The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I remember the first time it happened, although I didn’t know what was happening at the time. I was at a rock concert.

Nobody knows where the tradition of young ladies exposing their breasts at rock concerts started. It’s just a rock-and-roll institution, and a rather compelling one. For some reason even the most proper of young women has been known to succumb to that lewd chant. Some secretly enjoy the opportunity to be the center of attention, to be an object of the sexual desire of hundreds of men all at once. Others flash the stage, more interested in the attentions of the singers or band members. They have a personal connection to the music, and baring themselves is a surefire way to be noticed, if only briefly, by the sexy men on stage.

That first time, though, was before the concert even started. There were three young ladies leaning along a railing only eight or ten feet above where several hundred dedicated fans were waiting for the general admission area to open. Some optimistic young man shouted out those three little words: “Show your tits!”

Two of the young ladies simply ignored the crowd. The other, however, couldn’t seem to look away. Perhaps it was because she was the one with the tits, nice full ones which filled out her white tank-top. As more and more young men joined in the chant, she began to blush. I felt my own voice joining the chorus, along with nearly all of the crowd, and finally she gave in, lifting up her shirt and bra with practiced ease as the crowd cheered.

I should note that this was the first time I’d seen a real girl’s breasts in person. Sure, they were twenty feet from me, and I only saw them for perhaps two seconds, but it was so amazing to me that I felt practically weak in the knees. My eyes were locked on the smiling, blushing girl as she pulled her shirt down and straightened her bra, and her friends slapped her on the shoulder playfully.

As a typical sixteen-year-old boy I dedicated a significant amount of time to thinking about girls. More than anything, I was obsessed with their breasts. I would walk around my school, hoping nobody noticed the way my eyes danced over the chest of every female classmate. I particularly took a fancy to the larger ones. I was so obsessed that I’d made a spreadsheet on my computer of the approximate cup sizes of all the girls in the school. For my favorite ones, mostly the C- and D-cup girls, I also kept track of how many bras they owned, and what color and fabric they were. I made every effort to peek down their shirts.

I scraped up every stray picture I could of any of them. I prowled around the social networking sites, and even social-engineered my way into one girl’s accounts. I had imagined that these young girls were constantly sending each other topless pictures of their naughty sleep-overs, but I was sorely disappointed. Still, I enjoyed the relatively innocent pictures of any of the girls I knew more than any of the porn I had access to on the Internet.

Anyhow, there I was at that concert, watching this anonymous girl and wishing it was one of my classmates. Instantly I found myself substituting her on one of my fantasies, with my hands caressing her over-sized teen-aged breasts, her nipples hardening under my palms as she moaned and fell into my arms.

Nobody was watching her but me, now, as the line had started to move and the crowd was flowing past me. I blinked my eyes in disbelief, then, as I watched this girl bring her hand up and start caressing one of her perfect globes through her shirt. I could see the nub of her nipple, even through a substantial bra and the cotton tank-top. I glanced up, and she had closed her eyes, lips parted.

One of her friends said something to her, and she seemed to come to her senses, but she blushed again, more deeply even than when she’d flashed. “Shut up,” I heard her say playfully through the thinning crowd, “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

I remember the incident so distinctly because it became my primary fantasy for the next couple of weeks. I tried to explain her behavior. Was she really doing it because exposing herself had turned her on so much? In my mind I formed a story where I stood behind her on that little balcony, fondling her breasts from behind while the crowd of jealous young men below whistled and cheered. Then I would slide her tight jeans down to her ankles, and enjoy that poorly-defined sensation of having sex with a real girl while she pinched her nipples and leaned over the railing. Those fuzzy, poorly-defined sexual fantasies were my sole passion at that time. In time the concert girl was relegated to a simple occasional showing in my daydreams, pushed aside by other casual contact with the innocent young breasts that seemed to surround me.

School started again. Maybe it was some new fashion shift, maybe it was the maturity of the eleventh-grade girls, but there was a whole lot more cleavage around the school halls that fall than I’d ever noticed before. I wondered why the mothers of these teenage girls let them dress that way. Didn’t they know what that did to seventeen year old boys? They must want it, secretly, for their daughters to flaunt their sexuality like they had fought so hard to do in the sixties and seventies. They must want me to look, to lust. And I certainly did. Other boys, the ones with better social skills, some of them were actually doing what I was lusting to do. Some of them did it in public, displaying their conquest as they would make out with their girlfriends around campus, feel up their asses or breasts where everyone could see how manly they were. It’s programmed behavior, they can’t help it. I would have done the same if I’d had such an opportunity.

It was on Halloween night that it happened again. There’s another one of those questionable traditions that young ladies long to dress up in sexy costumes. They like to play make-believe, they like to have an excuse to express themselves, to experiment with a persona who can do things that they can’t. Such it was that for the first time I made it in to one of the Halloween house parties. It was the real deal, with a keg and an amateur DJ and a whole lot of young people making a bigger mess of Nolan Moore’s house than he could ever hide before his mother returned the next day. Ostensibly one had to be “popular” to get into this party. Almost nobody was there who wasn’t either on the football team or a popular member of the senior class. Of course, exceptions were always made for cute junior girls. Being none of these I just slipped in quietly and stayed out of the way and nobody asked me to leave.

By midnight I was mostly alone in the living room. The DJ had packed up, and the more well-behaved kids had headed home. The potheads were milling around in the dark back yard getting stoned, and I could hear another group up in one of the bedrooms laughing and joking. Three of the cheerleaders were sitting on one of the sofas while one of the football players, who’d offered to make them some kind of concoction from the remains of a bottle of vodka, was struggling with the blender. I watched the comings and goings casually from a stool at the breakfast bar.

Some of the stoners giggled their way out the front door, and I decided it was probably time for me to leave before I became conspicuous and one of the cool kids realized that I didn’t belong. I was trying to find a trash can to put my cup in when I noticed Gwen West watching me. Gwen was a senior, not a cheerleader but friends with some of the girls who were. She had a 34-B bra size and seldom occupied my attention. Nonetheless it was quite startling to see her watching me so intently.

“Um, hi,” I said.

She was silent, nervous looking. She was holding a black permanent marker in her hand.

“Come on, Gwenny,” called a voice from the landing of the stairway. It sounded like Nolan’s sister Carrie, and she sounded somewhat tipsy. “Get it over with!”

“Fine,” said Gwen at last, reaching forward and taking me by the hand, “follow me.”

She led me up the stairs past Carrie, who was smirking wickedly. We went into what had to be Carrie’s room, which was decorated like something out of a design magazine, and dominated by a tall full-sized bed. Nobody else was in there. There was a candle burning, filling the room with a scent like coffee and chocolate. Gwen stopped me in front of the bed and shut the door behind us.

“So,” she said, taking a deep breath, then letting it out in a rapid-fire torrent of words, “we’re playing truth or dare, and I dared Carrie to dry-hump Christian, but only because she’s totally into him anyway, and now she’s dared me to let you write ‘Go Panthers’ on my boobs.”

My eyes widened. She continued, handing me the pen. “So let’s get it over with.” She reached down and deftly pulled her tank-top off over her head. I looked down at the exposed cleavage, then at the pen, then back at the cleavage.

“Well?” She demanded. Shaking my head with what seemed like appropriate reluctance, I took the cap off the pen and stepped close to her. She was wearing some kind of perfume, indistinct but strong enough to over-power the candle. I leaned down towards her chest.

“Where should I...” I asked hesitantly. She looked down in irritation.

“Oh, all right,” she said, seeming to concede that there wasn’t really enough room to write on the small ‘vee’ of her exposed boob-flesh. She reached back and un-snapped her bra, and lifted it up just enough to expose her breasts fully. “No funny business,” she warned.

I leaned in nervously. I might have been correct about her modest cup size, but her breasts were positively beautiful up close, perky and full enough to make my hands tingle with the urge to cradle them. Even as I watched, her deep red nipples began to crinkle and protrude. I carefully touched the pen down to her skin and formed the first letter with deliberate slowness, stilling my trembling hand.

“Oh,” she muttered suddenly as I lifted the pen.

“Is that okay?” I confirmed.

“Yes, just stop gawking and write it.”

I formed the “O” and then leaned back a bit to decide where to start the “P”. It would have been so easy to accidentally brush the back of my hand against her flesh on the next letter. I started the “P” still well on her left breast. As I did so her hand moved up casually, and the back of her thumb brushed over the bottom of her right breast. The soft noise of her skin was tantalizing in the deep silence.

The “A” wound up right between her breasts on her collar bone. She had her arms crossed again, over her tummy, and thus her breasts were pressed together just to touching. I wondered if her cleavage would hold the pen up if I tucked it in there, how it would feel to slide my finger through the taut skin there. As I drew back, she drew her left hand up along her midriff, and it slid right between her breasts, just as I’d imagined. Maybe she had an itch from the drying ink evaporating on her skin.

I felt my pulse quickening. I tried to focus lest she admonish me further. It was embarrassing enough to be deemed nerdy enough to be the subject of such an obviously vindictive dare, but if I were to be reported as overly lecherous to boot this experience would be far from enjoyable in the long run. I drew the “N” quickly and with little fanfare, followed by the two lines of the “T” and the three of the “H”. I stole a glance up at Gwen, who still watched me closely, and added the last three letters.

I stepped back and it only seemed natural to admire my work. I could plainly see where I’d spent more time on the first few letters, but hurried through the rest. I assumed that she’d fold her bra down the moment I was done, and I wanted to make the most of this golden opportunity. She looked so soft, and I imagined what it would be like to just press my face in between her mounds, to let her warm breasts press against my skin, to lose myself in the forbidden geometry of her budding femininity.

As that long moment drew out, I started to wonder what was keeping her, and I finally looked up at her face, half-expecting her to be angry for my staring. Oddly, though, she wore an expression I could only describe as ecstatic. The moment I met her eyes, she stepped towards me, wrapped her hands around my head, and rather forcibly pressed my face against her chest.

I admit that I was more alarmed than aroused by the action. For one, I was rather startled at how she’d seemed to understand my desire. For two, I was rather unsure about her uncharacteristic behavior. I started to reason, however, that perhaps this was merely part of her dare. She pressed her boobs inward against my upper cheeks, and I relaxed and enjoyed the amazing feeling. She moved her body back and forth, stroking her soft skin over my skin, which suddenly felt hairy and rough and greasy. I felt her stiff little nipples brush my cheek. I longed to take it in my mouth, to suckle it. As if in response she pushed one of the nubs against my cheek. I felt it slip in, tasted the sweetness of her tender nipple skin. I brought my hand up reflexively, palmed the side of the one I was suckling. She didn’t object, and so I grasped the other one, rolling my hand over her other nipple.

I took her lack of objection as encouragement, and I worked back and forth over her nipples, licking, slurping, pulling them. She began to moan, pushed her nipples into my mouth. She was making the most heavenly noises, and my mind raced, and I wondered what she would do if I kept going. By some consent I sat on the edge of the bed, and she leaned over me. For long minutes I worked her over, and soon she was positively panting, and her legs were trembling as I worked up and down her tummy and sides with my hands. I could feel the draw of the heat between her legs. I had an hard-on which put all my previous boyish erections to shame—I was in serious discomfort, and felt an intense desire to fuck Gwen like she apparently wanted me to fuck her.

The problem was that I hadn’t brought any protection. Memories of statistics of sexual diseases sobered me. I cursed myself. Here I was with a hot girl who was somehow hot for me, and I was going to miss out. The best I could hope for, I reasoned, was a blowjob or a handjob, and I had no idea how to go about guiding Gwen in that direction. I thought maybe that if I could get her off, she’d want to return the favor, and she certainly seemed to my untrained ear to be well on the way just from what I was doing to her upper body.

Just as I had become slightly distracted, she leaned in towards me, wrapping her thighs around my upper leg, and pressed her crotch against me through her shorts. She felt extremely hot, perhaps even wet through her shorts. She started to hump against my thigh, while I continued to suck on her nipples. She was holding onto my shoulders, gripping my shirt, and leaning her head down next to my ear, where her luscious mews were bringing me to a boil. Her left thigh was rubbing over my dick through my shorts, and I couldn’t hold it any more, I felt my dick starting to pulsate, and even as I fought to hold back, I heard her gasping a crescendo in my ear, felt her hot breath on my neck as she fought to keep quiet, felt my cock start to spasm, felt myself moaning into her breast, felt her thighs gripping me as we both came together inside our clothes.

A moment later we looked at each other and I realized that we’d never even kissed. I wanted to then, so badly, but she just stood back off me and glanced nervously at the door.

“Wow,” I said.

She finally pulled her bra back on, followed by her shirt. “I hope they didn’t hear,” she said, suddenly concerned.

“Who cares?” I sighed, becoming aware of the semen soaking into my underwear. I was still fully dressed. My legs felt like they’d been filled with lead.

She ignored me and slipped back into the hall. “Sorry, I went to get a refill and got distracted,” I heard her say as she slipped into the other bedroom.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” I heard Carrie say, answered by a raucous laugh from the others. I stood there in front of the closed door to Nolan’s bedroom. I could hear laughter, and got the distinct impression that it was at my expense—and also at Gwen’s. I made my way outside and waited uncertainly in front of the house. Before long, Gwen came out, and she didn’t look entirely pleased to see me.

“Can I... walk you home?” I asked.

“I guess.”

We walked together, but I wanted to hold her hand. I was so confused by the whole thing. Had it all been a dare or not? Could a girl like Gwen really get it on like that with someone she had no feelings for? We were both silent until we arrived at Gwen’s house, just a few blocks away.

“Look,” she said at last, “that was... something... but I don’t really...”

“It’s okay,” I sighed, even though it wasn’t.

“Um. Right. Good night,” she said, darting inside.

I went home and took a shower and slept dreaming of perky teen-aged boobs.

I woke up late. My parents are very trusting of me. I didn’t really have much inclination to trouble and they knew it. But I heard them both downstairs, talking rather heatedly with a third, unfamiliar voice. I walked down the stairs clad in only my sweatpants, and found that the voice in question belonged to a man in a suit.

“Good morning, Steve. Why don’t you join us?” I realized with a gulp that the man was a police detective.

It became apparent that word had traveled of my strange encounter with Gwen, and that she’d convinced her parents that she’d been unwilling in the whole thing, that she’d been drugged. The police searched my room, searched my computer, and found my suspicious collection of pictures of my classmates, my strange databases and diaries and erotic fantasies. They did not, at least, find evidence of the website accounts I’d broken into. But they charged me with sexual molestation and only by throwing myself at the mercy of the court was I able to avoid being charged as an adult and placed in the sex offender registry. I suspected that Gwen had in fact been drugged, but by someone else, and I’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nobody ever asked to hear my side of the story, even my parents, which just killed me.

What followed was the worst part of my life. I had to go to a psychologist for two years. I never returned to my school, and got my GED instead. I didn’t go off to college, I didn’t start the life I had planned for myself. Worst of all, everyone who knew me thought I was a pervert, the kind who would drug a girl at a party. I fought with my parents. I stormed out one day, raided my college savings account and moved to Portland, Oregon.

I picked Portland for its combination of size and cost-of-living. I wanted to blend in, to be lost in the crowd, and Portland was just big enough for that. I rented an environmentally friendly apartment downtown. I got a job working the desk at a hotel, which payed barely enough to live on. Being told how impolite my thoughts were by the psychologist had made me even more shy around women. I hardly even talked to my female co-workers, afraid they’d find my dark secret. One girl, Jane, seemed almost to be flirting with me, but I was too terrified to respond.

I was resigned to being single forever. I’d been denied private Internet access at home, but now I was free to partake of the delights of Internet pornography, which I spent hundreds of dollars on. I even bought a lot of male sex toys, but none of them were particularly pleasing to me. Portland, however, is home to a fascinating class of establishment called a juice bar. In it, the proprietors of nude dancing clubs skirt the regulation and age requirements of the liquor control commission, and young men not yet twenty-one years old can attend.

I had no idea what I was in for. Back home, we’d only had topless dances, and the women had to wear pasties on top of that. Not that the prohibition against flashing pussy at the customers was always followed, from what I heard. But even the dirtiest place would have nothing on what they get away with in Oregon. When I walked in the first time I was shocked to find a young lady on all fours on the stage, gyrating her gaping pussy inches from the face of a man with a pile of dollar bills in front of him. He was the only man sitting in front of the stage; the rest sat at the bar drinking their cans of soda and acting casual.

I paid the not-insignificant cover to the smug-looking doorman, and slipped over next to the stage.

“Let’s give it up for Naughty,” called the DJ, “she’s now available for your private show. Now, let’s hear it for Autumn!”

Naughty, wearing only a pair of extremely tall platform shoes, gathered her money from the floor of the stage and collected her skimpy costume. As Autumn came up, Naughty stepped over, leaned in and whispered in my ear: “would you like a private show?”

“Um, maybe later, thanks.”

Naughty was tall and thin and even in the dim light I could see her knees and buns covered in bruises. Her tits looked downright worn out, and she did too. It was thrilling to see her, but she wasn’t nearly as exciting. Autumn wasn’t much better, with a pair of cheap breast implants and perhaps a nicer looking pussy, once she shed her g-string and flashed it at us. I put a dollar on the stage’s railing, in the manner of the other man, and Autumn came over and smiled and then laid back on her butt and opened her lips and even dipped a finger inside herself while she grinned at me.

It was all too much for me—it was too real, too gritty. The magic was missing. But then, after Autumn’s song was over, came Tiffany. And I suppose by magic, I mean breasts, because I was willing to look over all of Tiffany’s shortcomings for the fact that she had a very nice pair of tits. She was more coy than the others, staying back and teasing, sliding around on the center of the stage, not parting her legs at all. I was entranced. I placed down dollar after dollar and she danced in front of me until my head was swimming. The song ended, and I stood up next to the stage’s stairway, ready to intercept her.

“You want a private show?” She asked.

“Yeah,” I said, “um, how much?”

“Twenty-five per song.”

“Cool,” I said, failing at sounding casual.

She led me to the back, where there were several little rooms. Inside the one we came to was a wide armchair, covered in a throw blanket. She gestured for me to sit back down, then shut and latched the door behind us. “Have you been here before?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Okay, well, we do a very hands-on show here.” The song was starting; she began to gyrate her buns, still in her thong, at me.

“Yeah?” I asked, not sure if she could be saying what she seemed to be saying.

“Yeah,” she said, turning around, taking my hand, and placing it right on her hanging breast, “hands-on.”

“Oh,” I said, dumbstruck.

She resumed gyrations, and turned around and slid her panties off, leaning down and winking at me between her legs as she stroked over her pussy with a hand. Then she sat back, settling her fleshy ass into my lap, and beginning to dry-hump my very apparent boner. Numbly, afraid to break the spell, I placed my hands on her hips and let her rock on me. then she laid back, and I put my hands around onto her breasts, and she moaned in a good imitation of delight as I breathed in her perfume and her hair fell on my face.

Then the song ended. She turned towards me. “Another one?”

“Hell yeah,” I said, and she nodded.

“You can also tip me if you want,” she said, “but no matter what your pants stay on.”

“Of course,” I said, though the distinction felt rather absurd.

“Some people get the wrong idea,” she said, “we’re just dancing here.”

“Right,” but I couldn’t stop thinking about getting my penis out of its confinement.

“Then again,” she said, “you’re a cute young guy. Have you had many girlfriends?”

“None,” I managed.

“Never been with a girl?”

“Not really.”

“I swear to God I’ve never done this before,” she said, “but if you are good for a couple more songs I’d love to pop your cherry. I mean, I just need you to pay for the songs because the house gets a cut.”

“Um, what?”

She settled down facing me and looked into my eyes. “Do you want to fuck me or not?”

“Of course I do,” I blurted.

“Well then it’s your lucky day,” she cooed, but then her face fell. “I hope you have a condom.”

My face fell, I’d done it again.

“Well, I suppose I have a consolation prize then,” she said, and sank down onto her knees.

She opened my pants with a reassuring lack of confidence. She pulled my underwear and pants down to my ankles and put a hand around my straining dick.

“Somebody’s happy to see me,” she purred, and then she opened her mouth and sucked me down into insanity. In one gulp, my average-sized penis was somewhere in the back of her mouth. She slurped back up slowly and released with a loud “pop”.

Just like that, I was finished. I grunted and jet after jet of hot gooey cum sprayed up into the air. Tiffany started to pull back, but then changed her mind and grabbed my shaft with her hand and stroked it with perfect firmness. She stood and started dressing while I panted.

“I’ve never done anything like that before. That was a one-time thing,” she assured me, simultaneously seeming to be reasoning with herself. “I could get arrested for doing that, and I’m married anyway. So please don’t start stalking me or anything. You can come back for a regular show any time, though. That will be a hundred.”

I gave her two hundred and staggered out the door to catch a train home.

Two nights later, I was back. I sat though one rotation of dancers and realized that while all of them tried very hard, only Tiffany was really desirable to me. I went in to a private show, not sure what to expect.

“We go by club rules this time,” she warned me, “any contact is purely accidental, and I’m the one who gets naked. If you happen to have any biological events while I’m dancing, that’s your business.”

It didn’t stay that way, though. Half way through the second song, she threw everything she’d said out the window and took my pants down and wrapped her monster tits around my shaft and stroked me to a quick, messy finish. I paid her for two songs and tipped her another fifty. That seemed to be enough for her, as I returned twice a week for regular action with her. After the first time, I’d carried condoms with me, but she never offered sex again, just high-quality blowjobs or titty fucking or rubbing her bare flesh on my erection, but carefully never her vagina. And every time, at the end, she would tell me sternly that it was the last time, that the next time I’d have to keep my pants on.

Then, one Wednesday night as I laid back and enjoyed the sensation of Tiffany’s lips around me, there was a sudden commotion from the main room. We both quickly stood up and started dressing, but I still had my pants around my knees when the door was forced open, the flimsy screws in the latch popping out, and I wilted under the scowling gaze of a uniformed Portland police officer with his hand on his pistol.

I was charged with soliciting prostitution—the only man to be arrested for such, although the others were all questioned and perhaps even harassed. Four of the five girls who’d been working were arrested as well, having been apparently observed by undercover officers. I got slapped with a fine higher than my monthly salary and one year of probation. The man who owned the place got jail time. I heard that Tiffany had testified against him and minimized her own sentence. I was certainly not going to go back to any such questionable place, in the face of prison time. Perhaps I was scared straight, but I felt no temptation to test my luck.

Oddly enough, it was directly on the way back from my second parole appointment that I met Patty. I’d thought I’d never be able to face a real woman again, but somehow we just clicked. She lived in my building, and somehow for the next several weeks we kept running into each other in the halls. She had curly red hair and freckles and a pleasantly plump, curvy body and an encouragingly large bust under her conservative clothing. We both rode the same train to work—I only rode it for two stops, though, while she rode it all the way out to the far end at Gresham. Then one day I was so distracted talking to her that I missed my stop and had to ride the train all the way across the river and then back. There was no hiding that I was interested in her, and so I had no excuse not to ask her out. We had a nice, if casual date, and then another. She introduced me to her friends, and before I knew it we’d moved from prospective romance into platonic friendship. I didn’t really mind, though. I felt like a whole new person, and I was happy to be part of a group of fun young people who accepted me and had no idea of my rocky past.

Portland really does have a fun urban lifestyle. My new clique was centered around the “green living” aspect of Portland. Nobody in the group owned a car, and everybody lived in one of the certified energy-efficient apartments or condominiums Portland was so proud of. For recreation, though, they were into some of the things I’d always liked, like improvisational comedy and goofy social activities like forming zombie flash mobs and going out on Halloween dressed as reverse-gender Lord of the Rings characters. Seriously.

Patty, for what it’s worth, was always closest to me, owing partly I suppose to our physical proximity. She seemed honestly to like me and in fact set me up with a few different girls she knew. One of these amounted to a real date, which seemed to go well, but apparently hadn’t as it was never repeated.

Meanwhile at work I’d become a shift leader, but shortly before my twenty-first birthday I was informed that my hours were being cut. I had no savings left; I was six weeks from not being able to pay my rent. Even as I looked for another job I grudgingly acknowledged that I might have to find a cheaper apartment in the outer city. That’s when Patty came to the rescue.

“I’ve got an extra bedroom,” she’d said, “why don’t you just come room with me? That’s more environmentally friendly than anything, making good use of our space.”

I swear that by that time I’d all but stopped thinking of Patty sexually. When I’d met her, she’d been working as a salesgirl at a clothing boutique, and she had to wear the things they sold, or at least approved of, which she hated. She’d looked good in the slacks which were very form-fitting on her wide hips, and even their most conservative buttoned dress shirt with her compressive minimizing bras looked nice on her. She’d found another gig, working the counter at a bicycle shop, and had sold all the old stuff and gone back to her preferred wardrobe of sustainably-grown hemp pants and natural t-shirts two sizes too big. Combined with our comfortable platonic connection, I had all but forgotten that I’d once lusted after her.

When I shared that little apartment with her, though, I started to remember. It was a warm summer, and we refused to waste energy on running our air conditioning, however much it might be offset by the wind turbine and solar panels on the roof. She dressed down around the house, bringing out items from her wardrobe I’d never suspected, like loose-fitting cotton shorts and even a tank-top. The shorts struggled to fully contain her round ass, and the tank-top gave me a good look at just how hard her bra was working. She was obviously sweating under the skin-hugging cups, and she kept reaching in to adjust the fit when she thought I wasn’t looking.

The heat wave continued, and we schemed with our friends for environmentally friendly ways to cool down. You can’t swim in the river at Portland—it’s too polluted. The city provides numerous public bathing fountains, but they were all too crowded for our tastes. We decided to beat the heat and escape the city for a day with a drive to a swimming hole on a tributary of the Sandy river that Tim knew. We borrowed a mini-van from the car sharing company, filled it up in the morning, and set out for a day trip. Four male, four female, all of us stuffed into the van. At least we had the air conditioning on, but it was a good thing that we were all close friends. I was in the back-most corner, with Daryl and Jeff next to me. In front of me was Patty, and next to her on the narrow middle row were Corrine and Arya. Tim was driving, and Liz sat shotgun. The tips of Patty’s wavy, bright-red hair danced over my forward-pressed knees.

When we got to the swimming hole, it was already starting to swelter outside. While the rest hurried down to the water, Patty and I helped Tim see after the chairs and beers. When Patty and I got to the water’s edge, we were both rather shocked to find a huge pile of clothes and the other five of our friends nearly or totally nude in the water. Tim was standing there at the edge, smiling a little too wickedly as he dropped his own shorts.

It really wasn’t that much of a surprise. The rest of the group was extremely nature-oriented, proponents of natural foods and minimal environmental impact. So it was a logical expression to see a little hippy skinny-dip on the menu. The surroundings were so pristine, so completely devoid of human activity beyond the gravel road at the far end of the faint trail we’d taken down, that the idea seemed natural to me too. It was immediately apparent, though, that Patty was uneasy about the situation.

“Well, I for one remembered to bring swim trunks,” I joked, trying to break the uneasy silence, and trying not to stare at the nude bodies under the water. Everyone had, in fact, and the three ladies currently squealing and splashing in the cold water had in fact worn their two-piece swimsuits under their clothes, and they were now sitting out on the rocky shore.

“Ah,” said Patty with a distinct lack of confidence, “why the hell not?”

She started to pull her shirt up. I turned away politely, trying to stifle a grin and stepped over to one side, where I started to undress myself. I knew any of them could see me undressing, but I was faced such that all I could see was the lush green canyon of the creek. I walked to the edge, which was marked by a drop-off, and dived in.

The water was COLD. I squealed a little myself and turned around towards the other. Everyone was in the water then. I swam towards them under the water, unable to resist the urge to open my eyes and peek at the disappointingly indistinct pink and brown shapes under the water. I emerged near where the rest of them were, drifting around in the gentle current, which created enough refraction in the crystal-clear water to keep everyone’s bodies indistinct.

I was a little disappointed, though, to notice that Patty had decided to keep on at least her bra. Still, just the shape of her near-nude body under the water was enticing. I smiled at her, and tried not to make her self-conscious.

As we all stood around, trying out the unfamiliar experience, it was Liz, certainly the most intense of our bunch, who took the next step first, floating up on her back, letting her perky pale breasts, accented by her tank-top tan lines, rise above the surface of the water. Tim followed suit, although his cold-shrunken penis wasn’t really visible in his thick patch of pubic hair. With the ice broken, I pushed off, swimming above the water towards the opposite bank.

Nobody seemed to pay mind to the nudity after that. Liz got out, and I got a good look at the entirety of her slim body as she lay back on the warming rocks and opened her first beer. I had never been too physically attracted to Liz, and we were certainly on different emotional and intellectual wavelengths, so I’d never considered her a prospect. Still, she was no pain to look at, sunning herself there.

One by one the rest of the group got cold enough to retreat to the shore. I tried not to gawk as Arya, the the East-Indian beauty, sauntered across the warm rocks and settled down. Nor at Corine, whose much-pierced, all-around average body had never held much interest for me, but who now looked like a regular water nymph, her dripping breasts and silver nipple studs glistening in the noontime sun. I caught a glimpse of her bare-shaved crotch, capped with another wide silver stud. For all their nature-loving talk, I was happy that all of the ladies seemed to have cleanly shaved legs.

Patty, though, was still drifting around in the water, despite starting to shiver. I was partly staying so she wouldn’t have to be alone, and partly because I had a sneaking suspicion that my penis might not be so shriveled as the other young men’s seemed to be. I drifted next to her, avoiding bringing my crotch too close to the surface.

“This bra is completely transparent with the water,” she confessed through chattering teeth.

“Oh,” I said, “would you like me to...”

“No,” she said, “I should just get it over with.”

She reached down under the water and slid off a pair of beige panties, which she tossed towards the shore.

“Woo!” Called Liz, “You go girl!”

Then she turned around and reached behind her, managing with some difficulty to unsnap her wet, taut bra. I glanced away politely as she turned around, and the bra floated at the end of her arm in the water, and as I smiled at her I could see her massive mams finally floating free, buoyant in the cold water. “I’m ready to get out,” she shivered.

I nodded and made my way to the shore. I stood, and I didn’t dare look down to acknowledge whatever untoward attitude my penis might be taking. I took a spot on the warm rock bank, and finally looked up at where Patty was. Her tentative emergence was more gratuitous to my over-charged mind than something you might see on late night cable television. The way the water streamed down her flushed, freckled face, cascading over the impossibly round orbs of her breasts, over her pink tummy, down her bright red patch of pubic hair and over her smooth luscious legs, caused me to stare a moment too long before looking back at my beer. I knew I had to be doing a terrible job of acting casual.

Thankfully, she sat on the opposite end of the group, next to Liz, and my eyes didn’t have to dance over her too much. I found myself joining the normal, every-day conversation with the naked men next to me. As I retrieved my second beer, Liz glanced over at my pale body, and suddenly remembered something important.

“We ought to get lotioned or covered so we don’t burn,” she reminded us.

“Some of you, anyway,” joked dark Arya, with a nod to brown-skinned Daryl.

We must have used a whole tube of sunscreen between the six of us, and Tim helpfully ensured proper coverage of my back. Unsure whether I’d burn there, I tentatively applied some of the lotion to my once-again shrunken member. I caught a glimpse of Arya rubbing the white cream over Patty’s back.

“Thanks for reminding me,” said Patty to Liz, “I’m coloring up already.”

“Yeah,” replied Liz, pressing a finger against the other girl’s pale thigh, “maybe you should cover up soon.”

“Please don’t,” I wished silently, but as the thought sent a rush of blood to my crotch, I started to have second thoughts.

We ate lunch and Tim and Liz set up a large inflatable air mattress, which they floated out onto the water, with Daryl piling on between them, making for a rather intimate fit and surely some troublesome chemistry. Arya, Corrine, and Jeff were playing hackey-sack, a little game where you pass around a beanbag without using your hands. Watching the two girls jumping and turning was much too interesting, and obviously Patty was imagining what she’d look like with her bosoms bouncing around like that, and wasn’t inclined.

“If you guys need something to do,” called Tim from the raft, “there’s a little ledge right around the corner there that’s pretty fun to jump off.” He indicated a little path along the edge. I glanced at Patty inquiringly, and she shrugged and nodded, and I led the way down the path.

The ledge was not exactly little, but I boldly went first, then turned and watched as Patty dived in feet-first, her tits defying gravity as she fell. We tread water together and looked around. She grinned and swam back to the short, climbing the convenient stepped rocks back to the little perch. I followed her, getting a pretty good look at her backside as she climbed up.

We went several more times, and after a while I started diving head first into the deep clear water. My heart was racing; we were both breathing hard as we tread in the deep water again.

Patty gestured her head towards a short, narrow patch of sandy beach, shining golden in the sun out of sight of the others. “I bet the water is warm there,” she said. I signaled agreement and we paddled over, sliding into the shallow, sun-kissed water. She slid up until she was half out of the water and the large but soft sand clung to our bodies. She closed her eyes and I couldn’t resist the urge to give her a proper looking over as she lay before me like a feast for the eyes. I blinked away the hunger and lay back in the sand myself, closing my eyes, and trying to think of something else than how much I wanted to just ravish Patty’s sexy body.

I heard her moving and was startled as in one fluid motion her body was draped over me like a lusciously warm wet blanket. Her lips pounced onto me, and our tongues danced. I felt a flutter in my stomach and a light head as my blood rushed to my crotch. She began to undulate atop me, and the head of my dick glanced over her thigh, then I felt the heat of her sex pressing onto me, felt a wetness that was not the creek, felt the pressure of her body weight, felt the intense pressure of the inside of her embracing my manhood. Like the most natural thing in the world, we were having sex. Making love, even, the act was so beautiful to me in that moment.

My body was so out of its sexual comfort zone, that I was both amazingly aroused and reassuringly resilient. Patty rode me with intoxicating confidence, looking in my eyes with a disarmingly passionate gaze. I surrendered to her, lost in the moment, resting my hands gently on her thighs. I could not look away from her face even to look down at the luscious movement of her breasts grinding into my chest. She began to move more firmly, insistently, her pussy opening up wide to admit my straining member further and further. I felt my testicles firming; I had a distant thought of the two condoms in my wallet, quickly erased by the waves of hormonal pleasure washing over me. In that moment I couldn’t dare question her purity; I could have cared less if I got her pregnant. I wanted her to keep fucking me forever.

Then, she put her weight onto my chest, moaned loudly, and I felt her beginning to pulse around me, to spasm uncontrollably, and then we came together, and she soaked up my seed like a sponge, her vagina gasping for me to stay inside her. She stilled her hips, kissed me again, long and deep. She moved a little; I realized I was still hard, and wanted to start all over again. I was disappointed to realize that she was sliding off me. My penis felt naked, betrayed, like it had never seen the light of day before and never wanted to again.

“I have no idea where that came from,” she said, looking around, “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Does it matter,” I croaked.

“No, I don’t think it does.”

She waded back into the water with a glance at the opposite shore, and began to wash herself. I followed suit, and when we were satisfied at our cleanliness, she turned towards me, and sort of floated up and wrapped herself around me, and we kissed and made out for a long time. My still-present erection must have been obvious to her, and I began to wonder about the prospects of sliding her up and having her right there in the deep water.

“Oh,” said a voice from the bank. It was Corine. “Sorry,” she said, turning.

“It’s okay,” called Patty, “we were just... doing what felt natural.”

“Sure,” smiled Corine, turning, “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Leave you to what?” Asked Jeff, coming up behind with Arya.

“Nothing,” said Patty, swimming back from me at last, “you should try the jump.”

The others took their turns jumping, and the break of intimacy finally cured my stubborn erection. Patty still kept looking at me, perhaps even checking to see how much attention I paid to the other nude girls.

In time we all headed back to the main camp and dried off again. Patty sat next to me this time, close enough that we casually touched. The situation was not lost on Corine or Jeff, who smiled slyly.

After another round of beers—except for Tim, who was sobering up for the drive home—Corine announced that she needed to find a bush to squat behind. and Patty shyly agreed that she did to, and the two of them went off together down river. They returned whispering to each other, and with only a wink to me the two of them put the air mattress back on the creek and cast out into the calm, deep part of the water, whispering conspiratorially.

Tim, Liz and Daryl decided to go try out the ledge jump, which left me alone with Arya and my thoughts about my uncertain relationship with Patty. I was laying back enjoying the sun and trying not to cloud my mind looking at all the nudity.

“Do you think the van is locked?” Asked Arya out of the blue, “I want to go get my book.”

“I don’t know,” I replied, sitting up and looking at Tim’s shorts. “The keys are right there.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, reaching her body towards them rather fetchingly.

“Now that you mention it,” I said, “I think I’ll go get my iPod. Mind if I escort you?”

“So long as you protect me from the big bad wolf!” She said with mock concern, covering her mouth with her painted fingertips and batting her eyes.

I looked off towards Patty, but she seemed to be snoozing or just sunning languidly with her eyes closed as she drifted in the calm. Arya slipped on her flip-flops, and I put on my sneakers, feeling rather silly. We made our way the several hundred feet up the path. I felt substantially self-conscious once we were next to the little gravel road, however disused it might be. I opened the side door—it wasn’t locked—and I leaned in to get my iPod, then stepped aside for Arya to get her book. She leaned forward over the seat, and I couldn’t help but to admire the view of her perky, mocha-colored posterior.

She turned and stood up, rather quickly, and in my lecherous moment my eyes darted down, admiring the way her handful-sized breasts had moved when she’d turned. I looked up quickly, probably blushing, but she was just smiling. She brought her hands up and over her breasts sensuously.

I wondered what she was doing. I strongly suspected that she was coming on to me, and I wasn’t sure I was interested, considering my new connection with Patty. I started to say something, but she shushed me. With that increasingly familiar disarming smile, she stepped forward, pressing her breasts against my bare chest. She reached down between my legs and took my rising manhood in her hand, and squeezed the life back into it, still grinning as she drew me towards her. Her skin was soft and warm against mine, which had been dried out by the sun.

She pulled back, turned around, and put her knees on the carpeted edge of the van floor, presenting that enticing backside again to me, sending a biologically irresistible message. I moved forward and nature showed me the way inside her. She was wet and ready, and I grasped her tan hips and pushed deep into her in one fluid motion.

We fucked smooth and long like that, listening to the quiet sounds of nature, the distant chatter and splash of our friends, the gentle creaking of the van’s suspension. I was in no hurry this time, even the concern over potential discovery having diminished beyond my perception. I wondered whether the position was comfortable for Arya, but she seemed to be enjoying my deep, methodical penetration. I began to sweat with exertion. After what had to have been a long time, she grunted and groaned, and her vaginal walls fluttered, and she expressed one of those perfect orgasms into the cabin of the van, loud enough that it might have carried to the creek.

I was not quite done, but she disengaged herself. She sat down, looking up at me with her deep brown eyes, and then took my dick in her hand and drew me close enough to begin slurping on the shaft of my dick while she stroked me. The scent of her sex on me was strong, and I knew the taste had to be to, but still she slurped my dick into her mouth. She was gentle, tentative, and it was several long minutes before I felt myself ready to climax. I made to withdraw, but her insistent sucking and firm grip on my hips bade me to remain inside her hot mouth, and I grunted and filled her mouth with my climax, which she swallowed, holding me in place against the extreme sensation of firm suction during my tender post-climax.

“Holy shit,” I said, staggering back as she daintily wiped her lips.

“Likewise,” she said, rising to her feet and reaching in to get her book and my iPod, discarded to the floor of the van in our passion.

It was all too strange to be a coincidence. Why would these two girls, who had apparently never been attracted to me before, suddenly want to seduce me right out in the open? Neither had ever seemed to be particularly sexual. Maybe it was just nature? Maybe it was some kind of tradition with them, that I’d stumbled into a group of young swingers and this was just their way of inviting me into their group?

The most plausible explanation, and therefore the most likely one, seemed to be that the two of them had harbored secret feelings for me, and this pristine isolation had simply brought them out. Weighing the two experiences together, I got the distinct impression that Patty was seriously in love with me, while Arya was merely acting out some fantasy. She hadn’t kissed me, had never particularly clicked with me. I was looking at a potential girlfriend and a potential hookup, and to be honest I was more attracted to Patty anyway. I took a deep breath.

“Listen,” I said, as she turned, “Arya, this was...”

“Of course,” she said, “something just came over me. Something in the water. I’ve never done anything like that before. I don’t want things between us to...”

“Right,” I said. It was a perfect reaction, an understanding between us. Too perfect, but I didn’t see it yet.

“We’d better get in the water,” she said, “before someone smells the sex on us.”

We padded down the path, and managed to dive into the water before anyone saw us. With one last glance at Arya, carefully ignoring me, I swam over to Patty and Corine on the raft.

“Hello ladies,” I crooned.

“Hi,” replied Patty sweetly. Corine just smiled like she was digesting a bright yellow bird.

“You look like you’re getting warm,” I observed, “maybe it’s time to come in.” I splashed a little water playfully at Patty’s back. They both shifted away from me, but the balance of the raft was upset and they both slid off into the water. The rose, sputtering and squealing in shock, and then they both swam towards me, ganging up on me and playfully splashing me and dunking my head. It was not unpleasant at all, really, to wrestle under the water with the two of them.

Finally it seemed to be getting late, so we crawled out of the water and everyone toweled off and started dressing. As Tim pulled up his shorts, he tilted his head curiously.

“Where’d my keys go?” He asked in concern.

“Oh, sorry, I took them up to get my book,” said Arya. Then she patted her missing pockets reflectively and her face fell. “I think I left them up there.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said, “nobody around for miles.”

When we arrived at the van, though, it became apparent that it was not fine. There at the scene of my tryst with Arya, the door of the van was locked and the keys sat in plain sight on the floor of the van. I realized that we’d probably accidentally locked the door as we’d screwed mindlessly. We checked all the doors twice over, pried at the windows, and concluded that we were not getting in.

“I’m so sorry,” said Arya for the tenth time.

“Well, I suppose I could break a window,” said Tim, “but these big windows are probably really expensive to replace, and it would make a big mess. If you guys don’t mind waiting, I’ll walk down to cell range and call my friend Russ, he lives in Gresham and I’m sure he can jimmy it open for us.”

“Oh, well, if anyone goes it should be me,” insisted Arya.

“And me,” I spoke up, “I was here too. I was the one who gave her the keys.”

“Oh, it was a simple accident,” assured Tim selflessly.

“How far is it to the last cell signal, anyway?”

“Well,” observed Liz, “it was at most back at the golf course. I got a text right before we turned.”

“That was what,” thought Tim aloud, “six miles?”

“Well,” I said, looking at everyone’s feet pointedly, “there’s no way you can walk six miles on an unmaintained road in those.” Tim was wearing a worn-out pair of flip-flops.

“You’re probably right,” he conceded.

A quick survey revealed that only Patty, Corine, and I were wearing reasonable footwear for such a trek.

“Nobody should go alone anyway,” observed Patty, “why don’t the three of us go and you five can camp out here.”

Nate smiled. “We do have exactly five more beers. Thanks, guys.”

We took some water and the two best cell phones and determined our plan, which included admonitions of not leaving the road and not hitch-hiking. The three of us started walking. Once we were out of earshot of the van I kind of wished Corine wasn’t there, so I could talk candidly with Patty. Instead we shared stories of other locked-out experiences we’d each had, and we laughed so hard it was interfering with our ability to keep good time.

After a while, Corine turned to me and said jokingly, “So, what were you doing up there alone with Arya anyway?”

I was taken a bit off guard. I hesitated too long. “I was getting my iPod.”

The following silence was a bit uncomfortable. It was getting dark, but I could see the back end of the golf course through the trees.

“Almost there!” I called. When we got to the edge of the improved part of the land, I took out my phone and checked for service again, and got two scant bars. We sat on the manicured edge of the golf course and I called Tim’s friend, who laughed at the predicament and agreed to come out. He’d been to the swimming hole with Tim before, so I told him we’d head over to the golf course clubhouse and get some dinner and meet the others afterward.

Well, we hadn’t anticipated that the restaurant would have a dress code, but when we explained our predicament to the staff they agreed to serve us outside. The three of us had a rather fancy dinner, although the vegan offerings were a bit slim for Corine. Patty meanwhile was content with the fresh Salmon. She was a bit cool to me through dinner. I hoped that the apparent jealousy was a good sign.

We went to the bar after dinner and ordered drinks to keep us busy. We all got rather sloshed on mixed drinks and Patty finally started to relax again. We wound up sitting next to each other again, and I think I was leaning towards her suggestively. She started to respond with casual physical contact. It was plain that she’d told Corine some of what had happened, as Corine smiled conspiratorially at our flirting.

It was after midnight when the others showed up. I picked up the hundred-dollar bar tab and we all climbed tipsily into the back of the van. I ended up sitting in the middle of the back, with Alya on one side and Patty on the other. Each one’s bare legs and full hips flared against mine. I tried to meditate, to control my breathing, but the liquor wasn’t helping matters any. I let the back of my hand rest against Patty’s leg through her shorts, and she pushed gently against me, acknowledging me. An hour later, in downtown Portland, Tim dropped each of us in turn at our buildings, leaving Patty and I for last.

“Have a nice night,” he said all-too-knowingly.

We entered our apartment, which was still warm from the day’s heat despite the high-grade insulation. We opened the ventilation windows to let in the slightly-cooler night air, sticky with the scent of the slumbering city. Patty turned and regarded me intently.

“What did you really do at the van alone with Arya?” She asked, as though the words had been clamoring to get out for hours.

“Nothing that matters,” I answered delicately.

She blinked at me and turned, walking towards her bedroom. I watched, and she stopped in the doorway, turning.

“Are you coming or not?” She asked, her voice suddenly raspy.

That was all the invitation I needed.

As poetic as it had been losing my virginity in the warm water, or carnally intense it had been with Arya in the van, the best part of my first day of true manhood was definitely the part I spent that night in Patty’s warm bed. The foreplay lasted for an hour, and we made love face to face and with no special effort on my part I brought her to orgasm after orgasm. I felt like the sexiest man alive. I whispered things to her, things that made her sigh, things that I really and truly meant. We screwed until, even in our modern high-rise apartment building with it’s world-class insulation and soundproofing, the neighbor behind the wall of Patty’s bedroom banged on the wall and called for us to quit it already. We kept going until Patty could stand no more, pushing me back, and I finished myself, making a mess all over Patty’s sweat-touched torso.

The next day, Patty’s first priority was to get herself some birth control.

Despite a brief scare, Patty was not pregnant from our early encounters. Since we were already so close, and co-habitating, our relationship bloomed rapidly. We both got tested for diseases, and once Patty’s birth control kicked in she would no longer tolerate any prophylactic interference. I never slept in my own bed in that apartment again. Once word got to Arya that Patty and I had hooked up at the swimming hole and were now an item, she studiously avoided the two of us.

Patty turned out to be the perfect live-in girlfriend. Not only would we have mind-blowing sex every chance we got, we also slipped naturally into a routine of being nude around the house. She cooked for me, did my laundry, played video games with me, and made the perfect constant companion—only not too constant, as she backed off when she sensed I needed my space, and found ways to occupy herself with her own hobbies. I thought I couldn’t ask for more, but one day she stepped things up to another level.

“You know,“she said, looking up from the laptop as though she’d had an epiphany, “I think we’re born naturists.”

“Naturists?” I asked, unfamiliar.

“Social nudists,” she said, gesturing to her bare body for emphasis.

“Huh.”

“You know I was always kind of uptight about my body,” she said, “but that day, when I finally gave in and took my clothes off in front of everybody, my whole life changed. I realized that I really did love you, that I was only unable to be with you because of how you made me feel when you looked at me. I felt like it was wrong to be desired by you, but once I let it happen everything fell into place. I’m so much happier now, I have so much energy. Somehow even spending hours a day in bed with you I’m still so energized for everything else in my life... work, chores... I’m the woman I always wanted to be.”

“You don’t have to clean up after me,” I said, suddenly feeling defensive despite that I knew she was opening up to me in an important way.

“But I want to. My mother always cleaned up after my father, and as much as I used to resent it I realize now how it made her happy. Sorry. That’s probably a bit heavy...”

I shrugged off her allusions to family life. “Not at all.” She leaned over and gave me a long, slow kiss.

“Anyway,” she said once I let her take a breath, “there are a lot more naturists in the area. I was skeptical for a while, and I’ve been talking with one of the ladies online, and she assures me there’s no funny business, just some people who don’t see anything wrong with being naked together.”

“Yeah,” I said, considering, “I suppose that’s how I feel, although I never realized it till that day either.”

“Now maybe it’s just you,” she admitted, “I’ve never done it around anyone else, but I’d like to explore it a bit.”

“You sound like you’re building up to something.”

She smiled. “Right. They are having a nude sauna and pool day tomorrow. They rented a private house, the club did, and we’re invited.”

“Sounds like fun,” I acknowledged.

“Great,” she said with a grin.

She spent the rest of the evening teaching me what she’d learned so far of naturist etiquette. The next day she carefully shaved and trimmed herself, and picked out the perfect clothes for us to wear. “If we chicken out, nobody will fault us for staying in our underwear.”

We were both quite nervous as we arrived at the designated address in Hillsboro. It had been a bit of a walk from the max station, and I for one was slightly self-conscious of my body odor. I realized that it was a silly notion, though, as the idea was to go in the sauna and sweat anyway.

The fellow who opened the door was wearing a long, well-worn green plaid robe. He looked to be in his forties, and to his credit he did not bat an eye at seeing pretty young Patty blushing on his doorstep. I on the other hand did probably let on a little more than appropriate my thoughts as his wife opened the door next to him. She looked like she couldn’t be a day over thirty-five, and could easily have been a fashion model. Her silk robe was somewhat more revealing, and I stole a glance at her long toned legs.

She smiled brightly, revealing perfect teeth. “You must be Patty.”

“Trish?” She asked extending her hand. I was introduced to Trish’s husband Paul, and we were invited in.

“Make yourselves at home,” Trish told us, showing us around the large, nicely furnished house. “Everyone’s downstairs by the pool. You can change in this bedroom,” she said, “wear what you like. You can also shower up here if you prefer, before you go in the pool. I’ll introduce you around when you get down.”

We went into the designated room, which looked to be the master suite. A variety of different clothing was stacked neatly on the dresser and the bed, and a chair was piled high with fluffy blue towels. We dressed down and elected to use the spacious shower. Then we dried enough not to drip on the carpet and walked downstairs. I draped my towel casually over my shoulder; Patty held hers over her wrist.

The indoor pool was larger than the ones I’d seen at some hotels. There were about fifteen people sitting around or swimming. Paul deftly introduced us. The crowd was almost entirely older than us, except for two young people who seemed to be perhaps son and daughter of an older couple who they were playing cards with. I was most interested, though, in Trish, who had disrobed and looked stunning padding across the deck towards us.

We claimed a couple of deck chairs along the wall opposite the large sun windows, which were protected by some large shrubs for privacy. We dropped our towels with confidence and dipped into the pool. I could see some of the men with less willpower than Paul were having a hard time not watching Patty descend into the water.

We swam and splashed, and then joined into an impromptu game of water polo. After that we went into the sauna, which was designed to fit eight; ten of us managed to fit in, ladies on one side and gents on the other, and it was quite cozy. I learned right away why everyone sat on their towels—the grooves in the wood were not completely friendly to delicate body parts. Trish sat next to Patty, and they talked quietly about the experience. Trish seemed surprised to find Patty so at ease.

Once we’d passed the strongly enforced twenty minute sauna limit, the ten of us hurried out and rinsed under the pool shower before moving to other tasks. Patty accepted Trish’s invitation to peruse a library of loaner books available to the group. I elected to take a shift in the hot tub, and I closed my eyes, trying not to stare at all the skin around me. After a while food was served upstairs, and we stood or sat around in the dining room and kitchen eating and schmoozing. I agreed to a game of billiards with some of the other fellows, while Patty went back downstairs to soak with Trish.

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with Trish,” I whispered later as we sat dipping our toes into the pool.

“Jealous?” She countered playfully.

“Not at all,” I responded smoothly.

“Okay, maybe jealous isn’t the right word,” she admitted, “you can’t hide your nature around here.” She glanced pointedly into my lap.

“Can’t believe that it could be you who’s got me all worked up? You’re the hot item in here today.”

She blushed a little. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

“Get too hot thinking about all the eyes on you?”

She bit her lip and then leaned in close to my ear again. “Meet me in the back bedroom in five minutes,” she said, then hopped up and strutted off. I slid into the cold water, trying to hide the evidence of my impure thoughts, but the sensation wasn’t enough to quench my fire. I don’t think anyone left in the room doubted where I was headed as I toweled off and headed upstairs, my youthfully defiant erection flapping in the breeze.

It actually took me a couple tries to get to the right bedroom, as there were several of the extra ones. Once I found the right one, though, I knew, as Patty was spread-eagled on the bed.

“Come here, big boy,” she purred.

As always I was prepared to please, and soon we were making love atop the immaculate, expensive-looking bedspread. I held Patty’s legs high, pressing her thighs closed to form a fleshy vise. I was just starting to really get into it when the door opened.

“Oh!” Exclaimed Trish, grinning, and then turning away, “sorry.”

“Don’t mind us,” panted Patty, “did you need something?”

“I was just looking for Paul, but of course he wouldn’t be...”

As perfectly on cue as if we’d been in a comedic farce, a sudden bumping noise came from behind the sliding closet door on the other side of the room. Furrowing her brow, Trish stomped over and slid it open. Inside was a very embarrassed-looking, very aroused-looking Paul.

“Sorry,” he said to her, “I couldn’t help it.”

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to them! They came here expecting us to be respectful.”

“No,” blurted Patty. “It’s... okay.”

“No, dearie, that’s not what this is all about,” replied Trish, keeping herself between us and Paul.

“But isn’t it natural?” Patty countered. I couldn’t believe my ears as she continued. “He finds me attractive, and he responds with desire. Just like Steve finds you attractive, and the whole thing was too damn sexy and I had to bring him up here. Which is surely not very respectful.”

There was a long moment of incredulous silence. Finally Patty turned to me. “Did I tell you you could stop?” She asked rhetorically.

My mind numb once more, I returned to the instinctual motion moving against Patty. We kissed, and studiously didn’t look to see what the other two were doing. Soon, though, I could hear the unmistakable sound of the two of them giving in to their own pleasure. I listened, not knowing whether they were watching us or not, but acting as though I was under the scrutiny of their experience. In no time Patty climaxed, even more enthusiastically than usual, and continued getting off under me, loudly enough that they could probably hear her at the other end of the house.

Finally, as I could hold out no longer, I climaxed and only as I did I opened my eyes and looked over, seeing that Trish was hanging with her legs around Paul, who was holding her up in the air, lifting her whole body up and down over his straining member. They looked well practiced at the position but after a moment of watching, Patty suggested that we roll over and make room for them on the bed.

Once they noticed the room we’d made, Paul carried Trish over and laid her down at the edge of the bed, staying on his feet, working into her faster. I was laying behind Patty, and couldn’t resist the urge to reach around and fondle her while we watched. Soon I was humping my slick penis between her ass cheeks. Soon Trish produced an ascending musical movement which seemed to be a climax, and Paul responded in kind, grunting and pulling on his wife’s well-toned, flawless hips.

I stood up and walked next to Patty, offering my second erection to her willing mouth.

“We’ve never done anything like this before, I swear,” said Trish defensively. The words sounded eerily familiar.

“And I’m not in the habit of... you know. Spying in young girls,” insisted Paul.

“There’s a first time for everything,” said Patty, popping off briefly. The words seemed to hold so much more meaning. Trish looked at Paul for a moment, and seemed to see what she wanted to see in his face, because she turned over and crawled towards me and began to lick at the part of my dick that wasn’t in Patty’s mouth. Patty mumbled her approval, and then let me slide myself up into Trish’s mouth while she lapped at my hanging testicles. I was in heaven, but after many long minutes I wasn’t done yet, and Paul seemed ready to get into the action again.

I gestured to him, and to Patty’s lower body, presumptuously giving him permission to fuck her. But he shook his head. “Unless you brought a rubber...”

I shook my head. He shrugged and moved behind Trish again. I watched him hump her with practiced patience, his eyes locked onto the two lovelies slurping and lapping at me. I moved up and straddled Patty’s chest. She knew my love for fucking her titties, and readily pushed them together for me. Lubricated by sweat and saliva and the traces of my sperm, I slid between her meaty mammaries, and Trish leaned in, licking at Patty’s breasts and at my shaft when it would occasionally pop up. It was my favorite two-girl fantasy, actually. I just wished that my penis was long enough to protrude from the top of Patty’s voluminous cleavage, as it did in my imagination and my favorite porn videos.

Then, I felt a strange sensation, and the impossible happened. At first I thought I might be climaxing—but there was more pulsation than pleasure. But no, it was soon unmistakable that my penis did in fact seem to be reaching farther than it had before. I watched, incredulous but unable to stop my thrusting as Patty opened her mouth in surprise, letting the head of my dick slide over her tongue, and Trish began to lap at it as well. The experience was too much for me—I pulled back, gripped my straining member, and jerked out an immense, obscene torrent of semen, splattering volley after volley of white goo over Patty’s upturned, heaving tits, her chest, her freckled face, and the upturned side of Trish, drawing a white tracer across her shiny bottle-blond hair.

This, of course, was too much for Paul, and he let out an almost comical little whimper, pushing all the way inside Trish, who pushed back against him despite her wide-eyed shock at my eruption.

By consensus we took turns in the shower. While I washed I took the opportunity to examine my penis, which seemed to hang lower than it ever had before. I was somewhat conscious of it as I walked back to the common area. Patty, for her part, never mentioned it.

It all started to become clear to me. Those several times all seemed so similar. The girl at the concert. Daring Gwen. Dancing Tiffany. Reluctant Patty. Mischievous Arya. Freewheeling Trish. They’d all done things out of character. They’d all made me understand that they were acting out of character, that they’d “never done this before.” They’d all used exactly those words. And, strangest of all, they’d all been topless when they had suddenly changed.

Was I changing them, somehow? Was their uncanny fulfillment of my desires some kind of metaphysical connection? Why would it only work when I was looking at their breasts? If this was true, had I even molded Patty into my perfect mate by virtue of my long hours of ogling and stroking her world-class mammaries?

The change in my penis was even more strange. I could imagine pheromones or some other logical explanation for these women behaving strangely. But how would my penis grow in an instant? It felt noticeably tighter inside Patty, and she couldn’t take nearly so much of it into her mouth. It had been years since I’d held a ruler to it—when I was sixteen, it had been six and a half inches long. I measured it that week, and it was almost eleven. I was at a loss to explain the highly improbable growth.

Still, things had never been better with Patty. We didn’t try to repeat our hook-up with Trish and Paul. We went to some other naturist events, and made sure to leave in time to exercise our excess lust at home in private. I realized that it was time for me to marry Patty, and as I made preparations my thoughts of the strange occurrences slipped to the back of my mind.

One day Patty invited me to meet her for lunch with a new friend from work who’d moved from out of town and didn’t know anyone. She’d been hired as marketing director for the bike shop’s line of bikes and accessories.

I walked into the restaurant and caught Patty’s eye. She smiled and waved. Her friend was sitting across from her, with her back to me. I came up next to them and she turned, and I realized with a sinking heart that it was Carrie Moore. It was Carrie who had told Gwen’s mother about my allegedly sequestering the slightly-intoxicated Gwen in the bedroom. It was Carrie who’d spread the word around school, who’d stirred the cauldron of rumors about me, who’d posted comments on the social networking sites calling me a sex offender. Patty had never found any of that—I have a common name after all, and I’d lied about my home town. But here, in Carrie, was my shady past and all my lies dropped on the doorstep of my happy home. My face fell, and at first Carrie didn’t even recognize me, but when she did, she took a sour expression as well.

“Oh. My. God. You’re living with HIM?”

“What? Do you two...?” Asked a bewildered Patty.

“Oh I know him, all right. I know all about what he did.”

“Carrie,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ve put that whole misunderstanding behind me. Patty is my new life.”

“Misunderstanding? Ha! Has he told you, Patty? Has he told you why he fled to the opposite side of the country, why he has no friends left?”

“I have plenty of friends,” I said, “right here.”

“He’s a God damned rapist,” spat Carrie.

“Look, slow down. I don’t know what all this is about. Steve, please explain this to me. And don’t lie to me.”

Carrie crossed her arms and smiled smugly. I sighed, and started to explain. “Someone dosed Gwen West with some ecstasy or something. I didn’t know, I still don’t know who. Gwen came on to me, and I didn’t stop her, but... well, I felt her up and we rubbed on each other through our clothes and that was it. But then Gwen came down and cried to Carrie who blew it all out of proportion and ruined my entire life. That’s why I came here, to get away from her irrational vendetta. I had two years of court-mandated counseling, and the doctor gave me a clean bill of health a full year before the court’s order was filled. I’m not some kind of unstable creep.”

Patty was wide-eyed. Carrie narrowed her face in anger. “You didn’t mention the part about Gwen being so fucked up that she killed herself.”

I staggered back, gasped. “I didn’t know that. I haven’t even talked to my own parents...”

“Look how guilty he looks,” Carrie said to Patty, pointing accusingly at me.

I closed my eyes, tried to still my heart, painfully aware of most of the people in the restaurant watching us.

“Listen,” said Patty at last, quietly, “I barely know you, and I know Steve better than anyone. So I’ll withhold judgment until I get all the facts.”

I nodded, not looking at either of them. “I’ll give you some time to do what you need to do. I’ll be at the hotel. Call me if you want.”

“Steve, wait...” called Patty, but I had to get away, away from the rage that was filling me. Patty called me immediately, but I still decided not to answer. She texted me, told me she loved me and that she didn’t want anything to do with that bitch.

I walked towards the hotel but I couldn’t bring myself to face anyone I knew. I sat on a bench along the park blocks and texted Patty back, assured her that I would talk to her once I had a chance to compose myself. Then another text came in, from Tim. “Who the fuck is Carrie and why is she trying to slander you on my wall? Thought you should know.” He was alluding to a part of one of the social network sites. Carrie, having rediscovered me, was waging a smear campaign against me. I signed in on my phone and looked over the message that Tim had forwarded on to me. She was trying to out me. I searched for information about Gwen’s death, and found that not long after I’d left, she’d hung herself, and left a note.

The note. I knew I had to find out what was in the note. It wasn’t mentioned in the article of course. But a little digging led me to Carrie’s blog. Astonishingly, she’d blogged about my vile nature almost daily for two years after I’d left. Called me a fugitive, a murderer. Even got the local news to run more stories about the ‘mysterious circumstances’, even got the investigation re-opened. The depth of her obsession was astonishing. But there in one of those blog posts was the information I had suspected.

“Even if he wasn’t holding the rope,” she’d written, “he must have intimidated her, must have come to her and tried to compel her to change her story. Do you know what she wrote in her note? She wrote, ‘It was all my fault. I didn’t mean to ruin his life.’ That is all. He probably came to her and exploited her irrational weakness. He might as well have tied the knot. And then the day she dies, his parents say he skipped town a couple days back. What bullshit. The police never really looked for him. He could be anywhere, he could be out there, raping again, killing again.”

Finally, Carrie had become too crackpot even for her own town, and had leveraged her questionable social networking experience into a marketing career. Only now the crazy bitch wanted to ruin my entire life all over again. I felt powerless to stop her. Except...

No. Even if it was true about my strange ability, how would I use it? Would it even work if she wasn’t, at least on some level, willing? All the others had been, it seemed on recollection, at least caught up in the thrill of the moment. But if I didn’t do something, she would haunt me for the rest of my life, trying to make me pay for something that wasn’t my fault. It was her fault for driving Gwen to take her life after one simple mistake, which she had been architect of more than anyone, with her silly childish dare.

Patty called again. “Hey,” I answered.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were arrested?” She sobbed.

“I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“But with what Carrie said... it just makes me wonder.”

Several responses came to mind, but luckily none of them escaped my lips.

“I need to think about this,” she sniffed, “I’ll call you later.”

My transgression with Tiffany had given Carrie the purchase that she needed to turn Patty away from me. I knew that the truth about Tiffany would only make matters worse—Patty was very much against the idea of strip clubs to begin with, largely because of the connection to prostitution. There’s no way that she’d believe that I hadn’t been looking for what happened, nor would she care much for the questionable distinction between what Tiffany meant to do to me in that little room and what she did.

No, the only way to get Patty back was to turn Carrie around, make her take back everything she’d said. As I walked, aimlessly around downtown Portland, my plan for Carrie was solidifying. I had conceived a way—highly improbable though it was—that Carrie might expose herself to me willingly and still derive some enjoyment from it. I was beginning to understand the rules of my ability, on a deep level, and I grew confident that my plan would work.

I e-mailed Carrie with my proposal, which I hoped she wouldn’t refuse. To my surprise, she replied within minutes.

“When and where?“She wrote.

I waited patiently while Carrie set up the video camera. As I’d expected, she’d decided to protect herself with a canister of pepper spray, which she fumbled with as she tried to unwrap the video tape.

“You are such a pervert,” she said for the tenth time, glancing only briefly towards where I reclined nude in the armchair. She was separated from me by a three-foot-high stage, giving her a physical separation and a clear path to the exit. I hoped that she felt in control of the situation, even if she would continue to question my motivation.

“But you’ll get what you want.”

“Your confession? Yeah. I still don’t know what you hope to get out of this. I guess you’re just a sick bastard. And if you decide to start playing with yourself, I’ll mace you in the face and the crotch.”

“No funny business. I promise. And it’s pepper spray, not mace.”

“It’ll still put you down.”

“Of course.”

Once she was satisfied that the camera was rolling, she nodded to me. “Go ahead.”

I smiled for the camera. I knew that she was also recording my voice using a hidden mini-recorder. “My name is Stephen Jason Jackson. I am here to tell you the truth of what happened on October 31st, 2005.”

Carrie stared at me intently.

“Your turn,” I reminded her.

“This is ridiculous,” she said.

“Just do it if you want the truth.”

“All right,” she said, reaching down and taking off her black strappy dress shoes.

“Now, don’t hesitate next time. My confession will look much more natural if I don’t have to stop after every sentence to remind you about your part of the bargain.”

“Fine,” she said grudgingly.

I repeated my preamble for the camera, then continued my monologue. “I heard about a party happening at the home of Carrie and Nolan Moore. Without being invited, I attended the party that night. I did not speak to anyone, I simply sat quietly and watched the other students drinking alcohol and dancing.”

I paused, and Carrie, in accordance with my written instructions, reluctantly removed her long-sleeved shirt, which had been partly buttoned over a white t-shirt.

I continued with a minimal pause. “After most of the other students had left the house, I was approached by Gwen West. Gwen seemed to have noticed my isolation and invited me to participate in a school spirit activity she was engaged in with some of the members of the cheer-leading squad. She took me alone to the bedroom of Carrie Moore, where she closed the door.”

Carrie glared at me as she pulled the t-shirt off over her head. She was wearing an extremely Concealing sports bra.

“Gwen didn’t know that I had found a way to make her do whatever I wanted. She took her shirt off—that part wasn’t so hard—although she warned me against any ‘funny business’. But then, thanks to my manipulation she, suddenly pressed her nude torso against my face, seeming to derive uncommon enjoyment from the sensation of my skin against hers. Some would say that this is consistent with ingestion of MDMA. I will reveal in full detail how, in fact, I was manipulating Gwen in a moment.”

Carrie’s breathing was labored as she slid her slacks off, gripping the pepper spray tightly in her other hand. She was wearing a pair of bright yellow cotton bikini briefs. She held stock still as I continued.

“Once I began stimulating her physically, Gwen began to respond in a way that was out of her control. Responding to my subtle suggestion, she began to stimulate my sexual organs through my clothes and hers. She continued until I had experienced a sexual climax, and she experienced what may have been a sexual climax of her own.”

Carrie hesitated long enough that I had to raise an eyebrow before she slid the panties down her smooth, tanned athlete’s legs. She stood primly, legs together.

“Gwen immediately left the room and returned to her friends, including Carrie, who were waiting for her. I waited outside the house for her, and she reluctantly agreed to let me walk her home. Before we parted, she expressed her misgivings about our activities for the evening, to my great disappointment. Now, the important question from a legal standpoint is exactly how it was I made Gwen responsive to my desires.”

The moment of truth. I could see it in Carrie’s eyes. She felt a burning rage within herself. She felt like she had me, that even if I stopped here she’d finally have what she needed to permanently shame me. She was already plotting all the exposure my bizarre nude confession would get. What was she planning, Internet video? The nightly news?

She pulled one arm in through the side of the bra, and then the other, and pulled it off over her head. I finally set eyes on her small, smooth, breasts with their small, flat, pale nipples. I took another slow breath before I moved on the the most difficult part.

“The key to my manipulation was Gwen’s breasts. It was almost her own idea to let me see them—such was her dedication to her friends and her school that it was not hard to convince her that I needed to see them. From the moment I set eyes on her perky, perfect little tits something came out from deep inside me. I desired her touch, and she knew, and she let me touch. I desired her to orgasm, and she orgasmed just from my hands on her skin. I have a special ability, a unique one, that means that I can bend nude women to my will. I know you won’t believe me, and that is why I have arranged this confession.”

“You sick fucker,” Carrie spat, “you think you can get an insanity defense? When they open the book on you they’ll find out how it was all your fault.”

“On the contrary,” I said smoothly, “the key in the insanity defense is knowing that my actions were wrong. I knew at the time that I was doing the wrong thing, even as I know right now it is the wrong thing to get you naked so that I can change your mind.”

“You can’t change me,” she sneered. “What will you do then, once I take this tape and show everyone in the world how big a pervert you are? When I show your precious Patty.”

“You know you’re not going to do that.”

“Of course I am.”

“No you’re not. You know what you have to do now.”

“No!” She insisted. “I am going to ruin you! You destroyed Gwen, and I will destroy you.”

“Then why aren’t you walking out the door with your evidence?”

“I’m about to.”

“And why are you still naked?”

“I was just about to get dressed.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

“Go ahead.”

Carrie glanced uncertainly at her discarded clothes.

“You don’t really want to,” I observed.

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me,” she said, brandishing the pepper spray, “but if you even get up out of that chair...”

“It’s time to come clean, Carrie. It was your idea to make Gwen do what she did. It was you...”

“Stop it!” She interjected.

“...it was you who made her feel compelled to do what she didn’t want to do. She just wanted your approval. Sure, my unique circumstances contributed to it, and I feel horrible to find out that she died. But you know the truth, don’t you, you know that you are the one who blew the whole thing out of proportion, that when Gwen begged you to stop hurting me...”

“Stop it,” she muttered, looking away from me, “stop it, stop it...”

“she told you I was innocent, that it had all been a silly misunderstanding. She saw what had been done to me, and she couldn’t live with it. That was my fault to, probably, that she felt so connected to me. I wish more than anything that I could take it back. I can’t, and you can’t. But we can let Gwen have her peace, let me live my life like she always wanted. And you can have peace, too, have Gwen’s forgiveness.”

“Stop it,” she was still repeating, then she looked up towards me again, “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

She lunged at her open purse and pulled out a small black semi-automatic handgun. She pointed it at me, her hands shaking.

“I don’t know how you’re doing this,” she said, “but if you don’t stop it...”

“You don’t want to do that,” I said gently.

“I don’t, but I will. I swear to God.”

I doubted she’d manage to hit me with the way her arm trembled. I stayed completely still.

“How do you know all those things?” She insisted.

“It’s written on your face,” I said, “but I only know the key because I was there that night. Come on, Carrie, let us both be honest. We were both wrong, we were both kids who didn’t know the power we held. We were both changed by the experience. Let’s get on with our lives.”

Tears started streaming out of Carrie’s eyes. She lowered the gun and began to sob. She fell to the floor, set the gun down, and covered her face in her hands. I walked towards her, picked up the gun, figured out how to unload it, and regarded her. I knew she had been changed. What I didn’t know was whether how much of what I’d put in her had been real, how much had been selfish fabrication. Was it the truth of my words which had swayed her? Or my intractable ability?

“Come on,” I said gently, “why don’t you get dressed?”

She sniffed and looked up at me, and then stood, holding her reddened eyes on me. “That’s not what you want,” she countered.

“Yes it is,” I insisted, “I want you to get dressed and we can put all this behind us.”

“That’s what you think you want,” she countered, “but I know what you really want.”

“No,” I said firmly, stepping back.

“Look, your body betrays you,” she said. It was true, the notion was exciting me. She stepped forward, closing the distance to me. “You want me to be forceful, insistent so you don’t get guilty. And,” she added, her confidence showing, “if you turn me away, who knows what I might do? I might get another sour streak.”

“Really, Carrie, I’m not like that. I’m committed to Patty.”

“Are you, really?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you just don’t like me because I don’t have a big pair of knockers like her,” she said, framing her slender chest with her hands. Even as my eyes were drawn down, I took a step back, but she matched my movement.

“Oh my,” she said, face flushing, “goodness, what is this about?”

She was looking at her chest. The first thing I noticed was her deflated nipples filling out, perhaps from her excitement. But then I realized that it was not just her nipples, but her breasts which were expanding. I could see her taut globes begin to protrude, to yield to gravity.

“Oh God,” she said, wide-eyed, “that feels amazing.”

We both watched in fascination as her tits swelled outwards. It was sort of like watching a water balloon fill, but with continuing movements in other directions as her skin and muscle pulled up and in, drawing her breasts up into a perfect posture. They weren’t overly round and globular like implants. They had a perfect, unique, natural shape that normally only hormones and time can produce. It reminded me of watching muffins baking in time-lapse, sweet golden goodness rising up out of its pan, spilling gloriously over the edges, no longer bound by its original constraints. When she stopped, they had to be double-D sized, which was exaggerated by her slim frame.

“Wow,” she said at last, “is this how you wanted to see me? Is this my perfect pair of breasts? I’ll never be able to jog again!” She hefted the massive things in her hands. “There’s no way you can turn me down now.” Her lifting motion turned to a caress. “It’s unreal how sensitive they are.”

I had kept backing, and I didn’t realize that she’d guided me right to the edge of the rolling office chair on the stage. “Have a seat,” she purred, pushing my chest.

The fight was gone from me. I let it happen. I also accepted that, deep down that it was what some part of me wanted. She pressed those immaculate breasts against my shoulder. They were impossibly soft and pliable considering their rapid increase in size. As she moved them over my bare skin I could tell that their internal consistency was perfect, not homogeneous, but graduated between the areas of high and low density. Her crinkled nipples were soft but resilient, her contracted aureole perfectly round. The texture of her skin had been maintained—not quite perfect, but with the kind of variation that makes skin such an endless source of wonder. She rose and fall, sliding her breasts all over my torso, the back of my neck. Then she brought them around the side, smothering my face with them, letting a nipple slip into my mouth.

“Oh yeah,” she moaned, “that is amazing.”

She fed her tits to my hungry mouth. After a few moments she straddled me, and the chair creaked under us. Her skin became cool with the evaporation of my saliva. I felt her smooth upper thighs glancing over my twitching cock as she undulated on me. I thought of reaching down, aligning my sex with hers so that I could be inside her.

“That’s not what you want,” she panted, pulling back at last, her breasts now bright pink from my stimulation. “That’s not what you re-made me for.”

She slid down, onto her knees. She put her hands between my knees and flung my legs open, and scooted forward, and lifted her hefty orbs. She teased her nipples against my thighs, my scrotum, let them glance against my shaft. She swung one of her outstretched tits and let it slap against my tall, proud dick, which dipped over and then bounced back like an ocean buoy on a wave. She slapped the other way, again, and again until my skin started to feel tender, and then she wrapped her soft fleshy tits around my shaft and caressed me to calm.

She smiled at me and then leaned down and spat into her cleavage, smearing the saliva through her breast tunnel, beginning to slide up and down my cock. When she reached the bottom, she leaned forward and slurped the head of my cock noisily. Then she moved her tits with her hands without releasing my cock from between her lips.

Her mouth grew moist—I realized that my cock was leaking pre-ejaculate, which it had never done before. Carrie moaned, and let the stuff slip out her lips and drip down my long shaft, reducing the friction between her breasts, letting her bounce her tits more quickly. Then she let them rest at the base of my cock, smothering and soothing my throbbing testicles, while she swallowed my cock as far down as she could without breaking contact with her breasts.

Then she switched back to long, smooth strokes, letting her smooth flesh travel from the very top, barely holding me in place, down as far as she could go against the chair. I noticed that she was not just holding her tits in place, but actually pulling on her nipples. “It feels so good, baby,” she gushed, “you made me so hot for this.”

More pre-come was beginning to form a froth on my shaft and the top of Carrie’s tits. I reached down and finally touched her new boobs with my hands, feeling the slickness of them under my hands as I helped to compress them around me. Once I let go she slurped deep again, pressing her nipples into my balls, then tracing up the underside of my dick. I felt a tell-tale pulse, stronger than the continuing release of natural lubrication.

I stood up. She grinned and sat back on her ankles. I fed her the tip of my cock, fucked it in and out of her mouth in short strokes. I pulled out and she lifted her tits, letting me slap my cock against them. “Oh, yeah,” she said, pulling on her red engorged nipples, “like that baby. Slap them, show me who they belong to.” The leverage of my long cock made her tits sway and undulate in response to my attack. Finally, I pulled back, and began stroking my strangely long cock.

“Yeah,” she crooned, “come on me, show me I’m your dirty titty toy, show me I’m your little slut.” She lifted her breast and snaked a tongue out and began to lap my pre-come from her cleavage, her tongue snaking in between the folds of her breast. Then she lifted her breast more still, sucking her over-stimulated nipple into her mouth, then the other, and then pushing her tits together and sliding her tongue back and forth in front of her open mouth, languishing saliva over her pink skin.

I came, letting loose another abnormally large ejaculation. Panting with passion, I drew with my body’s white paint, claiming her breasts, targeting her nipples, deliberately coating her upturned face, filling her open mouth, gluing her eyes shut, defiling her perfect blond hair. Then I shoved my cock into her semen-filled mouth and nearly force-fed her my leavings, squeezing my long shaft into her like a tube of toothpaste.

I stood back, panting, shocked at my own behavior. I knew that it was actually a realization of my deep, conflicted fantasies. That sort of demeaning act was something I’d never want to do to to Patty. Patty was my perfect life-partner; I wanted her to stay innocent. Carrie, though, had become my fuck-toy, and as much as I wanted to be rid of her, as much as I wanted to have a normal life with Patty, I knew I couldn’t say no to Carrie.

Carrie was carefully trying to clear the semen away from her eyes. “I’ve never done anything like that before,” she gasped.

My eyes locked onto her fresh, perfect boobs. “Let me tell you, now, how you’re going to help me get Patty back.”

Patty lay her head on my shoulder, breathing hard, her freckled cheeks bright pink with exertion. “Wow. They do say that make-up sex is the greatest, I guess.”

“Does this really qualify?”

“As the greatest?” She asked indignantly.

“No, silly, as make-up sex.”

“I think so, since I was in the wrong. I really am sorry I doubted you, sweetie. She was just so... convincing.”

“You keep saying that.”

“It just blows my mind how certain she made me feel that you were... something horrible.”

“I’m no saint,” I said, tensing.

“Nobody is.”

“I suppose,” I breathed.

“I still can’t believe Carrie came clean. How come you never told anyone about her and the dare?”

“I told the cops. Nobody believed me.”

“You poor thing. Here is this pretty girl, throwing herself at you, and you think it’s a dream come true, but it’s just the three tabs of MDMA that Carrie dropped in her soda.”

I shrugged. “I should have known better.”

“Maybe.”

“You know what the strange thing is? I worked with her for a few weeks, and she always seemed kind of flat-chested to me. But I saw her on TV last night and it looks like she got an over-sized pair of breast implants in the last week or something.”

“Maybe she was just wearing a tight bra before.”

Patty shook her head. “I can’t imagine how she’d hide a pair like that. Trust me, I spent several years trying.”

“I’m glad you gave up,” I said, accenting the comment with a grope.

“Ooh, do that again.”

“That?”

“Yeah.”

“How about that?”

“Oh my! Sweetie! You’ve never done anything like that before!”

“There’s a first time for everything,” I said with a grin.