that wall... that’s it... good. His fantasy is for the bedroom. You are the woman with whom he desires to play out his fantasy, if you see what I mean.“

Catherine saw. And it didn’t really make any difference to her. As long as whatever he wanted her to wear was going to please him enough to make him want to mate with her, that was all that mattered. In any case, whatever she was wearing would presumably come off by the time they were doing it.

“Let’s try one with you smiling. Good. And now, if you could unbutton your shirt... That’s great, thank you. Now take that off... Good. And now unbutton your jeans, and slowly pull them down... That’s it... good. These are great. Let’s have one just like that... Good. And now the bra... Wow, great. That’s it. And now the panties... That’s good. Legs apart now... Good. And just turn to face the wall... OK, good. That’s great. And just touch your toes for me... That’s it. Hold it... That’s great, thank you.”

Perhaps it was the years spent modelling, but Catherine felt surprisingly calm about being photographed in this way. She didn’t care about exposing her body. Her only concern at this point was that he might find her body wanting in some way—that he might not deem it worthy of his seed.

“Now, I’m going to have to rub some sun cream into your skin...”

“Sun cream?”

“Yes.”

“Is this for him?”

“Of course.”

“OK... Did I do the wrong thing getting this tan?”

“You did everything exactly right, Catherine. You look perfect.”

The Woman began, naturally enough, with Catherine’s breasts.

“Is this the fantasy costume?” asked Catherine.

“There’s a bikini as well,” said The Woman dryly. “It won’t cover very much, I’m afraid. But I don’t think you’ll care about that.”

“I want him to fuck me,” said Catherine, matter-of-factly. Such frankness seemed appropriate in the circumstances.

“That’s good. You’re doing very well, Catherine. And believe me, if he starts doing what I’m doing, then he will want to fuck you.“

Catherine was suitably reassured. She trusted The Woman’s judgement in these matters. And she inferred that The Woman was deriving pleasure from touching her breasts—a thought that felt good dissolving into the syrup of her mind.

“Did these get bigger with your first pregnancy?” asked The Woman.

“Yes. They can be a bit of a nuisance but I suppose I should count myself lucky really.”

The Woman allowed herself a knowing smile but she didn’t say anything more about that. In any case, something else occurred to her.

“Oh, I should have said: there are heels too—matching.”

“Heels. Matching. For a bikini.”

Catherine was just making an observation.

The Woman smiled.

“I did check to make sure he didn’t mean flip-flops.”

The bikini turned out to be three tiny triangles of red material attached to bits of black cord. It was probably very expensive. It fitted Catherine perfectly. Which is to say it turned her modesty into immodesty. The heels were very high, very strappy, and very red: matching.

The Woman carefully adjusted each of the triangles for maximum effect, before giving Catherine’s breasts a gentle slap to make sure that cover was maintained. In truth, the fabric barely covered Catherine’s large nipples, but those were so stiff that it was unlikely to slip.

Finally The Woman stepped back, looked Catherine up and down one last time, and seemed satisfied.

“You’re ready.”

The door opens, Catherine steps inside, and it closes behind her.

He’s standing on the other side of the room. He looks... He’s young. He looks about eighteen. But it is impossible for Catherine to judge him; all she feels is the need to procreate with him.

“Wow,” he says. “She said you were hot but, fuck...”

He’s quite softly spoken. She’s pleased with his compliment, but only in so far as it suggests he will fuck her, and she wants so much for him to spray his seed inside her.

“Come here.”

She walks towards him, striding in the heels like the catwalk model she once was. She knows just how good her long legs are. And she can feel her breasts swaying impressively.

There’s a chair over there, and a bed over there. She pays them only as much attention as is needed to navigate between them, which is very little. But the presence of the bed makes it all seem inevitable.

He steps forward to meet her. And now they’re face-to-face, although he isn’t actually looking at her face. It’s obvious that she’s being evaluated simply as a body, as a sex object. And all she feels is a fervent hope that she’ll pass the test.

“Ah, sun cream, yeah? I love that smell.”

That explains that then.

“I’ve done it before, you know,” he says, demonstrating a refreshing disregard for continuity. “You don’t have to worry.”

As he’s speaking, he’s looking her body up and down, something Catherine’s getting used to. She figures he’s going to elaborate without any intervention from her. And he does.

“I mean, they think I haven’t, but I have. I’ve had a few girls actually—about my age, you know. I mean, I’ve been there, done that. That’s why I asked for you. I mean, I figured I might as well do something a bit different for my official first time. And they have those older women—you know, in your magazines and shit—they call them yummy mummies. And, well, I’ve always had a thing for them. I don’t know why. But I’ve always wanted to fuck one.“

His looking up and down is definitely just down now. Catherine knows that he’s testing the waters, talking about fucking one rather than fucking her. And he can’t even look her in the eye to say that. Still, she longs to be the one he does fuck.

Perhaps he’ll want to fuck her from behind. That’s fine, as long he can force himself to look long enough to make sure he’s sticking it in the right hole.

“Did you get your pussy, like, totally waxed?” he asks, and he gently prods her bikini bottoms in almost the right place. Perhaps he’s worried that she’ll be unfamiliar with his young person’s slang. More likely he just wants to touch her pussy.

“I had just about everything waxed,” she replies, hoping it sounds in some way sexually provocative.

“Nice,” he says, still looking down.

He lays his right hand tentatively on the side of her left thigh and begins to stroke and feel his way up, moving it around to the back as he reaches her bottom. Becoming bolder, he gropes her left bum cheek for a while.

“Smooth,” he says approvingly, as if it’s a compliment to tell a woman her bum cheeks aren’t hairy.

She can’t mind his attentions. He isn’t making her feel like a piece of meat. She came into the room already knowing that she’s a piece of meat. She’s a piece of meat longing to be eaten. And if he wants rump steak then she knows she can deliver.

But then he starts to feel up her breasts instead. And his fine line in small talk continues.

“I bet you’ve had loads of men doing this to you, haven’t you?”

“Not really,” she says, uncertainly.

Catherine can’t remember a single one. If she hadn’t had Jessica, she’d have sworn she’d lived the sheltered life of a nun.

In spite of that, her desire for this... this lad, who considers twenty-five to be an older woman... her desire for him to fuck her and fill her with his seed feels entirely natural and not at all out of character.

And she has an idea that he will want to fuck her, now that he’s feeling up her breasts.

He smiles, which she can only interpret as a positive sign.

“You even talk like a proper yummy mummy,” he says, still looking at her breasts. “You want me to fuck you, yeah?”

“Yes.”

This is more like it. And yes she does. She really does.

“Tell me, in that voice of yours.”

“I want you to fuck me, please.”

He laughs as if this is the funniest thing in the world. Catherine knows some people would consider her to be posh, but she can’t help that. And she can also tell that he’s much more posh than she is, even though he’s affecting a lower class accent. Even the laugh isn’t quite genuine.

Still, she can’t judge him. And in fact she’s hopeful, because if he can laugh at her like this and think nothing of it, surely he can shoot his seed into her body without giving her a second thought.

His hands are inside the bikini now. And really that means that nothing is technically inside the bikini anymore.

“Ah well,” he says. “Anyway, do you like this?”

It’s not unpleasant but Catherine hesitates because she wants instead to ask him again to fuck her, and then she realises that she shouldn’t do that.

“Yes,” she says, but the hesitation suggests something more like no.

He doesn’t seem to mind, but he looks thoughtful and there’s a definite gap before he speaks again.

“I’m not supposed to play with you, you know. Oh... I don’t mean this... I mean, I am supposed to play with you like this. But I’m not supposed to change you, you know? Mindplay. It’s supposed to be ‘beneath our dignity’.“

Catherine doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about, but she’s happy to dress up or behave differently for him if it will make him give her what she needs.

He doesn’t seem to need her input anyway; he really seems to be talking to himself.

“They’re just full of this shit,” he continues. “All these fake morals: it’s all hypocrisy, you know? I can mindplay for politics. I can mindplay for money. You know? I mean, for the things that matter—for power, it’s fine, right? I’d be admired for that. But for sex...? No no no. We don’t do that. Sex is different... It’s all just stupid.“

He sounds like a teenager and she wants to laugh. But she doesn’t. There might be a trace of a smile on her lips though. And that might be why he pauses.

“Anyway,” he says, more calmly, “I don’t believe in all that shit. That’s all.”

He’s been looking at her breasts but now he looks into her eyes, and this is the first time they’ve properly looked at each other.

“I’m going to enjoy myself here,” he says, “Because you are fucking amazing. But I don’t want to stress you out or anything. So I need you to be nice and relaxed.”

Catherine’s just thinking how considerate he is, when something happens in her mind. It’s like the gears have disengaged suddenly: everything is loose and free. And she’s not alarmed, because it turns out that being alarmed is impossible without the gears.

And anyway, it’s nice to be in a room with someone who’s so considerate—someone you can just trust.

He watches her face for a while before he asks, “Feeling good?”

“Oh yeah,” she replies, with no hesitation. She sounds a little spaced out, but that’s nothing compared to how she feels.

He smiles.

“Good. And you like having your big titties squeezed like this?”

“Sure.”

Catherine smiles. Whatever.

“Tell me.”

“I like having my big titties squeezed like this.”

“You squeeze them yourself for a bit then.”

“OK.”

He releases her breasts and she begins to massage them herself. He steps behind her to untie the bikini top that she already isn’t really wearing. It falls to the floor. And then she feels even freer, which isn’t possible.

He reappears in front of her and for a while he watches her fingers working the flesh of her breasts.

“Shit,” he says. “You’re perfect.”

“Thank you!” she says. Her voice sounds a bit odd—kind of exaggerated. But she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about anything.

“OK. Go lie on the bed, with your head just hanging over this end.

“OK!”

The bed is stylishly basic: apparently just a big white block with a thick white duvet on top and plump white pillows at the wall end. But now Catherine’s feet—still in the heels—are messing up the pillows, while her head is at the other end—hanging over it.

“Like this?” she asks.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

He’s taking off his trousers. Catherine idly watches him upside down. She’s forgotten about needing to get fucked, or at least, she no longer cares. But it occurs to her that he’s going to fuck her, and she certainly doesn’t mind. She’s sure it will be a lot of fun, in fact.

His cock is...

“You’re going to really want to suck my cock and swallow its load,” he says, casually.

His cock is... just...

She wants it in her mouth. She wants to please it. She wants to lick it. She wants to make it squirt cum into her mouth so that she can swallow it down. That would be so much fun.

The bed is high enough to place her mouth at just about the perfect height. She can’t believe her luck when she sees the cock she craves approaching.

She opens her mouth and he guides the head into it. Her lips close around it and she lays her tongue flat against it and lets it slide across the hot smooth skin. He breathes in deeply and then leans forward and begins to play with her breasts again.

“These are so great,” he says, trying to sound cool even though the woman of his dreams is teasing his cock with her tongue. “I love the way big tits kind of slide around like that.”

Even now, with her mind like this, and with this desperate need to suck his cock, Catherine suspects he’s never pawed at tits like hers before. She’s sure he must be having a good time, which is a happy thought because she wants everyone to be having fun.

She wants to suck his cock, but she wants to swallow his load just as much. So she has no reason to hold back—to help him pace himself. And he doesn’t have the imagination to do it himself.

He goes quiet, just gasping once or twice. There’s no one in the room he needs to impress, but he still tries to sound cool, and in charge.

“OK, I’m going to come now.”

Like she couldn’t tell.

But she wants him to anyway.

He grunts and groans as he comes, and her focus shifts to swallowing it all down.

He continues to breathe heavily as he recovers.

“Don’t worry,” he pants—possibly to himself, “There’s loads more to come.”

And he chuckles. Because he said come.

Having swallowed all of his load, Catherine returns to concentrating on pleasuring his cock, but that’s too much for him right now, and he pulls out.

“You just think about sucking it,” he says. “That’ll make you feel horny.“

And she does. And he’s right. And her hips begin to move a little on the bed.

He sits down on the side of the bed, near her feet. He’s still recovering.

“Shit,” he mutters.

Needing to do something, he undoes her ridiculous shoes, slips them off, and places them on the floor by the bed. Then he grabs a golden calf and raises her left foot to his face, sniffing and then licking it all over.

Her feet have been worked on to the point where they’re as smooth and soft as the rest of her. If he were a fetishist he would probably want them otherwise. But he isn’t really; he’s merely pretending to be someone who didn’t just come too quickly.

He relocates to the chair and watches her for a while.

“Shit, you’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, like it’s her fault he came so quickly. “I bet you’ve sucked, like, a thousand cocks or something.“

And he isn’t really intending to do it, but Catherine starts to think that perhaps she sucks men off all the time, and her arousal only increases.

Lying there, she feels like such a whore, using her skilled mouth to make men come embarrassingly quickly, and getting off on it. She opens her legs wide and begins just to tease her clit through the thin material of the bikini. What a slut she feels.

He’s quiet, apart from an occasional “Fuck” or “Shit”.

She’s too lost in her thoughts to be aware of his silence or of the time that it occupies.

Finally he says, “Fuck it. Let’s just do it.”

And he gets up and presses a button near the door.

His sudden movement brings Catherine out of her reverie and for a moment she worries that his cock might be leaving. But she’s relieved to see him returning to the chair and sitting down again.

With the spell broken somewhat, she shifts herself up the bed and rolls onto her side so she can rest her head on her left hand. She’s still thinking about sucking his cock but she wants to know what’s going on.

After a few moments the door opens and The Woman is there in the doorway. She looks at him and then at Catherine.

“Hi!” says Catherine, raising her right hand and smiling, but The Woman doesn’t respond. She just stands there looking somewhere between confused and concerned. Her gaze returns to him.

Finally she speaks.

“OK... I think you know that this isn’t how this is supposed to go.“

“I don’t care how it’s supposed to go,” he says, quietly.

“Well, be that as it may, you can’t just...”

She breaks off and looks at him with shocked disapproval.

“Oh no, that isn’t going to work, young...“

She breaks off again, her expression subtly changing to show alarm.

And then that expression slowly fades.

And then she smiles.

He’s smiling too.

“Guess I’m not the kid you thought I was,” he says.

And then she giggles, and she says, “No!” in a kind of silly, exaggerated way. And for a moment it seems like maybe she’s aware of what’s happened to her. There’s almost a look of horror on her face. But that expression fades too and now she just looks soft and pliant.

Finally she puts her head on one side and asks, “Are we gonna fuck?” And it’s not clear if that’s because she wants to, or she doesn’t.

“Show me your titties,” he says.

“OK!”

She slips off her jacket and lets it fall to the floor behind her. Then she starts to unbutton her shirt.

“What happened to her?” asks Catherine, watching fascinated from the bed.

“I didn’t like her, so I changed her,” he says calmly.

“Wow! You can do that?!“

“Of course.”

“Wow! That is so cool! You should do that to me.“

He laughs.

“Yeah, I should definitely try that.”

“Here they are!” says The Woman. “My titties,” she adds, helpfully.

“Nice...” he says. And then under his breath he whispers, “Fuck...”

Catherine wants to tell The Woman that she has nice titties, but The Woman didn’t seem all that friendly when she’d said hi to her just now, so she doesn’t risk it.

“OK,” he says, suddenly slapping his hands down on his knees, apparently keen to move things along. ”This is how this is going to go.“

He points at The Woman.

“Your name is Sugar. Now get the rest of your clothes off.“

“OK!”

Then he points at Catherine.

“And your name is Candy. And...“

Candy’s looking at him, awaiting further instruction, but he just breaks into a smile. Apparently he isn’t going to finish the sentence.

Oh well.

Anyway, Sugar’s getting naked over there so Candy’s eyes move back to her, because she’s just remembered that she really likes looking at Sugar’s body.

She’s not thinking about sucking his cock now.

Sugar is just stepping out of her panties, and Candy’s eyes roam all over her amazing body. In particular they keep shifting from her ass to her titties and back again. And this movement of her eyes might as well be a finger gently stroking her clit. Her hips are moving again.

“OK Sugar, get on the bed with Candy. And the two of you: I want you kneeling face-to-face. That’s it. Now...”

Sugar isn’t just sexy; she’s sex. And somehow Candy knows that Sugar is thinking the same about her. There really is no uncertainty on either part about what the other is thinking. So this isn’t awkward at all.

They begin to kiss, passionately, urgently. Their hands explore each other’s bodies.

But for all that Candy finds Sugar’s body incredibly hot, she begins to realise that they are just putting on a performance for him. It may be Sugar’s flesh that she’s stroking, but really it is his shaft she’s teasing. Her tongue playing with Sugar’s in their joined mouths is really rubbing itself across the tight smooth skin of his head.

It is all for his pleasure.

The middle finger of Candy’s right hand is between Sugar’s buttocks, gently locating the puckered skin around her sphincter. She feels Sugar’s finger exploring her own anus, navigating the cord of the bikini that still cleaves her bum cheeks.

He will like this.

As both fingers enter at the same time, Candy realises that she will utterly debase herself for him.

He is, she realises now, a god. And in comparison she and Sugar are almost nothing.

They barely exist.

They are merely figments of his imagination—manifestations of his fantasies.

In fantasy, anything can happen and nothing is strange.

She suddenly realises that the mouth she’s kissing has become a pussy. Both their mouths are pussies. And their noses are clitorises.

They are two pussies kissing, and nothing about that is strange.

He is standing near the bed now.

Calmly he says, “My cock is the biggest, sexiest, most potent cock in existence.”

And it is so.

And that mighty cock fucks both of these willing mouth pussies.

Candy looks at her sister, Sugar, and notices that her mouth has become an anus now. And she realises that her own mouth is an anus too. Perhaps both of their mouths were always anuses—Candy can’t really remember. But they kiss anyway. Or at least they rub their little anuses together.

It’s while the biggest, sexiest, most potent cock in existence is fucking her tight little anus mouth that Candy realises that figments of the imagination do not think.

And then it all goes black. And there is no time.

And without time, everything happens at once.

She is a star in space: her arms and legs spread wide.

And there is one cock. And it is the biggest, sexiest, most potent cock in existence.

And it is in each of her hands.

And it is squeezed tight between her big titties, even as she feels it between the soles of her feet.

And it is in her mouth.

And it is in her ass.

And it is in her pussy.

And she is so wide open.

And it is pumping, pumping, pumping, hard into her.

And...

“I don’t want to rush you, but you do need to wake up.”

Catherine was confused. She didn’t feel like she’d been asleep.

She opened her eyes, blinking to let them adjust to the light.

She was in a room with just two chairs in it. And she was sitting in one of them and The Woman was there in the other, smiling kindly, if professionally—like a therapist or something. And Catherine was glad The Woman was there, even if she wasn’t entirely sure who she was.

She didn’t feel groggy exactly; she was just confused.

“What happened?” she asked, not unreasonably.

“What do you remember?”

Catherine smiled: a typical therapist.

She tried to collect her thoughts before answering. And collecting her thoughts had never felt so much like collecting her thoughts.

She became aware for the first time that a syrupy feeling in her head that for some reason she expected to be there, was in fact hardly there at all. It was hard to know what to make of that. What she felt instead—very clearly—was some kind of restriction in her thinking, a confinement in her mind.

“I remember you—putting the sun cream on... me. And... I remember him doing something... very similar. And... he was saying something—I can’t remember what. And then...”

Catherine had come to a halt. Evidently there was no more.

“And then I told you to wake up?”

“Yes. That must be what happened next.”

“That’s good. That’s fine. Well, that is, it’s not fine, but at least it is clear.“

“It isn’t clear to me...”

The Woman was still smiling but she looked thoughtful as she weighed up how to respond. She sighed deeply.

Catherine had a strange desire to lean forward and inhale all the air from that sigh. Perhaps she wanted to take away The Woman’s cares. Or perhaps it was just the next best thing to kissing her. Either way, she didn’t do it.

“He broke etiquette,” said The Woman. “It’s meaningless really for me to say this to you, but I do apologise on his behalf for his behaviour, and he will be punished for it.”

“But what did he do?”

“He played with your mind. I really can’t say any more than that. But in such a situation it is considered inappropriate—especially for one so high-born, and he knows that.”

Catherine listened with interest. While she would have liked to know what he had done to her—with her, she was pleased to hear that it was only a matter of etiquette rather than something serious.

“He is young and somewhat hotheaded, and I feared that he might not be able to control himself. But... he was sly. He even summoned me in during the session, ostensibly to request some water, but really so that I would observe that he was behaving himself, which of course he was, up to that point.“

“Oh...”

“Yes?”

“I think I remember you coming in now.”

“Yes, it is quite possible that you would.”

Catherine could remember now.

“That’s right, he did ask you for water. We were getting started on the bed and he started to cough, and so he rang for you. And I remember you coming in and looking at him suspiciously.“

“Well, as it turns out, I was quite right to.”

“Won’t you tell me what he did?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know. That is the truth. And there is no way for me to find out. But in any case...”

The Woman looked Catherine right in the eye for a few seconds.

“...you don’t really care about that.”

That was absolutely true, Catherine realised. Whatever he had done to her, it was none of her business really. And it reminded her of what she did care about. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t asked already.

“Did he fuck me? Am I pregnant?”

“He did, and you are. Well done, Catherine. And congratulations.”

The Woman’s smile seemed more heartfelt, more human. Catherine’s whole being was suffused with a warming pleasure that was almost overwhelming. She wanted to cry. She would have blamed the hormones but it was probably too soon for that.

“Take your time,” said The Woman, showing a kindness and understanding that actually served only to heighten Catherine’s emotions.

Catherine thought that if she could find something to say, she might avoid the embarrassment of tears. And so some words came out of her mouth.

“I suppose that it’s a... a real honour to be made pregnant by the biggest, sexiest, most potent cock in existence.“

The Woman’s professional reserve evaporated entirely.

“Yes!” she said. “I envy you that. I’ve never seen it of course, but it’s true: it’s the biggest, sexiest, most potent cock in existence. I’d love to take it in my mouth. It would indeed be an honour to pleasure it and make it come.”

“Oh! Yes!” said Catherine. “I wish I’d done that for him.“

An odd, confused expression passed briefly over The Woman’s face, and then some of the professionalism seemed to have returned.

“Ah, well,” she said, “At least for you the possibility exists that you may have done that.”

Catherine looked hopeful.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you don’t remember what happened, do you? It’s quite possible that you did do that for him and have simply forgotten. In fact, I’d say it’s quite likely that he would have wanted to have you do that.“

“God,” said Catherine. “Before, you made it sound like he’d done something terrible. Now you’re saying he probably let me suck that cock...“

“I said he broke the rules,” laughed The Woman. “I didn’t say he’d treated you badly. I would have stopped him if he had even tried to do that.”

“Thank you,” said Catherine.

“It’s really no problem,” said The Woman.

“Will I see him again?”

“No. But he has requested more photos, of you, as your pregnancy progresses. They will be quite... detailed.“

“Will you take those?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fine,” said Catherine. “I mean, it’s his body really, after all, isn’t it? His... Yours...“

“That is so, yes.”

The Woman looked thoughtful for a few seconds before continuing.

“And... how does that make you feel, Catherine?”

It was Catherine’s turn to look thoughtful.

“I feel... I mean, I don’t feel... I mean, it’s... It’s just how it is, isn’t it? It’s right, it’s fine, it’s good.”

Coming face-to-faceless with her self-unawareness, Catherine was suddenly feeling emotional again, and in a way she couldn’t describe.

As she tried to work out how she felt, all that she could grasp was that she wanted to help The Woman—to be of service to her—in any way she could. What she couldn’t get a handle on—couldn’t quite grab hold of—was the feeling of total inferiority and insignificance that underpinned it all.

All she had to offer them was her body. And of course she gave it willingly. It was right. It was fine. It was good. She liked it. It made her happy to maintain her body for them. It was an honour to have it used by them. She ached to have it used by them. And the depth of that longing was beyond her comprehension.

The Woman seemed to know the effect that her question would have. She was watching Catherine, giving her time. But it was just possible too that she was relishing Catherine’s reaction.

But now Catherine was ready to be of use again. Or at least, she needed to be.

“When should I come for the photos?”

“You will just... find yourself here.”

“And you’ll be here?”

“I’ll be here.”

The Woman smiled. But there was a playful gleam in her eye.

“Yes, indeed. I’ll be here. And when I tell you to, you will display your body for me—the body that he has made pregnant. And I will take photos of it—intimate, sexual photos. So, you see, we will still be exploiting your body, Catherine.”

Catherine didn’t understand why these words were making her squirm so. It didn’t occur to her that The Woman knew exactly what she was doing.

“And... Well, now, I have some other news for you. Inevitably your condition will necessitate a change in your exercise regime. That’s not immediately necessary, of course, but regardless, we must consider repurposing you.”

“Repurposing...?”

The word made Catherine sound gratifyingly like an object—moreover, a useful object.

“Your exercise regime has served its purpose for now. If your time can be spent more usefully doing something else then obviously it should be. And this is a more... pleasurable purpose, I think you’ll find. One of the Daughters is in need of regular... attention at the moment.“

“Attention?”

“That’s right. For us, you see, sexual frustration can lead to significant problems. This is especially true for high-born females, who are expected to remain intact. This particular Daughter... well, you will see.“

“If I understand...”

“You do.”

“Then, I have to point out that I have no experience...”

“You do not need to worry Catherine. I can assure you that she will like you, she will find you attractive, and that you will fulfil her every desire.”

“I feel reassured. Thank you.”

In truth Catherine felt something more than just reassured.

“Besides, you have more experience than you are aware of. Your mouth and hands were put to good use while you were carrying Jessica.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“That’s because we don’t need you to remember that, Catherine. I should add that in such encounters as these, etiquette does not prohibit mindplay. That is why I am able to guarantee your suitability: you will do and be exactly what she wants. She will use you like a doll, Catherine.“

“I... understand. And thank you. Thank you for finding this new... purpose. I am wondering though...”

“Yes?”

“Do you suffer from sexual frustration? Because if you wished...“

The Woman chuckled.

“I am not high-born, Catherine.“

“But you’re very beautiful. And I want to serve you in any way I can.”

“Are you... feeling aroused, Catherine?“

The Woman raised an eyebrow in mock innocence. She had known full well the effect that her words were going to have when Catherine was experiencing this heightened awareness of her servitude.

Catherine realised now that The Woman was toying with her. But even that was an opportunity to be of service, wasn’t it? She was more than happy to serve as a plaything for The Woman’s amusement. Much more than happy, in fact.

“I am—uh—aroused.”

“You are an ideal subject, Catherine.”

“Thank you. I just want... to serve you...”

“I know. And it makes you...”

“Ah! Yes...”

“That’s good. Good girl, Catherine. What a good girl.”

This approval triggered the release of a gentle orgasm that had been building. The Woman watched with apparent satisfaction as it washed over Catherine. She waited until it had subsided before continuing.

“Catherine, you’re a very beautiful woman. And I find you very attractive.”

She paused and smiled.

“But now, I’m afraid, you’re going to have to zone out for me.”

Catherine slammed the car door shut and began the walk to the nursery—the same old same old. But of course it hadn’t been just the usual routine at the gym today.

That chance encounter with Jess’s father out of the blue like that, for the first time in over four years...

And that was one thing. But to have had sex with him, just like that...

She wasn’t sure how she felt about it—how she felt about him; how she felt about herself. Perhaps she should avoid the gym for a while.

But she did have this feeling...

And she had a feeling it wasn’t just a feeling...

And it was not a bad feeling exactly.

She’d never wanted Jess to be an only child, after all.

It was just that... Well, it was a big thing, wasn’t it?

She rang the bell of the nursery and announced herself. They buzzed her in.

As Catherine stepped into the doorway of the play room, Jess spotted her and came running up.

“Mummy! Mummy! I’m so happy today!”

Catherine knelt down and hugged her daughter.

“Really Jess? And what are you so happy about today?”

“Because... I don’t know. But I was drawing a picture, Mummy. And when I was drawing, I was just thinking that... it might be a little boy. It might be a little boy, Mummy! And that made me happy because I really, really want a little brother.”

If it occurred to Catherine at all that it was odd that her daughter should say this, on this particular day, then the thought did not stick.

She simply said, “I think it will be, Jess. And... I hope it will be—for you. Because you know, all I ever want is for you to be happy.“

And she squeezed Jess tight, suddenly feeling emotional in a way she couldn’t describe.