The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1: An Imperfect Couple

The package arrived on Daniel Fieldwell’s desk with the 11:50 mail. Dan sorted through the other letters first: routine, all of them, from professional journals asking him to subscribe, from organizations touting meetings guaranteed to make him a better executive, and, incongruously, one bank solicitation asking him if he needed to borrow money.

Well, no. At age 28, Dan Fieldwell was in fact in the business of approving loans for small businesses. On this Friday at the beginning of November, Dan had just been reflecting on a good week’s work. In his quiet way, he was proud of the bank for which he worked. Federated Unity had never gone in for sub-prime lending or any financial shenanigans, and in a time of increasingly tight money they had positioned themselves to step in where bigger banks feared to tread. In four years, Dan had yet to originate or approve a loan that had gone into default. His clients respected the bank he worked for and adored him, and word of mouth among small businessmen made sure that more clients sought him out all the time.

Dan should have been happy, and for the most part, he was. He’d moved from the open cubicles on the first floor upstairs into his own private office just last September, following his promotion to Assistant Vice-President in the Small Business Department. His colleagues, both downstairs and up, liked him and spoke well of him. He had recently celebrated his first wedding anniversary. He and Gala lived in a comfortable old house, quietly but tastefully refurbished and renovated, and they loved each other.

Sort of.

Dan picked up the package and tore open the overnight-shipping envelope. From a protective swathe of bubble wrap and a thin foam-plastic wrapping sheet he removed a heavy box, not of cardboard, but of dark wood, perhaps twelve by six by three inches. It gleamed like a desk accessory. Dan had to smile. The company had actually polished the carton. Or was it a case? It looked sturdy enough to be for permanent use. He paused with his hand on the lid and sighed. He had no real expectation that this would work, and yet—and yet.

Federated Unity was a large enough bank to have branches scattered throughout seven Midwestern and Southeastern states. They also offered a generous medical plan, something that was becoming a rarity in the world of business. And three weeks before, with no one else’s knowledge, not even Gala’s, Dan had made a claim on his med plan when he kept an appointment with Dr. M.V. Welbourne.

Psychiatrist.

It had taken weeks for him to get up the nerve, and then, on entering the office, Dan had felt a moment of uncertainty, an urge to turn around and walk out. Dr. M.V. Welbourne had turned out to be, well, a woman. Marcia Vickers Welbourne, as he later learned. Fifty-ish, gray hair, wire-rimmed spectacles, and yet still trim and attractive, too. That and the simple fact of her gender made talking to her much more difficult.

Still, Dan had spent weeks working up his nerve to the point of consulting someone, and so—so he had told all.

“I see,” Dr. Welbourne had murmured after his shameful confession. “And why didn’t your wife accompany you?”

Dan laughed. “Gala wouldn’t come, Doctor. Not in a million years. She’s too shy. She won’t even talk to me about—about, you know, the problem.”

“Mm. And you’ve tried different methods and positions, I assume.”

“Everything. I love her, Doctor. But she’s—she’s never—”

“She has never experienced an orgasm.”

“No,” Dan confessed, feeling his face growing hot with embarrassment. “I can’t make her come. I’ve tried to be slow and considerate, but nothing works, nothing at all, and the worst of it is that she thinks it’s all her fault.”

“She blames herself?”

Dan nodded, his throat tight. “I don’t want it to be—a burden, an obligation.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“But she just—you know, just endures the act. And that makes me feel guilty, as if I’m too demanding and imposing.”

Dr. Welbourne leaned back in her chair, gazing thoughtfully at Dan. “She was a virgin at the time of your marriage?”

Dan nodded.

“But you, I take it, have had more experience? You know how to please a woman?”

With a rueful laugh, Dan confessed, “Yes, I think I know that, but to tell you the truth, I was only a little more experienced than Gala. I think I’d slept with a grand total of only three girls. None of them ever had, you know, Gala’s trouble. But the relationships were short, dead-end. I think I’m too boring for most women.”

“Because you’re not adventurous enough in bed?”

Dan shook his head. “No, just because I’m quiet and laid-back. I’m not adventurous in any aspect of life, really.”

“Tell me a little about your families.”

Dan shrugged and said, “Both of us came from fairly similar backgrounds. My father died when I was just five, and my mother was a religious fanatic, always preaching chastity and self-sacrifice. Gala’s parents both died when she was seven, and she grew up in a strict, religiously-oriented orphanage. When I met her, I learned that she’d never even been told the, uh, facts of life. I’d just been hurt when the girl I’d been seeing for two years found another man and broke up with me, very finally and very definitely. I thought someone gentler and less experienced like Gala, someone who—well, it seemed to me we could, you know, explore sexuality together. But she’s terribly inhibited. We’ve been married for a year, and I have never seen her completely naked, not once. The lights have to be off before she’ll disrobe.”

“But she does respond during lovemaking? I mean, she does show physical signs of arousal?”

Running a hand through his short brown hair, Dan said, “Physically, yes, after a fashion. I mean, she has the natural secretions and, you know, shows the outward signs of arousal. But she’s always so tense. She doesn’t think sex is clean, even between a married couple, and she thinks an orgasm is a sign that she’s, you know, a slut or something. She endures sex, Doctor, but she doesn’t enjoy it.”

“Or talk about it?”

“No. She gets too self-conscious and embarrassed. She won’t even say words like ‘penis’ or ‘vagina.’ She won’t even use euphemisms, like ‘your thing.’ But in every other way, she’s a good, loving wife.”

“So you believe you would both be happier if she learned to accept her own sexuality?” Dr. Welbourne asked.

“Yes. Yes, I do.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to hurt her and I don’t want to lose her. But I’m going crazy over this, Doctor.”

“Hm.” Dr. Welbourne leaned forward, reached for a yellow pad of sticky notes, and picked up a pen. She peered over her glasses at Dan. “Ordinarily, I’d recommend counseling for both of you, Mr. Fieldwell. However, there’s a chance that your wife’s excessive inhibitions regarding sex might be dealt within an easier way.” Her mouth quirked in a smile. “A less expensive one, too, in the long run.” She scribbled something on the pad, tore off the little sheet, and passed it to Dan. She had written the URL for a web site. “Try this first before we begin to think about long-term counseling. Take a look at this company. They make marital aids—”

Dan was already shaking his head. “Gala would never go for something like that, Doctor. She’d be physically repulsed, nauseated at the thought.”

Dr. Welbourne smiled. “Begin very gently and slowly,” she said. She went on to discuss some options. Although Dan took the slip of paper with him, and although he longed to believe that the doctor’s suggestions might just work, he had no faith in the proposed solution at all.

She had warned him that the web site was not safe for work, and so he waited until he was at home to check it out. Gala—God, she was a gorgeous woman, four years younger than he, curvy, a natural blonde, a really attractive face—had made dinner for them as usual. Afterward, she settled in with a book. She sat propped in bed in her usual prim attire—a long nightgown, covering everything from neck to ankles. “I’m going to be on the computer for a while,” he’d told her. “I want to do a little work.”

“Okay,” she said, immersed in her book, ironically a romance novel. She could only bear thinking about sex when it happened discreetly, off the page, to a cardboard-thin heroine and hero.

In his home office, Dan entered the URL and opened the web site of Sensutech. He blushed himself as he looked at the stock in trade—he had to admit that he himself was really extremely innocent, home-schooled through high school, then a student at a conservative denominational college that just happened to have a superior business department. He felt a morbid kind of interest in the different devices. And he felt frank surprise at the high prices. The site was not lubricious or lascivious; it was designed soberly, as if vibrators and scented oils were simply a routine matter of business. Dr. Welbourne had referred him to a specific page of the site. It was headed “For the Inhibited Lover.”

In disarmingly direct and simple language, the page recommended more than a dozen specific products especially designed to encourage a more natural, freer acceptance and enjoyment of sex. All of them were quite pricey. Still, compared to a year of therapy—

The four vibrators made Dan squirm. Three of them were extraordinarily lifelike representations of penises. Big penises. He didn’t want something that might make him feel inadequate! The fourth, though, was what Goldilocks might call “just right.” It had the shape of a man’s erect cock, down to the helmeted bulbous head, but it was smaller than the others and, unlike them, was not available in a range of realistic flesh colors, nor did it have the addition of a clit tickler, a chamber of rotating balls, or a representative of a bulging scrotum at the base. It was a translucent “Valentine red,” like a cherry lollipop. It was guaranteed to bring arousal and climax, or double his—Dan gulped—four hundred dollars back.

There was a lubricant spray, “Our Special Mixture,” that promised a gentle warming sensation and a tingling stimulation of a woman’s sensitive areas. Seventy dollars for an ounce. There were one or two other things that he added to his order. Then, reflecting that he probably would be returning all this crap for a refund, Dan typed in his name, work address, and credit card information—along with checking a box asking for “Discreet Packaging.".

And here it was. Dan went to his office door, put his “Out to Lunch” card in its frame, and then closed and locked the door. He opened the wooden box.

Well, they certainly packed their products carefully. The vibrator might have reposed in a jeweler’s box, gleaming a ruby-red against black satin. Dan picked it up—the first time he had ever touched one of the things—and to his surprise it was made of some soft gel substance that felt oddly warm. It took four AA cells, supplied. It had four speeds. It had six “response buttons.” And a small book of instructions.

The Ruby Vibe is equipped with Sensutech’s patented Resonator chip. When the vibrator is on and set at any of the speeds the user desires, apply the vibrator to an erogenous zone for increased pleasure and stimulation and the lowering of ordinary inhibitions.

Dan suppressed a grin. On the opposite page, a helpful diagram indicated that a woman’s erogenous zones included her vagina, the insides of her thighs, her belly button, her nipples, her neck—“pulse points”—and, well, her, um, rectum. Jesus! If he could just persuade Gala to relax and enjoy some plain old vanilla missionary-position sex, he’d be completely happy.

With the vibrator in contact with a chosen erogenous zone, press one or more of the response buttons in order to diminish resistance and inhibitions that interfere with enjoyment. The buttons are numbered 1-6, from the bottom to the top. Expect these responses:

1. Intensification of arousal.
2. Lowering of inhibitions.
3. Increase of urgency
4. Directness of response
5. Augmented orgasm (may be repeated as often as desired)
6. DO NOT USE IF YOU ARE ALONE. Enthrallment (temporary surrender of volition)

WARNING: Effects of button 6 may become permanent when used in combination with buttons 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5. BUTTON 6 IS INTENDED FOR USE ONLY WHEN A PARTNER IS PRESENT. If desired, this button may be disabled by following this procedure . . . .

Hmm. No sense in disabling it before he even tried it.

In the case along with the vibrator were a bottle of cleanser, the spray bottle of lubricant, a similar spray bottle of “Arousal Assistant,” which was supposed to increase a woman’s sensitivity when applied to, yes, those erogenous zones.

Dan took a deep breath, replaced everything in the case, and then put the box in his bottom desk drawer. Which he locked.

He wondered if he’d even have the nerve to try any of it.

2. Lunch with the Girls

Gala—what mother names her daughter “Galatea”?—sat with the other girls of the Friday Group and wondered why she was so different. Friday was the regular lunch and gossip day for the little club of six. They were all very similar in a way: All married (except for Jane), all part-time workers in the upscale Versailles Mall (Gala at Barton’s Books, Jane and Diane at Luxury Lingerie, Sarah and Louise at Dufayel Antiques, and Veronica at Rimbaud’s Cards and Gifts), all pretty girls in their twenties, and all relatively subdued and quiet—for most of the week, at any rate.

Except on a thank-God-it’s-Friday afternoon. They met in the mall, after they had all finished their retail stints by noon—not for them the hectic weekends! They worked more for enjoyment and pin money than necessity, and they did not want to throw themselves into Retail Hell. As usual, they had no desire at all to dine in the mall’s food court. Instead they piled into two cars and drove six miles to the Garden View, a little place atop a hill overlooking the river that wound along the city’s west side. They had discovered the restaurant months before. It offered comfortable seating, a lovely view of, yes, a garden (sadly browning on this first Friday in November, but still pleasingly landscaped), and delicious, light fare. Jane, the wild one, ordered a Tequila Sunrise despite the early hour. Veronica, Sarah, and Diane chose white wine. After mulling the alternatives over for a good ten minutes, chronically uncertain Louise chose a French Kiss, an amaretto-and-cognac concoction. Gala asked for her usual sparkling water. “With lime?” the waiter asked. No, thank you, just plain.

Over salads, they spoke of the week gone by. Each of them worked from twenty (Gala) to thirty (Sarah, Louise, and Veronica) hours a week, for minuscule wages. However, they all agreed, they weren’t in it for the money.

“I have to get out of the house,” Veronica murmured. “I swear, Harry has spoiled me. The maid and cook do everything that I could possibly do in the house.”

“Except Harry,” Diane put in impishly.

Veronica laughed her fine, belling laugh. “Except Harry!” she echoed. “Exactly! That’s why the maid is fifty and the cook is fifty-seven!”

“Look at Gala,” Sarah said, chuckling. “She’s blushing!”

Jane patted Gala’s hand. “She’s shy, you know that,” she said reproachfully in her husky voice. “That’s all right, honey. Just because these gals want to talk slutty doesn’t mean you have to!”

“Hey,” Veronica objected good-naturedly. “Don’t call me a slut! I’m a one-man girl.” She held her hands up, nine inches apart. “And in Harry’s case, one man is plenty!”

Gala almost choked on her salad. She felt, well, dirty, hearing Veronica’s earthy comments. Still, she found such talk strangely exciting. At times she almost wished—almost—that she could be as open and good-naturedly bawdy about her relationship with Dan as the other married girls were about their husbands. And Jane about her, um, love partners. Because Jane was, you know, um . . . deviant. Even when she thought the word, it was as though Gala had dropped her mental voice to a whisper. And yes, she knew that “deviant” was a most un-PC term, that she really should think of Jane as a les—a les—you know. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word even in the ultimate privacy of her mind.

How strange it must be to make love to another woman. How appalling it must be to . . . taste . . . another girl’s . . . it must be even worse than letting Dan put his, his, than letting Dan lie on her and make love to her. Along with these thoughts, Gala felt an instant flood of guilt. She wanted Dan to be happy, and yet the sisters had told her, had drilled into her over and over, that any carnal feelings were wrong, were dirty and sinful and shameful and she had to suppress them. She felt so torn.

The conversation had turned to the goofy things customers had done or asked for in the previous week, and as always, there were a lot. As Veronica had observed more than once, “Working at a rich person’s mall doesn’t mean you don’t get customers who are assholes. They’re just rich assholes!”

This time Gala had a story to contribute: “On Wednesday afternoon, a college girl came in and wanted a book on her reading list, all right? She told me she needed Moby Dick by Ernest Hemingway.”

“Ernest Hemingway didn’t write Moby Dick,” Jane pointed out.

“I know, I know,” Gala said, waving her hand. “So I asked her if she wanted Moby Dick by Herman Melville or The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway. She said she didn’t know which one the professor had assigned, but the book she wanted was about a whale or a fish or something. Well, of course one’s about a whale and the other’s about a fish, right? So I finally sold her both and told her to bring back the one she didn’t want!”

“Maybe,” suggested Louise impishly, “she wanted The Old Man and the Dick.“

They all squealed and giggled, except for Gala, who was staring at her plate and feeling wicked because she wanted so badly to laugh along with them, despite the burning feeling in both of her cheeks.

“Look what I got here, darlin’. I call the little fella ‘Ishmael,’” Diane said in an attempt at a baritone.

“Aye,” said Sarah in a horrible piratey accent. “An’ when I makes port, a gal will come round, I whips Ishmael out, the lady takes one look an’ drops to her knees, aye, so she does, and—Thar she blows!”

Veronica was laughing so hard she pounded the table. “Maybe I should call Harry’s moby dick ‘Ishmael,’” she gasped. “He loves it when I blow him! And he really spouts!”

“Aye,” Sarah said again. “Cap’n Veronica’s gone down many a time—but never with the ship!”

Louise wrinkled her nose. “If I could just get Carl to associate taking a shower with a round of hot oral sex, I wouldn’t mind giving him a thrill more often. But bleah, he usually tastes like pee!”

“’Tis nothin’ but the tang o’ the sea,” said the relentless Sarah. “Arrrhhh.”

Oh, it was all so naughty of them all! Gala felt tears brimming in her eyes and a burning sense of shame in her chest. It was so bad of them to talk this way.

She wished she had the nerve to join in.

But if she began to talk of Dan making love to her—her lying on the bed in the dark, hands clenched on the sheets, him on top of her, pressing inside her—and then the shameful feelings beginning, the dirty pleasure that she had to fight against, had to keep down—if she had to make a joke about that—

She knew she’d just break down and cry.

3. Assisted Arousal

That evening, Dan showered first. When Gala took over the bathroom, he smuggled the box into the bedroom and took out the spray bottles and the vibrator. He concealed the vibe beneath his pillow, and he put the two small bottles on his bedside table, half concealed by the lamp base. He heard Gala brushing her teeth, and then the light in the bathroom went out and in the darkness Gala came to bed, navigating by feel and memory. The mattress sagged a little as she climbed in next to Dan. He reached out and felt the silky material of one of her long, long nightgowns. “Tired?” he asked.

“Sort of,” she confessed. “I’m glad we’ve got the weekend ahead of us.”

He rolled on his side and put his hand on the gentle swell of her stomach. He felt her cringe a little, and he felt like some kind of monster, lascivious and bestial. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” she whispered back. Always whispers with her—whispers or resigned, stony silence, which was even worse. He kissed her, and as always, she kept her lips together, though he could taste the mint of her toothpaste on them.

He gently rolled her toward him and they cuddled, she pressed against him, he following the curve of her lovely back with the palm of his hand, long, slow caresses. She lay almost stiff as though anticipating the worst. “We won’t if you don’t feel like it,” he said softly.

“No, I know you want to,” she said.

He knew she meant, but would not say, that she felt his erection. Not with her hand—no, she’d never touched him there with her fingers, not even once—but she could feel its bulge, he knew, against her lower stomach.

He reached behind him with his left hand and located the tiny spray bottle of Arousal Assistant—he had placed it closer to the bed than the other one—and raised on his left elbow to kiss and nibble at her neck just beneath her ear. She didn’t loosen up, not one bit. He pulled back and quickly depressed the pump cap once. He smelled a pleasant, light aroma, like some exotic spice, and Gala stiffened. “What was that?”

“It’s a little aroma-therapy thing,” he said. “Is it unpleasant?”

She sniffed. “No, it smells nice. It just felt sort of weird. Tingly.” She sighed. “But nice. I like it.”

He bent to kiss her again. Were her responses a tad less reluctant? Were her lips more pliant, more welcoming, though still chastely shy? He couldn’t really tell. He thought so, but all that might just be the result of his imagination, hopeful to the end.

After ten minutes of nuzzling and caressing, he began to pull her nightgown up. She raised her bottom to help him. When he had the hem raised to just beneath her wonderful breasts, Dan paused. He shifted positions, taking advantage of the movement to spray his fingertips with the Arousal Assistant. He reached beneath the fabric and caressed her breasts, first one, then the other, lingering on the palpable nipples. Gala was breathing harder now, he was sure of it, and beneath his gentle fingertips, he felt her nipples react, swelling, pointing. “That’s nice,” she murmured. “That feels nice.”

“Try to relax,” Dan said. “Let me do the work.”

“Mm. Don’t—don’t go fast, Dan. Slow. Really slow.”

“All right, darling. I’ll go slowly.”

To his utter delight, after a few seconds of his caressing and tweaking her nipples, Gala suddenly sat up in bed and pulled the nightgown off over her head. “I feel dirty,” she confessed in a little-girl voice. “But it’s so nice when you touch me.”

“It isn’t dirty,” Dan assured her. “This is right, this is natural.”

And yet he surreptitiously misted both of her breasts with the spray. It made her skin feel wonderful beneath his fondling palms, silky, so smooth, so round and soft, and the hard nipples thrusting from those beautiful breasts were exciting, stiff with pleasure and arousal. Damn, he thought, the stuff worked. “Kiss them,” whispered Gala.

She had never once made such a direct request. Dan obliged, pressing his lips against her breasts, suckling her nipples. The misted spray gave them a tingling taste. He wondered if the stuff worked on men, too. He certainly felt outrageously aroused, his penis stiff and straining. Slyly, Dan slipped lower in the bed, gliding his tongue over Gala’s belly, probing her navel, loving the girl-taste, fresh and clean, of her. Gala obviously still felt some reluctance: her thighs were close together. As his tongue teased the quivering flesh just above Gala’s pubic patch, his gentle fingers urged her legs to part. She opened herself, very tentatively. Dan found the spray bottle and misted her vagina.

“Oh,” she whispered at once. “That tingles.”

“You taste good,” Dan told her. He touched her slit. She tightened for a second, then relaxed. He gave her another little shot of the spray and then with a moistened fingertip he began to stroke her, from the top down and back, slowly, so slowly. She moaned a little. And then—wonder of wonders—she actually bent her leg and opened completely to his fingers. He found her dripping wet. Being so close, smelling her own fragrance, he could not resist kissing her opening. Again she clenched, momentarily, but then she relaxed again, and he probed with an eager tongue.

“Let’s do it,” Gala gasped.

Dan reflected that he wouldn’t be able to try the Ruby Vibe—but he was so horny that he couldn’t even think of not doing as Gala asked. He settled himself between her legs and pressed the head of his penis against her opening. He glided right inside, into her hot, slippery depths, and to his utter delight, he felt her hands on his ass cheeks, pulling him tighter, fitting him deeper. He began to fuck her slowly, so slowly, with long, languorous strokes. God, he wouldn’t be able to hold back! He could feel himself rising to the edge of coming, too soon, too soon—but beneath him Gala was moving, her hips following his rhythm in a way she’d never done before. She clenched her hands in his butt muscles, and then—oh, God! She actually wrapped her legs around his!

“I can’t hold back,” he groaned.

And then he felt the spasm and rush of release. Despite his desire to please her, he felt his penis softening inside her, shrinking, slipping from within her. He rolled off and pulled her to him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, Gala. I couldn’t help it.”

“It felt nice,” she said, her scented breath hot on his cheek. “Don’t worry. It felt so nice. I’m glad you—I’m glad it was good for you. We can do it again tomorrow night. I don’t mind, really. It felt so nice this time. I love the aroma-therapy spray. It’s so relaxing.”

He felt her hand on his chest. Hesitantly, like a timid animal, it slipped lower and lower—she wouldn’t—yes, she was touching his cock! Her fingers brushed its sticky, flaccid surface. “I loved having it inside me this time,” she whispered. “We’ll get better, darling. I loved this time. I love you.”

“I love you,” he responded, dazed but ecstatic.

They lay together, went to sleep together, and the next morning when Dan woke up, he at first had the hazy impression that what had happened the night before had been nothing more than a dream. But there lay Gala, beneath the sheet, and when he lifted the corner and looked at her, she was naked, slender back and deliciously rounded ass. He got up very quietly, gathered the vibrator and the two spray bottles, put them in the case, and put the case in his closet, under a pair of shoes. Then he tiptoed out into the hall and used the guest bathroom for his shower. He raided the laundry room for undershorts, jeans, T-shirt, and slacks, and then went to the kitchen. It was immaculate.

He messed it up a bit, but by the time he had made pecan pancakes, sausage links, and piping hot coffee he thought Gala might forgive him. He loaded a tray and carefully carried it up to the bedroom. After kneeing the door open, he came in quietly and said, “Here you go, honey.”

“Mm?” Gala rolled over and opened sleepy eyes. “Oh, Dan! You shouldn’t have—” she sat up, the sheet fell away revealing her lovely breasts, and she squealed in dismay. “Oh, my! I—Dan, get out, please! Don’t look at me!”

He chuckled. “After last night?”

Her blue eyes pleaded with him, and he said, “Okay. Your gown should be beside the bed. Call me in when you’re—he choked off the word decent and instead said “ready.”

It took nearly a whole minute before Gala said in a small voice, “You can come in.”

He brought the tray. She sat up in bed, propped on a stack of pillows, and she wore the unflattering long gown. Gala wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said in a tiny voice.

“Not a problem.” He set the tray on her lap. “I hope it’s good.”

“That’s too much food for me.”

“I thought we’d share. Two cups of coffee, see? Two forks.”

“Okay.”

They ate together, and Gala said, “It’s good. Thank you, darling.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I—I’m sorry about being upset. I know most wives don’t mind, you know, letting their husbands look at them that way. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “Last night was wonderful.”

She nodded but didn’t speak or meet his gaze.

Well, Dan thought, one thing was for sure: the effects of Arousal Assistant sure weren’t permanent.

4. Button 1, Button 2

Dan and Gala spent a long, slow Saturday with each other. That morning they went shopping; then they had lunch out; and in the afternoon they caught an early movie, a romantic comedy. In the evening Dan took her to a candle-lit French restaurant, where they ate delicious food in tiny portions. He even talked her into one very small glass of champagne afterward. It was the first champagne she had ever tasted, and though unfamiliar, the wine gave her an adventurous sense of breaking boundaries. She kept smiling at Dan in what she knew was a provocative way. Still, they were married. It was permitted. Husbands and wives . . . slept together.

Sitting beside him on the way home, she rubbed his neck as he drove.

And so to bed . . . .

Gala had expected (hoped for) the spray again. She quivered with anticipation, in fact. Naked in the dark, she lay on her side, ready for the exciting spritz that would make her nipples feel hard and pulsing, that would give her a full-body shiver of excitement. She wanted to ask for it—but she didn’t dare to ask for it. That would be dirty, slutty. She whispered, “I liked . . . what we did last night, darling. I liked it a lot.”

He chuckled. “So did I. Let’s try it again, shall we?”

“Yes. . . . .”

She felt the cool mist on her nipples, and instantly felt them both tighten and tauten. “That’s good,” she whispered, not even sure that Dan could hear her. “That feels nice.” Then she caught a puzzling buzz, a low-pitched hum. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Shh,” Dan said. “Just lie still and see if you don’t like this.”

Something soft touched her right nipple, something quivering, something that exploded the tingling feelings inside her into sensations wild and overwhelming. She arched her back and groaned. “What—what is—?”

“It’s a vibrator,” Dan said. “Do you like it?”

“I—oh, it’s—Dan, please stop. Don’t do this to me, this is dirty, this is wrong!”

He laughed, a low, reassuring sound. “No, it isn’t. It’s a way to make our love-making feel better for you, a way to make you let go of your fears and your worries.”

She writhed. “Mnngg,” she heard herself moan. Oh, it did feel good, but—but—she whimpered, “Dan, it’s dirty!”

“Shh. See what this does.”

She heard an almost inaudible click, and then her whole being focused on the maddening stimulation pressing in against her eager, erect nipple. It felt blindingly good, it made her greedy for more, more, more. Twitching, moaning, she began to pant for breath. She had never felt anything like this, had never imagined that she could feel it. Heat blossomed deep within her, and she felt her, her—her pussy, call it what the girls called it, be honest—her pussy, yes, her very own pussy, practically gush with her juices.

“How’s that?” crooned Dan.

Gala could hardly recognize her own breathy, avid voice: “It’s—it’s good, it’s—oh, God, it’s so good!”

“Want me to make it even better?”

Gala couldn’t even reply. Nothing could be better than this. Dan teased her breasts (no! No, her tits), touching one nipple with the soft, buzzing tip, then tracing the downslope mound of that breast, the upslope mound of the other, exciting both of her nipples until she wanted to thrash and mewl. She felt juices moistening the inside of her thighs, she was so wet, God, so ready! But she wanted the humming foreplay to go on, wanted to be kept hanging on the brink, anticipating the smooth slippery entry of—of his—yes, his cock into her pussy! Wanted to savor it, wanted to prolong the moment.

And then—ah, Dan laid the shaft between her breasts, and before Gala knew what she was about, she had cupped her hands over her—her tits—her boobs, and had pressed her flesh around the humming vibrator, trapping it, feeling its steady thrum, and oh, God, it was so good! She whimpered when Dan moved the vibrator, but he traced it down, over the swell of her stomach, and she knew where he was heading with it, and despite herself she opened her damp legs for him, too hot to care that what he was going to do was filthy, was degenerate, was—

“Get ready,” she heard him say, and there was a second small click as if he had pressed yet another button.

The rounded, soft tip of the gel vibrator parted her nether lips, brushed with subtle casualness against her clit. Gala could feel her hips beginning to move, involuntarily pumping, as if her pussy wanted to—to take that buzzing shaft inside it. But that was wrong, that was unnatural.

“Dan,” she croaked in a throaty voice now quite unlike her normal tone, “Dan, please, please—”

“What?” he asked, and his voice was husky with excitement.

Gala tried to press her lips together but couldn’t help speaking, couldn’t stop the dirty, shameful words that burst out: “Stick it in my pussy, Dan! I want to feel it in my pussy! Please!”

She felt him move in the bed, and then a mist of spray on her, on her spread vagina, yes, on her pussy! Her eager, dripping pussy! And the vibrating round head parted the lips and it glided inside, all the way inside her, buzzing like crazy. She thrashed and dimly realized through her burgeoning urgency that Dan had reversed his position in bed. She reached out and with trembling fingertips she felt his penis—his cock, his dick!—and she cuddled it, gripped it, felt its swell and throb within the circle of her fingers. Oh, it was so silly to think that mere words could be ugly, that it was better to call it Dan’s thing rather than his cock!

“I—I love your cock,” she panted, almost managing not to drop her voice to a murmur on the last, deliciously filthy word. “I love it, Dan!”

“I love your pussy,” he said, and she felt a hot flash throughout her body. It was silly and unreasonable, but dirty talk suddenly excited her, stimulated her almost as much as the intruding vibrator. She couldn’t think in terms of right and wrong, could hardly think at all. Gala seemed to have become a being who felt intensely but could not use her mind or her judgment, and at the moment feeling was more than enough for her.

“Dan, I—I feel so odd, I feel—” she had to break off, gasping, shuddering, jerking, twitching, feeling as though something hot and wonderful had exploded within her. She was bouncing her ass on the bed, greedily trying to impale herself even farther on the vibrator, and she heard herself squealing like an animal. “Stop, please, now, I can’t stand it!”

She felt the buzzing of the vibrator die all at once, felt the gel cylinder withdrawing from her pulsating slit. “Did I hurt you?”

She could hardly speak through her tremulous indrawn breaths. “No, no, it was wonderful. Dan, I think I—I came!”

“I hope it was good for you.”

“It was wonderful, it was—oh. Oh. You didn’t—Dan, I’m so sorry.”

“Hush,” he said gently. “This was your first time. This one was just for you.”

“No, that would make it wrong. I want you to be—I want to—” she swallowed, then reached over and switched on the lamp.

Dan blinked at her in surprise. She gave him a wicked grin. “I want to see your cock,” she confessed in hardly more than a naughty confessional whisper. “I want to look at your dick up close.”

“Be my guest!” He rolled on his back, his mast stiff and proudly erect, and she lay reversed next to him with her head pillowed on his thigh, drinking in the sight of his penis. It was wonderful, springy and rigid, curved slightly, emerging like a tower from the dark brush of his pubic hair. The shaft was crowned with a taut plum-colored head that had a small slit in it, a slit on which glistened one clear drop of liquid. She stroked the shaft, using just the pads of her fingers, admiring its surface, the glistening sheen of the head. “I love it, Dan.” She leaned closer and could smell the steely tang of him. “Oh, Dan, I love the texture of it, the scent of it.” She cupped her hand around Dan’s taut rod, drew it to her face, and rubbed her soft cheek against the shaft up and down. She could feel Dan quivering. “Do I look—all right?” she asked. “Down—down there, I mean? My—” she gulped—“my pussy?” Shyly, she raised one knee, opening herself to his inspection.

“You’re beautiful,” Dan said. “You look like a gorgeous pink orchid.” He squirmed around and said, “I’ll show you how beautiful you are.”

She felt his hot breath on her thighs. Was he going to—Jane had talked about doing this with girls, and the other wives had said their husbands—oh, there was his tongue, there it was, and she had to open herself all the way for him, spread her thighs for him. She felt as if inside she were made of nothing more substantial than quivering jelly. Oh, God, it was good, even softer than the vibrator, slower and more slippery. And hot, so hot, burning, setting her aflame. Blushing at her own temerity, Gala ventured to kiss the shaft of his cock, tentatively, even though he was lapping her cunt, thrusting his tongue deep inside her, working her up to another shattering release. Gala licked her lips, but the great purple head of his cock simply looked too big to take in, and the thought, well, the thought revolted her.

And she heard herself whisper, “Don’t just eat me. Fuck me, Dan. Fuck me now!”

Oh, God, she was turning into a whore!

He rolled onto his back again and said, “This time you get on top. I want to watch you while we fuck!”

“Should I?” She cringed. The idea was so alien—her mother had told her very little about sex, but one thing she clearly remembered was that “The man gets on top of you and that’s how the two of you make babies.” “Dan, that’s so perverted!”

“N o it isn’t. We’re married, you goose. Come on, it’s all good,” he assured her. “Just like it was good for you when you came. I love to look at you naked, darling. Get on top of me and let me watch you while I fuck you.”

Feeling a compulsion to do as he asked, to repay him for her wonderful, treasured orgasm, Gala rose on her knees, delicately straddled him as he held his rod still for her, and then in final lewd abandonment she plunged down on it, taking his cock inside her, engulfing him in her hot, hot depths. “Do you like me?” she asked, her face aflame but a smile on her lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. He reached and pulled her forward so he could play with her tits. She squirmed with excitement, feeling the hard press of her nipples against his teasing fingers. “I love it when you’re like this.”

He had sneakily grasped the vibrator and turned it on again. “Lean back,” he said. She did, taking the weight on her hands outstretched behind her, and she saw the candy-colored vibrator for the first time. It looked cute, not disgusting! She trembled as the round vibrating tip bored in to touch her clit.

“Oh, yes!” She shivered, rotated her hips, squeezed her pussy around Dan’s cock, tight, so tight. Oh, sitting on him like this really filled her up, made him seem even larger and more magnificent than she’d first thought. “Oh, God, yes!” She looked at Dan with hot eyes. “I’m gonna fuck you, baby. I’m gonna fuck you so good! I want to feel all your hot cum shoot out inside me!”

And fuck him she did, with a complex flexing of her stomach muscles, done while raising herself up and then lowering herself down his shaft again. Gala might have been doing the world’s sexiest belly dance, and Dan moaned as she ground her pubis down hard on him. She felt her tight pussy clench on Dan’s stiff erection, and she fleetingly wondered how they looked joined together, with her pussy moving up and down his inflexible shaft. “Yeah,” she groaned. “Rub the vibrator on my clit, Dan! Make me come!”

He told her when to show down, when to speed up, and he somehow held off until she had experienced yet another yipping, thrashing, gasping orgasm before he himself bucked and plunged in the spasm of relief. She came again feeling the jets of his cum spurt deep within her, more than she could contain. She reached behind herself and caressed his balls, now sticky with leakage. “Pretty good fuck, huh?” she asked with a wicked grin.

“Best fuck of my life,” Dan said in an awed, hushed voice.

They slept cuddled together that night, and in the morning she did not bother to put on the nightgown. They showered together, and although in the cold light of day Gala could not bring herself to say things like “cock” and “pussy,” she soaped him up and ran her hands over every inch of him, and she allowed him the same freedom with her own body. “It seems dumb that I didn’t want you to look at me,” she confessed as they toweled each other dry. “I’m sorry, darling.”

“That’s okay,” Dan said.

“I didn’t know how good f—making love could be.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

But she felt a dull deadness inside. Already their actions of the night before had begun to seem degraded, debauched, and sinful. Already she felt her uncertainties and inhibitions coming back to restrain her. There were things, her little-girl conscience told her, that a nice girl simply did not do. One was flaunting her body, even in front of her own husband. Another was using foul language, dirty talk, like—like the c and p words. She saw herself as a hopelessly lost soul, abandoned by all the forces of good in the universe, left a slave to her own unkempt desures.

But she didn’t say a word of that to Dan.

Maybe, she thought, with time she could get the better of herself. Maybe she could, eventually, be a good wife to Dan, the kind he deserved. Maybe one day she could f—make love and not regret it. She hoped that day would come. Soon.

5. Urgency. Response. Orgasm.

Gala had thought that surely Dan had had enough of sex on Saturday night to last him for the rest of the week, but Sunday afternoon he began to hint again, to hug her and kiss her on the cheek. She begged off with the excuse of a headache—though as soon as the words escaped her she regretted lying to him almost as much as she yearned to fall in bed with him and do those, those evil things. Those things that felt so good and that therefore had to be wrong.

And she continued to put him off on Monday and Tuesday, with the perfectly valid excuse of a bad bout of PMS. Her menses began on Wednesday (at the bookstore; she had to ask for time to make a quick trip to the pharmacy, it wasn’t like her to be so unprepared, so preoccupied), and that kept her from having to make excuses for the rest of the week. During slow moments in the store, Gala began to read books on, well, on human sexuality. Some of them were . . . graphic. With dreadful pictures that she found fascinating. And some of them described acts she would never, ever perform, not even with Dan, not even if he used that terrible, wonderful vibrator on her. Nothing could persuade her to—though the woman in the drawings looked as if she loved every second of it.

Friday rolled around again, and the informal girls’ club met once more for lunch, this time in a tony little pasta restaurant. From a complex menu, you chose first the type of pasta you wanted, then the sauce, then the sides. The weather had turned cool, and all the girls seemed pleased with the heartier fare. They had frequented this restaurant for ages, and the owner himself greeted them effusively and showed them to a back nook with a real fireplace in which a crackling fire leaped and blazed, a place where they had considerable privacy. They ordered red wine, and lots of it. Midway through the meal, Veronica asked, “Don’t you feel well, Gala?”

“Hm? Got my period,” she said, pulling a long face, and the others gave her tuts of sympathy.

She let herself be talked into a glass of wine—“I’m Italian, I know these things, trust me, it’s like a tonic,” Veronica insisted.. As usual, the others were full of crude humor and bawdy badinage about their husbands. Sarah, usually one of the marginally more reticent, said that her husband had revealed that he cherished a secret fetish not long ago and was after her to dress up in a cat suit.

Gala frowned slightly. “A cat suit? You mean with a tail and ears and, and whiskers?”

They all laughed at her. No, not furry, Louise explained. Diane cocked an eyebrow and put in, “Furry is quite a different fetish, my dear!”

Louise went on: “It’s a tight-fitting—I mean skin-tight—suit made out of latex. Black is popular, and so is red. It’s shiny, sort of like wearing a condom over your whole body. And if a big-busted girl like Sarah put one on, nothing would be left to the imagination. You can see everything.”

“It’s like being more naked than naked,” Jane added. “I wore one when I used to dance. God, it was hot. I don’t mean sexy hot—I mean hot hot!”

“I thought men preferred, you know—nudity,” Gala said.

Veronica shrugged. “Well, dear, in the right setting and at the right time, a little dress-up makes things more spicy, if you know what I mean.”

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the sense that the other girls looked at her with something not far removed from pity. Maybe it was just that she was three days into her period. Gala said quietly, “Dan and I fucked four times last weekend.”

The others froze, darting glances first at each other, then at Gala. Jane said, “I think you’ve had enough wine, Gala. Stick to water for the rest of the meal.”

Gala felt her cheeks flaming. “Oh! I meant to say we made love,” she whispered. “Not that bad word.”

Louise smiled at her. “How nice for you. I hope Dan knows what he’s doing.”

“He used a—a vibrator,” Gala murmured. “Is that—is that like a fetish?”

Veronica gave her surprising bawdy bray of a laugh. “That’s more like my fetish!” she said. “I got Harry to buy me one of those Sensutech vibes, and it blows my mind!”

“Oh, yeah, they’re the best,” Sarah agreed. “They cost a house payment, but they’re worth every penny. God, my Silver Slider makes an orgasm last like forever!”

“They make strap-ons, too,” Jane said casually. “I’ve got three or four.”

They looked at her.

“What? Did you think lesbians only ate each other out?” she asked with a chuckle. “I like to screw around with my dates!”

“What’s a strap-on?” Gala asked, fascinated.

Jane described one, with gestures. Gala pushed her plate away. She was rapidly losing her appetite.

Louise, perhaps more perceptive than the others, said, “Gala, are we upsetting you with all this explicit stuff?”

“Well,” Gala muttered in a low voice, “it’s very dirty, isn’t it? Things like that. People shouldn’t do them.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Veronica said brusquely. “If it feels good, how bad could it be? Harry and I have done just about everything you can, every way you can, and it’s always good.” She raised her glass toward Jane, as though in a toast. “I’ve never been on the receiving end of a strap-on, but, hey, I’d be game! And I bet Harry would just love to watch!”

Jane lifted her glass too. “That’s tempting,” she said with a smile. “But Veronica, you’re not my type.”

“Brunette?” Veronica asked.

“Heterosexual,” Jane replied.

“Two girls and only one man?” Gala asked.

Sarah shook her head. “Poor little innocent,” she said. “Gala, if you were to go out into the restaurant and ask every guy out there if he’d rather sleep with one girl or two at one time, the response would be a hundred per cent in favor of two at once!”

“Very common male fantasy,” agreed Jane. “Of course, some men regard lesbians as just entertainment, too. They think girl-on-girl action is hot, you know, put some spring into their poor limp dicks. Or they think they’ll watch us make out, then bring their hot hard dicks to the party and screw us once and make us turn strait. So far, it hasn’t happened.”

They let the subject slip, and somehow Gala got through the rest of lunch. On the long drive home, she wrestled with her own feelings. The thing to do, she thought, was to find the vibrator and the spray bottles and throw everything away. Get rid of temptation, once and for all. Make it impossible for Dan to lead her into

bed

into temptation again. Because it was wrong, it was dirty, it was

so wonderful

degrading and sinful.

She did not, quite, persuade herself to get rid of the box of naughty things. She got as far as the kitchen waste bin, and then opened the box and stared at the red vibrator and the two spray bottles nested in their black-satin base. Then she closed the box, returned it to the bedroom, and lay on the bed cursing her weakness. Her need.

Because of her period, she and Dan did not make love that weekend (though by Sunday her flow was over and it was really only an excuse). The next week began cold and clear, and Dan became very busy at work, so that Monday and Tuesday he returned home exhausted, too tired to make a move. On Wednesday Gala put in her five hours at the book shop, nine to two, and returned home by three. She knew that Dan would not be back until six.

Maybe she should toss those things after all. As time had gone on, she had begun to feel, more and more, that what Dan wanted her to do, made her do, was unforgivable and immoral. Maybe without the sex toy she could repent, could recover, she thought.

She took the box from the top of Dan’s bedside table and stood in the semidarkness of their bedroom holding it, feeling its weight. She opened it again. The red translucent vibrator gleamed like a ruby. Gala picked it up, hating its soft, insidious texture. Dan’s own cock—penis—had felt so springy, so firm and pliant, pressed against her cheek. This . . . thing was cold and clammy by comparison, too smooth, not firm enough. And yet.

And yet . . . holding the box in her left hand, Gala stroked the vibrator shaft with the tips of her right fingers, and it felt curiously warm. Almost alive.

She put the box back on the table and took the vibrator out. For the first time she studied it: the round base, the speed control, the six buttons. What were they for? She turned the vibrator on its lowest setting. It purred in her hand. She felt no effect, though. No emotion other than loathing for the mechanical, artificial thing. She pressed the first button. Nothing happened. She pressed the second, and the first stayed down. The third, the fourth. Nothing. What were these things supposed to do? She pressed the fifth.

As far as Gala could tell, the buttons had no result at all. With only the sixth unpressed, she circled her fingers around the vibrator shaft. She felt the vibration, but nothing else. The humming shaft gleamed in the dusky light of the bedroom. Experimentally, Gala placed the shaft against her cheek. It was nothing like Dan’s living, warm penis, nothing at all like that. Just lifeless plastic.

She had . . . had kissed Dan’s thing. She chastely pecked at the vibrator with pursed lips.

And felt something electric.

“Oh!” Coursing into her body through her lips was a flood of sensation. She felt heat in her pussy, felt her nipples straining against her bra. She hardly knew what she was doing—she opened her lips to the tip of the vibrator. She was sucking on it! It was wicked, it was awful, she loved it!

Gasping, writhing, Gala sprang from the bed and tore at her clothing, literally ripped off her blouse, skirt, and bra—shredded her pantyhose, fell back on the bed—“Oh, fuck!” she groaned. She was aroused beyond anything she had thought possible. She grabbed the vibrator and pressed it against first her right nipple, then her left. Before her eyes they darkened and stiffened, protruding lewdly far beyond what she had thought possible—and they tingled, they felt hot, so hot. Absurdly, she wished Dan, anybody, was there to suckle them, to draw them into a hot mouth, lash them with a wet, soft tongue.

She was overflowing. With one movement she lowered the vibrator to her slit and plunged it in. She felt wild, unleashed. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” she crooned. Why had she thought this dirty? It was marvelous, it was what she was made for! She could fuck all night! She imagined Dan’s cum spurting hot into her, imagined taking his cock, yes his throbbing hard cock, into her mouth, sucking it, exciting him so that he shot his load into her mouth, and yes she would swallow it, and if he wanted he could fuck her in the ass, she would be like a bitch for him—

Her orgasm lifted her off the bed. She tumbled to the floor, heels drumming, raw gasps bursting from deep within her. She lost the vibrator, hammered on the floor with her fists, screaming, “Yes! God, yes!”

For the first time she understood that odd French term for orgasm, la petite mort, “the little death.” Something inside her had perished, and she had felt for an instant as if she had left the earth, literally had experienced an ecstasy, an absence of the soul. She lay covered in sweat, her chest heaving, the breath rasping in her throat. “Oh, fuck yes,” she murmured. “Oh, I want a cock!”

Still feeling week, she got to her knees, nude, leaning against the bed. There was the vibe, on the floor. She would need to clean it. Gala reached for it, picked it up—and before she planned it, before she even knew what she was about to do, she had reached awkwardly behind herself and had impaled herself again on the vibrating ruby shaft. She took it from behind, kneeling as though in prayer, her tits touching the mattress, and she imagined Dan behind her, grasping her thighs, thrusting into her depths, ah, she would feel his balls bouncing on her thighs, yes, and he would reach around and tweak her nipples, so nice, and she would reach down like this, and her fingers would find her clit, like this—“Oh, God, fuck me, fuck me like a dog!”

To be fucked from behind. And to suck another man off at the same time. And a finger in her ass, yes! To be full, to be utterly, completely full of man’s flesh! To be the center of a crowd, every man, every—yes, every woman eager to touch her, taste her, take her! Mouths at her slit, sucking on her tits, her mouth full of swollen cock, cocks in her hand, hot cum spurting in her, on her—rubber cat suit tight on her, holes for he ass and pussy, that would be so goddam hot!

Another orgasm shot through her, reducing her to a quivering, whimpering mass of flesh. So good, so goddam good.

But, a voice told her in the back of her mind, this was not what she had planned to do. She had been planning to get rid of the damn thing.

No.

No, this was too good, too sweet, she couldn’t do it!

But she would wear herself out.

Gala dragged herself onto her bed. I won’t do this again. I’ll put the vibrator up. I have to. I can’t keep coming like this!

But she had it in her mouth again, tasting her pussy on it, and it tasted good, and the delicious waves of pleasure came right through her tongue and into her brain. She sucked and sucked and then felt something break down, something leave her forever. What was it? She thrust the vibrator deeper into her mouth, deep, deep, all the way into her throat!

The vibrator had somehow erased her gag reflex!

She deep-throated it, pretending it was Dan’s cock. She could picture him in her imagination, thrusting his long dick into her mouth, into her throat. He would be so surprised. He would be so happy! She had an orgasm just from that.

It was already dark when Dan parked in the garage and before he got to the kitchen door, it flew open. A nude, shivering Gala grabbed him, kissed him,and dragged him inside. “Fuck me,” she pleaded urgently. “Here. Now!” She was tearing at his belt.

“Gala, what—”

But she was too insistent to ignore. He shed his clothes—before he had his pants fully off, she was kneeling, and—oh, God!—taking his cock into her mouth, sucking, humming, murmuring joyfully. She plunged down, and when her lips were hidden by his pubic hair, she cocked her head up and stared at himwith wide, questioning eyes. “It’s good,” he moaned. “How did you learn—?”

Gala pulled away, leaving him hard, erect, and quivering. She pulled a chair over and knelt beside it, looking back over her shoulder with frank carnal invitation. Dan saw her spread her thighs, saw her reach down, saw her fingers spread open her pink, slick pussy. “Take me now,” she said, the breath coming quick and harsh in her throat. “Fuck me like a dog,” she begged. “Take me from behind. Oh, Dan, I need it so!”

She was more than ready. He positioned himself behind her, glided his swollen cock into her pussy, and she pressed against him, her soft hot ass flattening against his thighs. Gala arched her back, supporting herself on the chair seat only with one hand and arm. “Reach around and play with my tits, Dan! Pinch them! Hurt me!”

He was fucking her, but he felt a flutter and realized that with her free hand, Gala was playing with her own clit, stroking it, kneading it. He felt her speed and urgency increase, and she reached as far as she could, her fingers brushing the heavy sac of his balls. He took a double handful of her tits, pulled at her nipples, squeezed them.

“Harder!” she insisted. “Pinch my fucking nipples! I want them to hurt!”

Dan felt as if his cock had grown a little from the excitement of Gala’s sheer lustful abandon, from her absolute surrender to her body’s needs and demands. He did pinch her stiff swollen nipples, and when she moaned for more, he pinched her harder, and she slammed her ass against him and groaned, “Yes, God, yes! Is my pussy tight, Dan? Ca n you feel how I’m squeezing you?”

Yes, God, he could feel it. Her pussy clenched him, rippled, as if milking his cock. She jerked and yelped in release and seemed almost to pass out. Then she panted, “Are you coming? Are you going to come?”

“Yes,” Dan grunted, feeling the approaching spasm.

“Wait! Wait! Come in my mouth!”

She pulled herself off his dick, spun, and on her hands and knees she took his cock in her mouth again, lewd, lusty, and she sucked on it and swallowed it, took him deep again, and when his organ began to twitch uncontrollably, she pulled back, holding the head of his cock tight in her mouth, swiping her tongue over it, and he shot a great load of cum into her. She gulped, sucked, sucked hard, and only when he was utterly spent did she pull away, smiling up at him. White cum smeared her lips, dripped down over her chin, drooled off on a long silvery string and made small white dots on her breasts. “I love it,” she said thickly. “I love how your cum tastes! I love to suck your cock! Dan, let’s go to bed. Let’s fuck! I want to fuck you every way there is. I want you in my ass! Come on!”

They staggered upstairs nude, holding each other, unable to keep their hands from reaching, palping, caressing each other’s bodies even as they struggled to get to bed and to extinguish the fires raging within them. It was a wild evening. When the tide of lust had finally ebbed, when they lay together in bed absolutely spent and exhausted, she explained what she had done. “Did you press all the buttons?” Dan asked apprehensively.

“No, but I pushed five of them,” she confessed.

“Don’t ever use it with the sixth button pushed,” he told her. “Not alone.”

“What does the sixth button do?”

“I’m not sure,” he said.

6. Enthrallment!

They both called in sick the next morning. They weren’t sick.

“Would you like me in a cat suit?” Gala asked, lying back, her head at the foot of the bed. She had her legs spread wide, and she was casually stroking her pussy, showing off to him, keeping his interest up.

“I don’t know,” Dan confessed.

“It’s rubber,” she whispered. “Thin and tight. So tight you could see my nipples through it. So tight it would mold itself to my little pussy. You could see my clit. We could get it in red, or black or—oh, do you want this? Do you want this? Oh! Yes! Take me, Dan! Fuck me hard!”

Afterward he bathed her, putting her in the big tub and washing her ravishing body with a strawberry-scented body wash. She gloried in the attention, in the loving way he toweled her dry. They went straight back to bed.

“Try button six,” she whispered, spreading herself again, opening herself to him.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m sure.”

Dan gave her a spritz of lubricant—not really needed, she was always gushing now—and switched the vibrator on. One after the other he pressed all the buttons, hesitating only a minute before thumbing number six. The vibrator began to glow.

“It looks pretty,” Gala whispered. “Touch me with it now. Fuck me with it. I don’t want this feeling to go away, Dan. I want to be on fire for your cock always. Go ahead. Do it to me.”

He began to stroke her clit with it, and—and she faded—faded away.

“Gala?” he asked.

She heard him. She knew only that she must answer him.

“I am ready to serve you,” she said sweetly.

“What?” He tired to pull the vibrator away, but she pressed after it, not wanting to lose the connection. He relented and thrust it inside her, only an inch or two, a little way. She compressed her pussy lips around it. Nice, so nice.

She felt everything dropping away from her, every last vestige of silly reluctance or shame. “Gala is ready to serve you,” she said. “Command me.”

She felt the vibrator switch off. She drifted back to reality. “Why did you stop?” she whispered.

“You scared me.”

“It felt great,” she assured him. She looked at his groin. “You liked it, too. You’ve never been so big, so stiff. I like you like this, Dan. I like what it does to me. Don’t stop. If you love me, don’t stop.”

He hesitated, but then she felt the buzz against her clit again, so nice, and . . . and things got foggy once more. “Command me,” she heard herself say.

“In the future you will always love sex,” she heard Dan tell her, and she knew he was right. She would never despise or even question sex again. Something had changed irrevocably.

“Yes, I love sex,” she said.

“Show me. Make yourself come with your fingers.”

He withdrew the vibrator, but it didn’t seem to matter. He lay crossways at the foot of the bed, staring up at her. She smiled, bent her legs and spread her knees, and reached down to caress her own sex. “Can you see?” she asked. “Can you see?”

“I can see. Put your fingers inside yourself. Make yourself come.”

“Do you like this? Does it look good? Does my pussy look good?”

“It’s beautiful.”

Gala sighed and penetrated herself with two fingers of her left hand, reached around behind her ass cheek, and stimulated her clit with the fingers of her right hand, coming down over her stomach. “I hope this pleases you. It feels . . . Dan, what are we doing? This is bad, this is—”

She was feeling alarmed. She saw him press the buttons again—all six of the buttons—and she felt the mist of Arousal Assistant on her bottom. “Move your fingers,” he said, and unwillingly, she did so.

The vibrator plunged fully into her, and she felt a powerful surge. Her mind exploded in a powerful visual hallucination. For an instant she saw herself kneeling, in a line with nineteen other girls, and behind her a vibrator like this one was entering her, and she was a . . . slave, yes, she was a sex slave, and she loved sex, she had been made for sex, sex was her life, sex with vibrators and with other girls and with men, it was all good, it did not matter. She was a sex slave, a toy.

She wanted to be a sex slave.

She wanted only to serve.

To serve, to give, to receive sex.

Yes.

Yes.

Oh, yes.

This time her own awareness seemed to float on the surface of her mind, and Gala saw herself as from a distance, though she felt everything with a heated intensity. She had lost nothing, really: She knew she was Gala, she knew who Dan was. And she knew she must now and forever obey Dan. He was her master, her controller. She orgasmed, and then, trembling, Dan removed he vibrator from her pussy.

This time it did not matter. This time there was no going back. She would never again be that foolish woman terrified of joy, terrified of sex. She belonged to Dan. She belonged to pleasure.

At his command,she obediently fingered herself to another orgasm. He commanded her to kneel and took her in the ass, such a considerate master, he sprayed her with the Arousal Assistant and with the lubricant first, and she came almost as soon as his big, wonderful cock sank inside her. He had her come to the tub and clean him, and she washed him as if she were adoring a god. He had her lie sprawled across the bed, lying on her back and fucking herself with the vibe, her head thrown back over the side of the bed, and he fucked her mouth and her throat, standing over her so he could watch her pump her pussy with the ruby-red vibrator.

All that day he kept her busy, accustoming her to unquestioning obedience. Rewriting her mind. Removing her hesitations, her inhibitions.

By evening she felt completely and permanently transformed.

She was a slave.

Only a slave.

She had no will of her own.

She was Dan’s Gala-toy, Dan’s fuckdoll, Dan’s to command.

And it was wonderful.