The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Saturday, 5:32 a.m, Ms. Rebecca

Rebecca had gone to bed early. It wasn’t clear what was in those devilish martinis, but they had left her woozy for most of the rest of the day, into the evening.

Or maybe that was just the strain of dealing with Sabrina. The begrudging step-daughter had fallen into a sullen, sulky reverie as soon as they were emplaced in their run-down suite.

They had surprised another strange girl in the bathroom. She was a dusky, tanned girl, with coal-rimmed eyes and bouncy black hair. She was scrubbing bathroom tile in heels and a skirt, the ridiculous spikes jutting into the air behind her. And she was muttering curses to herself when they surprised her.

“Oh,” she had said, finally deigning to notice the two surprised guests. “Sorry. I’m just finishing up. Don’t mind me.”

With Sabrina there, Rebecca hadn’t felt able to point out how her bare, tanned knees were tracking muck around with every move. Or that, on her hands and knees, she could nearly see the girl’s panties through the thin skirt.

Dinner, in town, had been a complete disaster. Sabrina had insisted on something vegetarian, “but not a salad.” A long and increasingly bitter exchange with the wait staff had led to a plate full of raw carrots, which Sabrina had viciously gnawed on. Rebecca had nearly come to tears, and only made it through dinner with the help of two poorly made martinis. They weren’t even as good as the one at the Hotel.

There was a knock at the door.

Rebecca checked the bedside clock. It read “12:00 am” and blinked. Right, the clock was broken. Her cell phone said “5:32 am.”

“Miss Rebecca? I have your daughter here,” a man’s voice said.

She checked the next bed over. Empty.

Behind the door was a large, older man with thinning black hair. He wore a long woolen nightgown, which hung preposterously off his belly. He had a scowl that could char leather.

Right behind him stood her wobbly step-daughter. Sabrina looked defiantly back, but she had an unfocused look and an uncertain stance.

“Imagine my surprise when I heard a key scrabbling in the lock this early am,” the man growled. “Apparently your daughter, here, mistook a “ten” for a “three.” A common mistake when you are drunk and perhaps tripping on something toxic.”

“I’m… I’m very sorry, sir,” Rebecca stammered. “I’m—it was an honest mistake.”

“Hrm,” the man said. His eyes lingered on her form. Too late Rebecca realized that she had gone to the door in her white nighty. It was pure silk, creamy like a spoonful of milk, and she usually wore it to entice Sabrina’s Dad. At which it was supremely successful. A lifetime of good-girl bra-wearing had left her with high, firm breasts. She hid behind the door, slightly.

“Well, I suppose it can be overlooked,” the man said. “I am Mr. Wren, incidentally. Down the hall in Room Ten.”

“Rebecca,” she said. They quickly shook hands. “I’ll take Sabrina here back, then. Thank you very much for taking care of her.”

“Yes, well, at first I thought a wayward crow had flown into my door,” he said, glancing backwards. Sabrina flushed. She was dressed in all-black regalia. Black boots with nails in them, thick black stockings, long black skirt, and a black tanktop paired with black lacey fingergloves. She had thickly-rimmed eyes. “Turned out she had merely fallen into a vat of black paint. And swam around in it. And perhaps used it as mouthwash.”

Rebecca snapped. It was one thing for the man to get a free peek at her exposed chest in the early morning. It was quite another to critique her daughter—step or not.

“Mr. Wren. I appreciate that you have been inconvenienced. But please do not attack my daughter. Good night.”

Mr. Wren raised an eyebrow. “Well. I must say. It’s always a pleasure to be tongue-lashed by a woman of good breeding. You are welcome to her. It must be hard to keep track of her at night, she blends in very well.”

Sabrina retreated indoors. Rebecca politely, but firmly, closed the door in Mr. Wren’s face. Then she put her back to it.

Her step-daughter lingered in the middle of the room. She suddenly looked very, very young and very, very silly.

“Um, thanks for… sticking up for me… Rebecca,” she said.

Rebecca waved it off. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.

“I’m going back to bed.”

Saturday, 7:39 a.m., Mr. Justin

Justin arrived early for work the next morning. With the excitement of a possible buyer, not to mention the new sensual aura in the air, work didn’t seem quite as bad as it had once been.

Meredith was already there. The redhead was sitting at her spot at the piano. Even more surprising, she was actually playing fairly well. The girl carefully picked her way through a short melody, concentrating on each note. She had her eyes fixed on an honest-to-goodness songbook she had open on the display.

The redhead had even made a big pot of coffee and set out a muffin/banana display. That was her job, but it was still unusual.

“Not bad,” Justin said, sliding behind the bar.

“Oh! Hey. Justin,” the redhead said. She turned towards him. She tinkled a few keys. “Great day, isn’t it?”

“Too hot, I’m thinking- umm….”

Meredith had gone shopping again.

Gone were the faded pants. She wore a mid-knee yellow ruffled skirt brighter then the noon sun. It emphasized the curve of her body even with the heavy folds.

But he was clearly meant to look at her chest.

Meredith wore a tight white blouse. It was professional, in a roundabout way, collared and buttoned up nearly to the neck. But it was half-translucent, and her boobs were clearly visible underneath the fabric. As was a brand-new, wine-red bra.

She beamed at him, and bounded up to the bar.

“You’re not going to believe this,” she whispered. “It worked.”

“What worked?” Justin said. Meredith had her arms crossed underneath her chest. It thrust them upwards.

“The drink! That drink Mr. Wren gave me! It—I grew last night! I grew like a whole lot!”

Her cheeks were flushed.

“Congratulations?” he managed.

She hugged herself. “I went right back to that store this morning. Returned that old bra, told them they had COMPLETELY gotten my size wrong. You should’ve seen them. They were blown away.”

So was Justin. Since Meredith was apparently licensing it, he gave her tits a careful once-over. They were noticeably larger, and tented the white cotton shirt.

He had his own news. “Mr. Wren is out to buy the hotel,” he told her. Meredith, looking down at her happy new chest, took a moment to register.

“What? Wren? That creepy guy?”

“Yeah. It was weird. He treated Jessica like she was a four year old. I’ve never seen anything like it. Had her, uh, posing. For him.”

“Wow,” she said. Meredith didn’t seem interested in much beyond her new boobs. “Hey, watch what I can do.” She squeezed her arms together. The motion sent her new apple-sized tits billowing into the fabric. “Cleavage! I mean, I know I’m wearing the shirt, but if I wasn’t, you could see real cleavage!”

“That’s great,” Justin stacked glasses. “You did hear me before, right? About Wren buying this place? Wouldn’t that be weird?”

Meredith reluctantly tore her mind away from her own chest. “Well, yeah, of course,” she said, and shrugged. She perked up. “Hey, do you think you could get that recipe from him?”

“What recipe?”

“The boob-growth formula, whatever it was.”

“I don’t think it really made your chest get bigger, Meredith,” he told her. Justin hadn’t expected this level of tit-heavy discourse, first thing in the morning. “Nothing back beyond the bar here is magic. Except the Johnny Walker Blue. And you can’t afford it.”

“I know, I know,” Meredith said. She giggled. The young redhead stretched, long and lazy. “But he was right. I must’ve been undernourished. I read about it online. Here I was so worried about gaining weight, and it turns out it all went to my chest.”

Her left hand gently cupped underneath her tit.

Was she… squeezing it? Ever so slightly?

“Hmm. What was that you were saying? Mr. Wren wants to buy the hotel?”

“Twice. Twice, I said it.”

“I think I’ll oh-so casually stop by his room,” Meredith mused. “Maybe get that recipe from him.” She favored him with a coy grin. “You’ll stay here, won’t you?”

“I got nowhere else to go.”

“Good. I like it that way.”

Saturday, 8:29 a.m., Ms. Rebecca

Rebecca waited in the suite armchair. She had a mug of coffee in her hand, and sipped quietly. She usually didn’t go in for anything so acidic, but a caffeine boost was completely welcome, this morning.

Sabrina had collapsed, exhausted, into the other bed. It was almost nine. Nothing in the seashell-patterned sheets had stirred.

At least there had been muffins set out by the door. A nice touch. Rebecca still wore her white nighty. Sabrina had fallen asleep in last night’s vampire princess getup.

“She does look like a crow,” she thought. Sabrina had long beautiful blonde hair, once. There were still hints of it whenever she neglected her dye job.

The younger girl opened her eyes. She drew the sheets up to her neck, then sat up. Springs clanged underneath the bed. Rebecca studiously ignored her.

“If you have a hangover, and I’m sure you do,” she said, “Look to your left.”

Sabrina looked. Rebecca had placed a muffin and a cup of coffee there. She sipped at it, gratefully.

“I just wanted to go out—“ the girl said. Rebecca put up a hand.

“I don’t care,” she said. “You know what? I don’t. I’m not your Mom. I’m closer to your age then to… your Father’s. You’re in college, you’re an adult, you can make your own decisions. That’s how this is going to have to work.”

Sabrina looked startled.

“But,” Rebecca added. “I wish you would’ve had the decency to tell me. To respect me.”

“I do respect you,” Sabrina said. She swiveled out of bed, found the floor. Her hair was matted and tousled after last night.

Rebecca snorted. “Funny way of showing it.”

“I do!” Sabrina insisted. She walked over to the dusty mirror, examined her reflection. “Do I… really look like a.. you know, what Mr. Wren said? A crow?”

“I suppose one bird would know another. Isn’t that the point?” Rebecca said, puzzled. “You’re wearing all black, dear. I didn’t think you wanted to win Miss Sunshine anytime soon.”

“I didn’t want to look stupid, I just wanted to…” Sabrina turned. There were a few held-back tears in her eyes. “I just wanted to look different, okay? I mean, you come in, and you’re so perfectly made up every single day, and you have the perfect outfit on, and I just—it just makes me feel like crap.”

“Oh,” Rebecca said. Her mind twirled. This was entirely unexpected. Jealousy she had expected. Envy? Not nearly as much.

“You’re going to ruin your mascara,” she said. Tears leaked down Sabrina’s face.

“I know!” she yelled. “I know that! You’re perfect, and I look like a garbage bag. I guess that’s just who I am.”

They stood silently for a moment. Rebecca finished her cup. Now she wanted a martini.

An idea hit her.

“We could give you a makeover,” she said.

Sabrina raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“All my tricks of the trade,” Rebecca said, warming to the idea. “When I’m done, there will be nothing I know that you don’t.”

“I’ll just look like an ugly version of you,” Sabrina said, defensively.

“Oh, dear, is that what you think? You’re nineteen. I’m in my thirties. You automatically win. And you’re really very pretty, you know. You’ll see.”

Sabrina examined her reflection in the mirror. She flopped her arms to her sides. “I… I guess we could try it. It’s not like there’s anything else to do in this hotel.”

“Good attitude,” Rebecca said. “Get in the shower. When you’ll get out, we’ll make a real woman out of you. Maybe we’ll even go shopping. My treat. Get going!”

Inside, she cheered.

Saturday, 10:23 a.m., Mr. Justin

This time it was Caitlyn who walked up to the bar. She wore matching sweats and sneakers.

“Give me a drink,” she ordered.

“Aren’t you underage?” Justin said.

“So?”

“So I’m not giving you a drink. Or at least, nothing alcoholic. You can have a coke.”

The brunette grimaced. “I was hoping for more then that. I hate this stupid swimsuit. It feels so weird to be wearing it all day. Like you’re half-naked. It’s really… exposing.”

“The terrible plight of the lifeguard,” Justin said. “I hear HBO is making a miniseries about it. Or maybe it was Showtime After Dark.”

She laughed. “Seriously! And I have to stay in the sun all day, or I’m freezing.”

“So, you get a tan?” Justin said.

“No. I get burnt. I probably rubbed on a gallon of sunscreen lotion yesterday, and my shoulders are still crispy-fried. I feel like I’m on a rotisserie. I have to keep turning over.”

“I noticed.” Justin had spent a nice ten minutes yesterday admiring her tits. Even on her back, they defied gravity, sitting heavily on her chest.

She finished the coke in one go. “You know what the worst part is? I think all this sun is turning me blonde.”

“Blonde?”

Justin took a closer look. The Caitlyn he remembered was a light brunette. This girl was already sandy-haired, with bright streaks of yellow running through it.

“The roots are all blonde, too. It must be a vitamin deficiency or something that the sun is making up for. Vitamin Blonde or whatever,” Caitlyn concluded. “I don’t really want to be a blonde.”

“Blondes have more fun, don’t they?”

“Not at college! I don’t want to be the airhead, I want to be taken seriously. Alright, thanks for the coke.”

She got three steps away before turning back. “Okay, I really am an airhead. The whole reason I came in here. Come outside with me real quick. I need your help.”

“Same thing as yesterday?”

Caitlyn blushed. “I’m really sorry about that. It was totally inappropriate.”

“It’s fine,” Justin lied.

“It’s just that you’re such a nice guy, you know? I just.. I had to have someone I could trust.”

Justin privately thought that the next young girl to call him a nice guy would pay for it.

She gave him a winsome smile. Justin followed her outside. As soon as the sun hit her, Caitlyn started to strip. She pulled the sweater over her glasses, tossed it aside casually, and shucked the pants off a moment later.

The brunette/blonde had a new swimsuit.

This one was a deep purple, and instead of a businesslike rubber, was a light, shiny fabric. The cut was extremely generous—the bikini rode low on her round hips, and the top cupped her young tits in a tight embrace. They looked very large. It was the first time Justin had gotten a good look at her stomach. It was pretty much as expected—toned, white, and topped with a cute belly button.

“Two piece, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Caitlyn looked down at her exposed belly, and scratched at it. “I realized I was going to have a really weird look if my stomach was bone-white and the rest of me was nice and tan. So, you know. I got this. It’s not too revealing or anything, is it?”

She swiveled and gave him a long opportunity to examine her ass. The thinner fabric clung to the pooched-out rear.

So far this was even worse then yesterday. And it was already starting to get very warm. “She’s eighteen,” he told himself.

“Okay, can you move this umbrella so that the shade is only covering the book?” Caitlyn said. She produced a bound copy of the Complete Works of William Shakespeare, the top of the pages lined in gold. It was massive, like a pulpit bible.

“If you can heft that, why do you need me?” Justin asked.

“Aw. Please? Pretty please?” She pouted. Caitlyn had nice lips. Not nice like Danni, but nice. Justin melted.

“Alright,” he dragged it into place. “You do know that the sun is going to move, right? This will only cover the book for maybe a half-hour.”

She gave him a hopeful smile.

“And I won’t come back out in a half-hour. Why don’t you get Phil to do it? He’s big. He’s nice.”

“Phil?” Caitlyn thought about it. “He’s so clumsy. Whenever I see him he breaks something. Or trips over something. Or both.”

“You ever think about that?” Justin said. “When you’re around, right? Interesting thought, isn’t it?”

Caitlyn blushed. It was interesting with her body half-naked. The warm flush extended all the way down to the top of her chest. She pushed her glasses back up. “I really don’t think it’s that.”

“Think about it,” Justin said, and walked back inside.

A moment later Caitlyn was tapping on the glass again. Her nipples pushed up against the glass, nearly on the same spot as Meredith’s. Caitlyn’s were still bigger, but the redhead was catching up fast.

“Okay, this is the last favor I will ever ask you, I completely swear it,” she said. “And I know you’re going to think I’m this totally dumb airhead. But I forgot that I need someone to put sunscreen on my back.”

She held up the white bottle and looked at him hopefully.

Justin was half-tempted to turn her down. His libido was urging nasty, nasty things. And the longer he spent with her nubile, bikini-clad body, the greater the chance she would notice his screaming erection. Intellectually he knew that she was really much too young to be wiping fluids on.

A bead of white cream appeared at the top of the bottle.

“I’ll do it,” Justin said.

She sat nervously on the side of one of the multicolored pool chairs, a relic from the golden era of the 1970s. Caitlyn trembled when Justin squirted a pile of goo onto his palm.

“Just the very middle is fine,” she told him. “I can, you know, do the rest.”

He wiped his palm across the middle of her back. Caitlyn was very warm and very smooth. She gasped.

“Cold?”

“N-no. Not really.” She sat quietly while he massaged the fluid into her lower back.

Then he noticed that she was breathing hard. “Are you.. doing anything.. special back there?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“N-nevermind. It’s nothing.”

“Okay, well, you’re all done.”

“Oh! Already?” She sounded disappointed. “You’re sure? You didn’t miss a spot, maybe?”

“Uh, pretty sure, Caitlyn.”

“Barely legal,” he reminded himself. It sounded better and better each time he thought it, more like a promise then a warning.

“What about.. under the bra strap?”

“What?” The back of the bikini top was a clasped metal ring, a shiny chrome. It struggled to hold together.

“Here, I’ll make it easy for you,” she said. “Just… don’t look in front of me, okay?”

And then she flipped up the bikini top. Even from behind Justin could tell that her cheeks were burnt-red. A part of him knew, with complete certainty, that if he simply reached around and gathered up her sweating chest, she would melt into him.

“Barely legal! Barely legal!” thundered inside his head. Justin gritted his teeth, spurted some of the cold liquid onto his palm, and splatted it on her back. “There. All done,” he said, and wiped a skein of sweat off his forehead.

“Huh? What?” Caitlyn looked lost in her own world.

“All done,” Justin said. He stood up before he could do anything he would later regret.

There, in the window, staring right at Caitlyn’s exposed tits, was Meredith. The redhead looked him straight in the eyes, then dashed away.

“Shit.”

Saturday, 10:40 a.m., Ms. Danni

Danni tapped a pen at the underside of her lips. It hurt, but in her present mood, she hardly minded.

Talking stung. Her thick, warped lips buzzed with irritation whenever she tried to carry on a simple conversation. Wrapping her plush pillows around any word longer then a single syllable was a difficult business. After a disastrous attempt to say the word “conversational” she had stuck to short, easy sentences.

She had given up on party-planning entirely.

To make matters worse, her mouth had overcompensated—or maybe it was part of the same mysterious bug bite that had given her big, sensual lips. Her mouth gushed with saliva. It was thick and juicy, a constant flood. So even when she tried to talk, she was nearly drooling.

In all, whenever she spoke, Danni sounded like a slurring, breathless teenager with a limited vocabulary.

And she had somehow lost her pacifier. The suckling was the only thing that had soothed her angry lips, even if it did make her look like a Hot Topic escapee.

“Hey! Where’s Justin?” Meredith said. She dashed into the bar and looked back and forth, as if he was hidden in the piano.

Danni shrugged. She could’ve explained that he was outside with Caitlyn, but that would’ve taken quite a few syllables. Besides, Meredith wasn’t exactly a friend. Danni had endured far too many sad piano arias to think at all kindly towards her.

Justin… not unattractive, especially when the only other boy at work was the gangly Phil. Danni had caught him glancing down her cleavage more then a few times.

Meredith looked at Danni. The redhead looked unusually vibrant. Had she always had those well-formed swellings under her blouse? And what was with that skirt? She looked like an avant-garde roller-skate waitress.

“Danni, are you sucking your thumb?” she said.

Danni shrugged. She could’ve explained that this was the only substitute for her missing pacifier. But that took words.

Meredith finally looked outdoors. She watched for a long moment, then gasped and put her hand over her mouth. She looked like someone had just rammed a bucket of ice down her shirt. Then the redhead turned around and stomped into the women’s bathroom.

Justin followed a moment later. Danni wordlessly pointed him into the restroom.

The phone rang. She stared at it for a moment, then sighed and picked it up. Her thumb she wiped on her brand new outfit.

“Thish ish Danni,” she said, and winced.

“Yes, this is Mr. Wren from Room Ten.” As if the booming, testosterone-laden voice was a mystery. “I need to make a call to Mumbai. That’s India. Please connect me.”

“Hold pleash,” Danni said. She rummaged through her desk, thinking evil thoughts. Mr. Wren had arrived at the same moment her lips had been assaulted. No doubt it was some foreign bug he had dragged in with him.

She pulled out the foreign directory. “Okay, to call Mumbai its-h besht to dial…”

“My dear lady, what in the world is wrong with your voice?” Mr. Wren said. He sounded genuinely concerned.

“A bug bit my lipsh,” Danni said. She knocked the receiver against her head.

“I see. I have seen this before, in my travels. Are they swollen?”

“Yesh.”

“And there’s that lisp. I’m guessing you’re experiencing some saliva buildup? Well. Please come by my room. I believe I have a salve that will help your condition remarkably.”

Not likely. “And bring the number along as well,” he added.

“All right,” Danni said. She slammed the phone back, picked up her notebook, and walked off into the guest hallways.

There were only two, and they weren’t long. The carpet was an out-of-date paisley pattern with red and yellow sworls. Plastic flowers on low side tables constituted the tinny décor.

She nearly slammed into Jessica before she was halfway there. The blonde was carefully practicing her heel-toe in a brand new pair of boots. They were shiny and black in the overhead lighting, and backed with a wholly impractical heel.

“Oh!” Jessica said. She turned around. “Danni! I didn’t—“ she stopped, looked as stern as she could.

Danni, didn’t we speak just—just yesterday about your outfit?”

“Me? What about yoursh?” Danni blurted, lip injury forgotten.

Jessica flushed, and she toyed with a long shining length of blonde hair. She was still chewing a huge piece of gum, popping and crackling at the stuff.

The pink hardly ended there. Her sedate, cheap black suit had been replaced by something expensive… and pink. Very, very pink.

The jacket was decent, and in fact, might’ve passed inspection at an Easter Sunday in the 1960s. It was cut very tight, with generous shoulders, and had six black buttons that were all fastened shut.

On the other hand, it was hot pink. The skirt was the same color, but brief, so brief that if she tilted left or right the overhanging jacket bottom would cover it entirely. The overheated feminine wraparound was really little bigger then a big scarf. That meant that her legs, in their boots and the tiny skirt, were elevated from dull things to skyscraping towers of perfection. She rubbed them together, nervously.

Her long blonde hair was let loose, and wafted gently on the top of her jacket. The blouse underneath was snow-white, and the top halves of her boobs were very prominently displayed.

“You’re pink! You’re all pink!” Danni accused. Jessica took a step back with each “pink.”

“This is.. a business suit. It cost…” and here Jessica named such an astronomical sum that Danni was left open-mouthed. A bit of saliva nearly escaped. “Mr. Wren recommended it personally.”

“And besides,” Jessica continued. She pulled herself together. “I seem to recall us speaking yesterday? About your own outfits?”

Danni smirked in spite of her own shock.

Jessica had asked for businesslike. So she had dug deep in her wardrobe for the most unbusinesslike, non-formal outfit she could throw together. The exotic girl had figured that mall-going teenybopper was the best way to go.

Most of her getup she hadn’t worn since she was sixteen.

She wore a short pair of ragged tan shorts, frazzled by design on the bottoms. She had grown out of them years ago, and the worn-out fabric neatly outlined every inch of her ass. But she had worn them all summer when she had gone to camp, driving the Counselors to distraction, and they won out on nostalgia value alone. On top Danni had picked out a pair of contrasting tank tops, in bright, primary colors.

“I wash jusht going to shee Mr. Wren right now,” she announced, breezing past the shocked Jessica. “I’ll shee what he thinksh. Thinks.” She forced the last syllable out correctly, and slurped back a cup of spit.

Jessica was speechless.

Mr. Wren’s door was at the very end of the hallway. He opened the door before she even had a chance to knock. It was already half-past ten, but he wore a deep red dressing gown, in a floral pattern.

“Come in, come in,” Mr. Wren said, gesturing with a doughy hand. “Your timing is good. I just now found the stuff.”

He produced a glass bottle. Danni wrinkled her nose. It had no label, nor had it ever, and the bottle cap was discolored dark yellow from whatever was inside. She shook her head.

“Oh, very well,” Mr. Wren said. “You Americans and your tiresome insistence on baby-proof caps and overcautious hygiene. Here, I will use some on myself.”

He uncapped it, held the bottle upside-down against a nasty handkerchief, and dabbed the liquid over his lips.

“Refreshing. Now. You try. You’ll even get a clean handkerchief. My last one.”

Danni trembled. But his eyes meant business. They were like dark, grey pools, and there was no telling what was in their depths. She took the bottle, wetted the napkin, and touched it gingerly to her own lips.

The effect was immediate. The stinging irritation faded and disappeared as soon as the yellow liquid touched it. She quickly swept it over the rest of her lips. The pain disappeared entirely.

“Well?” Mr. Wren said. He had a knowing grin plastered on his face.

“Much better!” Danni exclaimed. “And the lisp is gone!”

In fact, they felt even better then that.

When her lips rubbed together it produced a delicious, hot warmth. It surged through her head, pooling in the center of her thoughts. Surprised, her mouth made a silent O of delight.

“There tends to be a slight euphoric effect,” Mr. Wren explained. His dark eyes shone. “The nerves are very sensitive, you see, after all that irritation.”

“Mmmmmhmmmmm,” Danni said. She rubbed her lips together. It felt fantastic—like a lover was caressing her brand new pillows with a tender finger. She ran her tongue over the outsides, and was rewarded with a thrill of delicious pleasure.

Mr. Wren coughed, discretely.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, and nearly dropped the bottle. Then she clutched it to her chest.

“My gift,” he said, and bowed. “Try not to overuse it. The effects will fade every so often.”

“What about..the swelling? And the spit?” And even though the slurring was gone, her voice was still dark and husky, more like a purr then a voice.

“I would give those problems a few more days,” Mr. Wren said. He took the notebook from her hands. “And I thank you for the correct number. Good day, Ms. Danni.”

She barely noticed. Danni kept rubbing her lips together, luxuriating in their new heat.

“And Ms. Danni?” he said, as she turned to leave. “A word about your outfit?”

Danni carefully turned around and crossed her arms. She raised one eyebrow. Her lips couldn’t stop grinding together. “Yes? Is there a problem with it?”

“If you are going to wear such clothes, do not wear dark underwear. Or if you do, please invest in some that are more sturdy. Your panties have a tear in the left cheek, and your bra strap is showing its age. Now, out you go.”

And he patted her on the ass as she was issued out the door. She was so dazed from her new, hot-tasting lips, she barely even registered it.

Saturday, 10:41 a.m., Mr. Justin

The door to the women’s bathroom looked far more daunting. Part of Justin wanted to wait outside for Meredith to calm down. Then he could carefully, reasonably explain that Caitlyn had simply needed someone to smear sunscreen on her back, and that he had no designs on her bountiful titties. At all.

Justin pushed in anyways.

Meredith had pulled herself onto the long tiled sink, next to the hand soap dispenser. Both knees were drawn up, and she hugged herself tightly. “Occupied,” she said, in a low voice.

“Listen—“ Justin said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Meredith said. “Did you need this room for you and Caitlyn? I’ll go.” She hopped off the sink.

“Meredith. You’re being silly.”

“No? So then, what, do you two need a spare hotel room? So she can watch High School Musical while you fuck? Is that it?”

“Jesus Christ, Meredith!” Justin exploded. He waved his hands around. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m just helping Caitlyn out, and she pulls up her shirt for a moment, and you freak out. I thought we were friends!”

“Oh, yes, you were just helping her out,” Meredith said. The old Meredith, the sarcastic one with the biting tongue, was back. “Because you’re Justin. And Justin is a really, really nice guy who will just help anyone so long as they have big tits.”

Her chest heaved underneath her translucent blouse.

Justin snapped.

“I am a nice guy!” he yelled. “I listen to everyone’s stupid problems, I put up with their crappy piano playing, I don’t say a single thing when they get drunk and make me do all their work! And I deserve some reward for it, god damn everything!”

When his hands were half-extended, Justin realized that he was about to grab his co-workers boobs.

It was too late to stop, but he had just enough time to envision a sheaf of sexual harassment lawsuits, of a guest appearance on one of those sexual predator TV shows. Of Meredith running away screaming, hands crossed protectively over her chest.

His hands landed on Meredith’s boobs. Her eyes popped wide-open.

He snatched them back.

“I’m.. I’m really sorry,” he gabbled. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Look, I’ll go resign, right now..”

He turned to leave.

“Wait,” Meredith said. “Ah, you should put them… back on.”

Justin turned back. “What?”

“Your hands. Go ahead and put them back. We were still talking about… how much of a reward you deserved.”

“Um, okay,” Justin said. He held out his palms once more. This time Meredith licked her lips as he approached, and closed her eyes when his hands gently cupped her boobs. Even with a blouse and bra on top they felt fiery and warm.

“Oh,” Meredith said. “Okay. Lets… keep talking. Go on.”

Justin kept his hands stock still. “It’s not that I don’t like your piano playing,” he began.

“It’s.. gone tomorrow,” Meredith said. She bit her lip. Her forehead ran red with heat. “Whatever you want. We’ll throw it out the window.”

“And I didn’t mean it, about you drinking too much.”

“No more… drinking… got it,” Meredith said. She slouched back against the cold, white-tiled wall.

“And I think that penguins could fly if they really wanted to,” Justin tried. Meredith’s eyes popped open, quizzically.

“Huh? Look, Justin, I don’t know what you’re doing down there, but it feels so fucking goooooood…” she moaned.

Justin looked down at his hands. They were barely caressing the sides of her covered-up breasts, only lightly touching the undersides. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just holding them there.”

“Well… uh.. don’t stop, will you? Just… keep them there… for forever,” Meredith said. The redhead slumped farther back, nearly limp, so that her ass fell half off the counter.

If it felt that good when he was barely touching her, what would happen if… Justin rolled his hands underneath her boobs, swiveled his thumbs around, and lightly brushed the tops of Meredith’s nipples.

Her eyes flew open, and Meredith looked right past him. Her body went rigid. “Ah… ah.. ah!” she squeaked, like a very happy mouse. Justin’s ears rang with her ecstatic cries.

Her eyes focused on him. “Oh, Justin. It can’t feel this good. It doesn’t make any sense. Do that thing with your thumbs again.”

He tweaked her nipples once more. This time she bit her lip to keep from half-screaming into his ear. “Oh, you can’t do that again. It’s too good. It feels so good. Really. Don’t do it. Just one more time.”

“What do you want me to do?” Justin said. He kept at his assault on the underside of her tits. She wasn’t complaining about that part.

She ignored him, and kept licking her lips. “It’s the satin and the silky feeling, right on my nipples. It feels like they’re—ahh—hooked right up to a big fun button in the middle of my head. Don’t keep going.”

Meredith reopened her eyes. Justin was already putting his hand underneath her shirt, and searching up for her unconcealed boobs. “Justin, no, no. I don’t know,” she said, tentatively. “If it feels that good with the bra ON, I don’t know if here is—“

Someone knocked at the door. They both froze. “Occupied!” Meredith yelled, as loud as she could. Then she gestured frantically at the second open stall. Justin dove into it and slammed the door shut just as the bathroom swung open.

Saturday, 10:45 a.m., Ms. Jessica

Jessica concentrated on her short, businesslike steps.

It wasn’t like she could do anything but. The skirt was tight like a cinched belt, and tugged at her ass whenever she stepped too far. The unfamiliar stride of the boot heel kept her walking in a straight line. But it was what Mr. Wren had insisted was the right way for businesswomen to walk.

Something was wrong. If she could just put her finger on it…

Jessica had spent most of the morning prancing around her—her!—hotel and trying to make a list.

First of all, why had she just spent fifteen hundred dollars on a suit? Okay, yes, the pink was really, really cute. She had spent ten minutes in front of the dimly lit mirror at Professional Boutique, staring at the startling blonde in the reflection. It was a suit that said to the world “I am a professional, modern woman who isn’t afraid of her femininity. I’m going to take you on—on my terms.”

But that still didn’t excuse the price tag. Fifteen hundred dollars! Maybe she could get Mr. Wren to pay for it; it had been his idea.

And to make things worse, the shoplady had explained that the tight fabric could not be ironed, dry-cleaned, or otherwise cleaned, so she had to be absolutely vigilant for stains of any kind.

Second of all, why wasn’t anyone respecting her new business suit and power-walk? Danni, dressed like an oversexed teenager and packing a plush pair of lips, had nearly laughed in her face. Nicole had barely been able to keep a straight face when she had carefully explained that her lacey stockings were unprofessional. Of course, it hadn’t helped that she had stood half a room away from her, deathly afraid she would get cleaning fluid on her nice new suit.

Mr. Wren had explained the walk and the look so slowly and carefully. Why weren’t they working?

Third.. but then her bubblegum typically popped, and Jessica’s train of thought blew right through the station.

That was another thing. What was going on with her attention span? She had arrived at the Hotel an hour late simply because she had caught sight of an adorable pair of boots in a store display. She hadn’t even looked at the price tag.

The Visa company was probably planning a bigger Christmas party.

Her aching thighs was a partial answer to that last question. Jessica was turned on. The persistent dampness between her thighs had crept in last night, like a storm front. Ignoring the buzz only made it worse, and her tight new suit wasn’t helping matters, either. At least her new, professional walk kept her thighs wound together.

“Really quick, in the bathroom,” she told herself. Jessica had allotted herself five minutes for a simple, business-like jill-off. She mentally filed it under “personal time.”

She pushed into the bathroom.

“Oh, Jessica. Hi,” Meredith said. She was sprawled on the sink counter. Her forehead was beaded with sweat. Even in her compromising position she managed to smile and give her boss a half-wave.

“Meredith? What’s going on?” Jessica sniffed the air. It smelled—sort of like her bubblegum, to be honest. “What are you doing?”

Meredith’s boobs were nearly popping through her blouse, and her legs were splayed open.

“…Back exercises!” Meredith said.

“Back exercises,” Jessica repeated.

“Why not?” Meredith said. She leaned off the counter and slowly tried to pull herself into a decent position. Even with her knee-length skirt Jessica could see half up her well-formed legs.

“Um, okay,” Jessica conceded. At least, once she was standing, Meredith was actually wearing a decent outfit. “Can I have some privacy, you think? For exactly five minutes and… for exactly ten minutes?”

“Oh, I need to…” Jessica reached for the bathroom stall. Meredith’s eyes widened.

“I’m cleaning!” she blurted. “In there!”

Jessica snatched her fingers back, and took a step backwards. Damn this suit! She could just picture a big chemical blotch on it….

“Yeah!” Meredith said, moving in front of the closed door. “It’s full of.. harsh cleaning fluids. You really don’t want to be in here at all, the ammonia could overwhelm you,” her face turned solemn. “It could overwhelm both of us.”

“Oh, no!”

“Exactly!” Meredith said. She guided Jessica to the door. “I’ll stay here and… battle it off. You go do Manager things. Okay? Great.”

Jessica looked solemnly into Meredith’s eyes. “You’re sure you can handle this?”

“Definitely.”

Jessica paused, halfway out the door. “Meredith… you like my new suit, don’t you? You think it’s prett—professional, right?” She popped her bubblegum.

“Oh yeah. You look like a Wall Street Warrior. Now, get out before the ammonia gets you!”

Jessica shook herself once she was outside the door. What had just happened? She had…

Her bubblegum snapped.

Her office! Private. Set back. The perfect place for a very nice, lady-like, businesswoman spell of relaxed masturbation. Just fifteen minutes or so.

Saturday, 10:52 a.m., Mr. Justin

The stall opened.

Justin had both feet drawn up on the toilet, and looked up nervously when Meredith pulled the door aside.

“That was great,” he said. “I sure she would come in,”

“Oh… don’t say cum,” Meredith said. She climbed into the stall and shut the door behind them. Now both of their overheated bodies were packed into the small metal box. “We should talk. Not grab at each other. Talk.”

“Okay. Sure,” Justin said. But Meredith’s hands were already feeling at her own boobs again, stroking and caressing the tops and sides.

“Okay, I know what I just said. But this feels so good,” she whimpered. “Grab my titties. Please. We’ll talk while we do that.”

This time Justin reached underneath her blouse from the get-go. Her stomach was warm and quivering. The bra he pushed aside, until his hands landed right on top of her boobs. Meredith struggled to stay upright.

“I think… I’ve wanted this… for too long,” Meredith said. Her shaking hands started to unbutton her blouse. “I’ve got to get this shirt off. Help me. Not with your hands, leave them where they are.”

She climbed on top of him, planted her rear right on top of his powerful erection. “Oh shit,” she said, noticing it. “I’ll do something about that, I promise, just… I really need to get rid of this bra.”

It took her a long time to get the shirt undone. After each button she had to stop, put her hands on Justin’s chest, and get her breath back. Justin finally grew impatient, unclasped her bra from behind, and tossed it behind him. Finally, her unleashed jugs hung proudly in the climate-controlled air.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Justin said, with his last, fading ounce of timidity. The glowing redhead on his lap was starting to push back against his boner.

“Did you think I was playing the piano because I liked sounding like a twit?” Meredith said. “I wanted you to notice me.”

Justin blinked. “You were?”

“Y-yeah,” Meredith giggled. “Turns out all I needed to do was to grow bigger boobies.” She opened her eyes and looked at him earnestly. “Should they feel this good?” she asked him. “All I can think about is getting them sucked on. Is that normal? I’ve never really had tits before.”

Justin’s mouth watered. Her nipples looked tremendously inviting. “Lets talk about this afterwards,” he suggested, and started to lower his mouth.

“Wait!” Meredith said, jerking back. Justin gave her A Look. “No, no. It’s just… do you want to fuck me? I can feel your cock back there. And I kind of have the feeling that once you suck on my boobs, I’m going to get a little crazy.”

Meredith stood up just far enough to reach under her skirt and pull down a pair of white cotton panties. Justin undid his belt and pulled his pants around his ankles. She slowly lowered herself down, and he slipped easily inside her. Meredith was already gushing wet.

“I didn’t think it would happen like this,” Meredith said. “I always thought it’d be, you know, romantic. Roses and flowers and everything, after dinner.” She shrugged. “Can you suck on my nipples?”

Justin put both hands behind her back, lowered his head, and grabbed hold of a nipple.

The effect on Meredith was electricity itself. She surged and bucked against his warm, wet mouth, whimpering with pleasure as the sensation gushed through her. Her pussy spasmed wildly against his dick, shuddering up and down like a half-broken piston. Justin felt like he was being milked.

He switched to the other nipple. This time she came, crying out so loudly the next hotel over could probably hear. The fat nipple in his mouth felt engorged and rock-hard, and he kept flicking the tip, rewarded with a scream each and every time.

On the last spasm she sat, stock-still, and clenched hard with every muscle in her body. This time Justin grunted, splattered her insides with ropes of white cum. He felt drained and dazed, sucked dry of fluids. And when Meredith managed to climb off his body, streams of the clear-white substance ran down the middle of her thighs.

“I love my titties,” she said, firmly.

Saturday, 11:03 a.m., Ms. Rebecca

“How does it all feel?” Rebecca asked.

“Kind of weird,” Sabrina admitted. Her tongue stuck out, experimentally.

“Don’t lick it,” Rebecca warned. Sabrina’s tongue froze, and she pulled it back in.

Rebecca didn’t want to admit it. And part of her was honestly glad that there was such a pretty girl underneath Sabrina’s dark makeup. But she was just the slightest bit jealous that her stepdaughter was so attractive.

Her best features were her eyes. They were large, liquid, and trembled softly. Rebecca had spent the most time on them. First she had resculpted a bushy pair of eyebrows, until they were dainty and petite. A very light patter of blue mascara had been plenty to accentuate and pull them out.

Rebecca had already known that Sabrina had a cute, upturned button nose, and a pair of high cheekbones rivaling her own. But the sensual, full lips had come as another surprise. Rebecca had tried a light pink just to see if Sabrina could pull it off without looking like a teenager in her Mom’s closet.

She looked fantastic.

Concealer had scarcely been necessary with her full, young complexion, but Rebecca had dusted a bit on anyways.

And, to her surprise, Sabrina had quietly, even cheerfully submitted to it all. She had spent the experience staring, surprised, as a ravishing young girl emerged from the washed-off black paint. She had even started to ask Rebecca questions—what lipstick should I wear? What about blush?

At long last they emerged from the hotel room. The two-some had nearly reached the lobby when Mr. Wren rounded the corner.

He filled nearly the entire hallway with his bulk, and there was no way even the slender women were going to be able to sneak by him. He had a newspaper tucked underneath his arm, and despite it nearly being noon, wore a red robe.

“Good morning, Miss. Missus,” he said, inclining his head at each girl.

Rebecca braced herself for the oncoming once-over. She wasn’t disappointed. Mr. Wren’s practiced eyes swept across her.

Rebecca had gone in for her own youthful look. She wore a rather high white tennis skirt, a bouncy, flippy thing that swayed when she walked. Her light green sweater was arms-length, but clung to her curves, and showcased a gravity-free pair of boobs.

“Well. Good morning. I see that our young fledgling has decided on brighter plumage, these days. Or at least, she has tried to.”

Sabrina flushed. The fact was, her bright, sunny face looked strange against her still-black hair. And it had emerged that all she had brought on this trip was a set of dark pants, her black boots, and three or four ratty long-sleeved shirts. The contrast was more unsettling then striking.

“Mr. Wren. I believe we spoke last night about your unasked-for commentary. Please keep your thoughts about my step-daughter to yourself,” Rebecca said. It was as critical a statement as she had ever made.

“Step-daughter?” Mr. Wren said. His eyes swiveled back and forth between the two frowning girls. “I suppose that explains the night-day combination. I do swear, a man gets confused as to what time it is just looking at the both of you. And what season of the year.”

“Sabrina, what did I tell you to do about old men with wandering eyes?” Rebecca said.

Rebecca met his eyes. They were stark and hard, and hard to pull away from. She found herself unconsciously teasing a lock of hair, the other at her hips. She swiveled from one to the other. There was something so unapologetic, so masculine about his unabashed gaze…

“Uh,” Sabrina scratched her black hair. “Blow them a kiss, to let them know what they’ll never have, then walk away.”

“Okay, go ahead, then,” she said.

Sabrina pursed her new, pink lips, then huffed at Mr. Wren. He shrugged.

“Come on, Sabrina,” Rebecca said. “We’re leaving. Mr. Wren. Please move your fat ass aside.”

“Rebecca!” Sabrina said, shocked. Even Mr. Wren looked surprised, but he waddled backwards until the passage was clear.

“Don’t look back, walk straight,” Rebecca murmured. And the two stepped out the front door. Rebecca could feel Mr. Wren’s penetrating gaze on the back of her ass the entire time.

Saturday, 11:10 a.m., Ms. Jessica

Jessica threw her gum into the trash.

Then she fell into her chair, piling backwards into the full-length leather-backed manager’s chair. One good thing about the office, it was private.

Her trembling fingers felt at the juncture between her legs. She was wet like the rainforest, and moisture gushed onto her fingers. And she was still only touching the very outside of her panties.

Jessica’s jaw worked at nothing. It took her a moment to realize that she no longer had the pink bubblegum between her lips. Already she missed the comforting snap.

Usually the office calmed her down. She had outlined the walls with rows of gleaming wire filing shelves, and they were all carefully stacked with accounting books, office supplies, and spare clipboards.

“Okay,” she told herself. She would just rub at the outside of her panties. She would not reach underneath the sopping wet things and touch skin-on-skin. That would be slutty. This was just… pleasant, like taking a long ride on a horse.

Something Christy had said, last night, poked at her overjuiced consciousness. Something about Mr. Wren.

“Oh yeah,” Christy had said, still twirling that lock of hair. Christy had liked to put her pinky in her mouth and suck on it. “We used to have all this grey and black stuff. Before Mr. Wren bought me out, you know? Isn’t it sooo much cooler now?”

Jessica turned to her computer, tried a google search for “professional boutique,” and “christy.”

A hit came up.

Meanwhile, her panties were growing embarrassingly wet. Her needy index finger was starting to rub deep and hard, now. It was kept back only by the thin fabric of her overstretched underwear.

She clicked on the link. It brought up a no-nonsense website, outlined in cool grey and green. It read “Professional Boutique,” and showcased a display of expensive, extremely formal suits and pants. Every single one was either grey or black. The models in the pictures were all holding cell phones or briefcases.

Jessica closed her eyes. It was so hard to concentrate on boring business stuff, especially when her finger had found a very sensitive spot just behind her clit. She strained for it, and her panties held her just back from the perfect area.

“Okay, I can’t rip my underwear,” she told herself. She shucked them aside, and this time her finger pushed right up her needy snatch. The trembling pink folds felt divine. Her naughty index finger took hold of the bud at the top of her pussy, and leaned up against it. Jessica gritted her teeth.

Professional Boutique… just a normal, well, professional boutique. Now overstocked with red vinyl and silky underthings. Something was strange about it, something…

Jessica felt a trickle of moisture start down the center of her thighs.

She gasped, stood upright. Would lubricant stain her brand new skirt? The way the day was going, she would be surprised if they didn’t.

Standing up diverted the trickle of juice safely down the center of her legs. Jessica relaxed.

Her busy index finger had never stopped its important work. And, somehow, her middle finger had joined in on the fun. Something about standing up, in front of an unlocked door, frigging herself in her expensive new suit brought the heat back, faster then before. She closed her eyes, leaned over the front of her desk, and worked desperately at her oversexed snatch.

When she came, Jessica held the skirt up with her free hand, just so she could be absolutely sure nothing would get on it. Then she collapsed back into her chair and floated on a cloud of peaceful, satiated lust.

The blonde sniffed at her finger, giggled, then ambled back out the door. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it. Even if her panties were nearly ripped in half.

But first, where had she put her stick of gum?

The computer went to the screensaver, unnoticed.

Saturday, 12:59 p.m., Ms. Danni

“No more,” Danni told herself. “You’re being a bad girl. You need to get back to work and do stuff.”

But then the tip of the spoon glided over the crest of her lips, and she was lost in the sensation again.

The girl with the big lips sat sprawled in the employee break room, at the old folding table with the mysterious stains on it.

She had gone there intending to eat a quick lunch, maybe touch up her makeup, then get back to work.

Then the dusky-skinned girl had drunk a glass of water.

The edge of the cup had nestled into her new, enhanced lips, and the water had flown right over the top. The surge of pleasure had been so strong Danni had needed to sit down. Whatever Mr. Wren had put on her plump lips, it packed a wallop.

For the next hour she had experimented with every texture and shape in the small, cupboard-stuffed room. Her mind rang with sparkles and colors, and everything bright and shiny enchanted her.

Lunch had been marvelous. Each touch, stroke, or feel sent shivers of delight rippling up and down her back. Soft things were like pools of relaxed fun, shimmering over the entrance to her mouth. Hard things sent sharp flashes of gratification through her.

A lot of the feeling had ended up bouncing around her tight shorts. At first she had been mortified by the wet spot on the middle of the tan crotch. Now her left index finger lightly stroked the spot, bouncing the sexy feelings from her snatch to her mouth.

“This is soooo awesome,” she thought, half-dizzy from it all. There was no way she should be diddling herself in the break room, getting off on the feeling of a spoon on her lips.

In her mind she was sixteen, just back from a busy summer of adolescence, packing tremendous curves. She was a real nymphette, hot to go, teasing every young boy in town…

Danni reluctantly pulled the spoon from her mouth. “Stop being such a silly girl,” she told herself. Her lips spasmed, without the stimulation.

If she kept her lips a little bit open, they wouldn’t send their surges of fun through her.

As for the wet spot, she would just have to sit with her legs closed.

She walked the empty halls of the Hotel, resettled herself at her usual desk. Her legs she crossed, lady-like, below the glass desk. Danni had left the bottle Mr. Wren had given her back in the break room.

She turned to the Internet for distraction. For a few minutes Danni distracted herself with a super-fun quiz on what boys really liked. Then she started to scroll through cute outfits on Forever 21.

After the first few minutes she caught herself bringing a spare pencil closer and closer to her lips. Danni firmly put it down. She watched Justin and Meredith chat over the bar at the far end of the room.

Her eyes caught the basket Meredith had brought in with her. There was a bunch of pears, a few apples.

And a banana.

Her mouth started to water. She stuck her thumb back in it.

Saturday, 2:30 p.m., Ms. Nicole

Nicole re-checked herself in the mirror. She was using one of the Hotel’s many unoccupied rooms. In fact, the young girl often locked herself in with a bag of M&Ms and watched free HBO.

Usually when she needed a break from the endless bickering with Tara.

Tara! The sad fact was, Nicole couldn’t even remember what had set off their feud. Something she had said? Something she had done? Or was it just the reality of too many mai—housekeepers—and not enough work to do?

“I look stupid,” she told herself.

Not only was this outfit downright cold, even in the warm Hotel air. Nicole had needed to dip into her own funds to pick it up. And where would she possibly wear it ever again?

She caught herself hefting the exposed weight of her boobs. “Stop that,” she scolded herself.

Nicole crossed her legs once more. The heels were glossy white, and extended up precisely three and a half inches, one more then Tara had ever worn. On top of them she wore a silky pair of thigh-highs, with a line of lace extending down the back. They crested up to nearly the top of her legs. Nicole had shaved them again last night, even though she had just buzzed them yesterday. Any stubble would be a possibly fatal mistake.

Her boobs had been a quandary.

Nicole had no illusions. Tara had bigger tits. She had seen the girl changing, and had been deeply jealous at her massive, four-hook bra.

At the mall, she had thought about concealing the twosome underneath something baggy, to instead play up her legs. Particularly her butt. Her curvy rear just had to beat out Tara’s bulging ass.

“That’s quitter talk,” she had told herself.

So Nicole had bought a white bustier with a zipper down the middle. It squeezed her breasts up and out, and was a mere centimeter away from nipple. On top of that she wore a pullover zip-up black sweater, about as thick as a sneeze, and really only covering her arms.

After all that the skirt had been nearly an afterthought. It was shiny and snow-white. If she bent over anyone could see the effects of four years running track.

“Geez,” Nicole thought, running her hands over her body. Each individual item had made sense. Put together, she looked like an overheated, sultry girl with not much on her mind. The blue eyeshadow she had slathered on made her look both exotic and half-asleep.

“It’s just for today,” she reminded herself.

Just until she finally got Tara fired.

Then it was back to sweaters and comfy pants.

Her maid—her housekeeping—cart was just outside, and she took long steps towards Mr. Wren’s room. Tara’s own cart was near the other occupied room—the one with the mother/daughter pair inside.

Nicole poked her head inside. Tara was just finishing the last touches on the bed. Nicole’s smile died on her face.

Tara wore a long-sleeved white blouse, a pair of boring black pants, and no heels. Her normal outfit. Her hair was pulled back into a bun.

She caught sight of Nicole’s dumbfounded look, then her eyes drooped downwards.

“Nicole, what are you wearing?”

“I’m… It’s..” Nicole couldn’t think of what to say. What WAS she wearing? A slutty maid look? Why?

“Uh-huh. You do know that we’re housekeepers, right? We’re not wannabe pin-ups?” Tara said. She took a last glance around the room. “Are you really wearing stockings?”

“I… Mr. Wren said…”

Tara waved her off. “Don’t be silly. More then usual, I mean.” She looked Nicole over. “If you go shopping at Victoria’s Secret, there’s a better way to do it then spinning around and pointing at random.”

A flash of anger snapped Nicole out of her daze. “Whatever,” she sniffed. “I’m just fulfilling the new dress code. As Mr. Wren requested. Remember him? The guy you were showing your thighs to, yesterday?”

“Mr. Wren is just a dirty old man.”

“Oh? Then you won’t mind if I take his room today,” Nicole said. She watched a brief flicker of panic cross Tara’s face.

“Ah-ha!” she thought.

“I’ll do Mr. Wren’s room,” Tara said. “You should go wash that crap off your face before it melts.”

“No, no,” Nicole insisted. Her smile floated back on. “I’ll take care of him. And I’ll look like a professional doing it. You should go do some laundry, so you don’t have to wear your Mom’s clothes.” She started to push her cart down the hall.

Tara didn’t even bother to shut the door. She brought her own housekeeping set around. The two ran hard down the hallway. Nicole reached Number Ten first. Tara had to stand behind her and glower.

“Housekeeping,” Nicole announced, in her sweetest voice.

Mr. Wren opened the door a moment later. The florid man had on a white dress shirt with a dark brown tie. His sizable stomach pushed at the buttons, and it was impossible to see if he had a belt on. His eyes burned a hole in her, and Nicole felt strangely breathless.

“Housekeeping,” he said, looking Nicole over. She stood obediently still. “Very well. Come in. I don’t know why there are two of you. I’m not that untidy of a person.”

“Oh, it’s just me…” Nicole said, but Tara pushed roughly past her. She had pulled a pair of dark red heels out of her basket, and put them on in record time. “Thank you, Mr. Wren,” she said.

Mr. Wren just grunted. He walked back to his desk. It was scattered with yellowing papers and a few leather-clad notebooks. The one directly in front of him was an accounting ledger.

“I am working on business matters, so please, as few disturbances as possible,” Mr. Wren said. He didn’t seem to even notice Nicole’s thighs. Her heart stammered in her chest. At least he hadn’t criticized her.

“Tara, why don’t you start with the bathroom?” Nicole suggested, in her same hot-syrup voice. “I’ll get the dusting out of the way.”

Tara’s eyes were dark flint. “Fine,” she spit out, and stalked back for her bucket.

Mr. Wren poured over his lines of figures and numbers. Nicole took care to slowly walk past his field of vision, swiveling her hips as she walked. “Thank you for the advice yesterday, on dressing properly,” she purred. “I think I followed it to the letter.”

He looked briefly in her direction, then back down again. Nicole frowned.

She walked over to the mantelpiece and felt at it with her duster. Her ass, she knew, had to be directly pointed in Mr. Wren’s direction. Then she stood tippy-toe, levering it out in his direction. Nicole looked back. The tops of her stockings had to be visible. He didn’t appear to have noticed.

Tara reappeared. “Mr. Wren, do you think it’s hot in here?” She had pulled her hair out of the bun. It swept around her face.

He didn’t bother replying. Tara’s lip trembled.

“Because.. I think it is,” Tara said. Then she walked over in front of him, in between the man and Nicole, and started to unbutton her long blouse. Nicole stopped waving her duster.

Underneath Tara’s blouse was a wine-red tube-top. It had ruffles on the bottom, but the top was just a belt of rubbery material.

The girl hadn’t bothered with a bra, and her flushed, tanned boobs were barely held back.

“Much better,” she gushed, and tossed the blouse onto a chair. Mr. Wren looked up, just for a moment, then returned to his figures. Tara stared at him for a moment, then dropped her sponge in front her. “Whoopsie,” she said, and picked it up, giving him all the time in the world to examine the swells of her jugs.

She shot Nicole a triumphant look. The girl quaked with anger. Tara had been planning this, all along! Kill her confidence, then swoop in and pick up the accolades!

There was no way she was going to let that happen.

“I think the toilet still needs scrubbing,” Nicole said, gesturing roughly at the bathroom.

Once Tara left, Nicole turned to the master bed. First she made it. Then she picked up the bedspread. “Is this how you like the covers?” she said, and bent sharply at the waist.

If he looked up, and she prayed that he would, there was no way he wouldn’t see her smooth ass cheeks, and a single strip of panties in the middle. Panties that were hot and bothered in the warm air.

Something about the binding, tight clothing, coupled with the adrenaline, was getting her motor going.

Mr. Wren didn’t say a thing. Nicole coughed, looked around meaningfully. He was still absorbed in his figures.

Tara walked out, just then. Her eyes bulged when she examined Nicole’s panty-clad rear. She quickly stepped into the middle of the room.

“Oh, poop, I must’ve gotten Lysol on these pants,” she said.

Then Tara unbuttoned the black pants, and slid them over her hips. Underneath she had on a matching red bikini brief. It flossed her lips, and curved upwards to expose the full weight of her thighs. They were fantastic legs.

This time Mr. Wren’s eyes lingered on the sweating girl. “Tara, isn’t it?” he rumbled.

“Yes, sir!” she beamed.

“Please make sure to empty the trash bins.”

Then his eyes returned to the page.

Tara stuck her tongue out at Nicole, as if she had won some victory. Nicole licked her lips. The other girl oozed unleashed sensuality. Her straining tits and hot bikini were one deep breath away from popping off.

“Maybe you should clean the sink,” Tara suggested smugly.

“Fine,” Nicole hissed. She crossed her arms and picked her way into the bathroom. Tara hadn’t done a thing in there. She had probably spent the entire time figuring out her master plan to impress the big man.

At least Nicole had one last card to play.

Nicole looked into the mirror, for reassurance. “It’s for your job,” she told herself. Of course, that ignored the wetness in her thighs, the lingering memory of Mr. Wren’s burning eyes. But it gave her the strength to unroll her panties over the skim of her hips. The heavy air slipped into her unclothed slit, and she felt the wetness spreading out from her well-lubricated snatch. She had shaved it entirely bald last night.

If this didn’t work, nothing would.

Tara was as good as fired.

Nicole walked right into the bedroom, close to Mr. Wren, and brushed at the carpet with a dry sponge. While still standing.

Her sopping slit was only a yard or so from Mr. Wren’s fingers, and the distance felt electric.

Tara, meanwhile, pulled hard at the bedspread until one whopping tit came popping out. “Oopsie!” she giggled.

Mr. Wren put down his pencil.

“Would you two ladies stop distracting me?” he thundered.

Nicole stood stock upright. A trickle of wetness ran down her thigh. Tara hastily pulled her boob back into her tube top.

His powerful eyes spiked both of them to the ground. “I have told you, very firmly, that I needed to work. I let you in for the purpose of cleaning. Instead, both of you have made it your goal to pull me away from my duties.”

“We thought that—“ Tara said.

“I don’t see any thinking going on at all!” Mr. Wren boomed. Nicole and Tara slowly drew together. They both flinched. “All I see is two willful girls who should know to keep their attention on their jobs!”

Nicole was near tears. “We just wanted—“

“And why should a guest care what the staff wants? You are servicing my needs and my desires. That is all! I have half a mind to call Ms. Jessica right now and order your termination.” He picked up the phone.

“No!” Tara and Nicole said, in unison. “We’re… we’re sorry! We didn’t mean…”

Mr. Wren put the phone back down.

“I see,” he said. “I suppose I cannot fault your eagerness to please. I shall handle your discipline personally, then. Ms. Nicole, you may leave.”

“What?” Nicole said. Mr. Wren flicked his fingers at her.

“Go. Leave. Ms. Tara here clearly pushed her way into your room assignment. I will handle her discipline personally. You may go.”

Tara would get the punishment? Not her? She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—

“Mr. Wren, I think I deserve it as much as she does,” Nicole protested. “Whatever you think is appropriate for her is right for me.”

“Oh?”

“I was… I was just as bad, sir,” Nicole said. She lowered her eyes. “Do whatever you think is right.” Her lips trembled.

“Fine,” Mr. Wren said. He shrugged. “Bend over and present your rear, please.”

“What?”

Nicole was sure she hadn’t heard him correctly.

“I know this is America. But in my travels, I’ve always found corporal punishment to be the most effective method of discipline. Bend over. I will try and be gentle.”

Nicole’s mind swirled. She was going to get… spanked?

That had to be wrong. It was obscene. She was a maid, not a willful child.

So why was her pussy burning at the thought of it?

She HAD asked for it. She couldn’t walk out now, with Tara’s eyes on her.

Nicole bent over the chair and presented her glistening ass.

The first open-handed spank made her squeak. It rippled through her rear end, and shot sparks up the length of her body. She bent harder over the leather chair. It felt cool on her tits. The second stroke made her moan, involuntarily.

Mr. Wren gave her one last judicious slap. It took Nicole a long time to put her wobbly legs together, enough to stand up. Lubricant streamed freely down her thighs. She barely noticed.

“Tara. Same story.”

Tara bit her lip. “Sir? Can I take off my underwear? Before you spank me?”

“And why is that?”

“It wouldn’t be… fair, sir. Nicole had to get it on the bare ass. I should get the same.”

Mr. Wren sighed, as if this was an imposition. “I see. Well. Hurry, at least.”

Tara hurried to pull off her bikini briefs. She still had a thatch of dark brown hair at the juncture of her thighs.

Nicole watched, half-aware, as Mr. Wren repeated the same three strokes. Had they gone on so quickly for her? Each blow had felt like an eternity. When she stood up, Tara had the same glassy eyes as Nicole, and the same wobbling legs.

“There. I believe that was a useful lesson. You two may go.”

Nicole and Tara walked, together, out the door. They got hold of their housekeeping carts, and didn’t meet each other’s eyes.

Mr. Wren coughed, meaningfully. They both turned around. He held up two sopping pairs of panties.

“Girls? You’ll be needing these, I think.”

Saturday, 3:33 p.m., Mr. Justin

“So, what did Mr. Wren tell you about that drink?” Justin said, from behind the bar. They were both still cooling down from their surprise session in the bathroom. Meredith more slowly then he was. She kept looking down at her boobs, as if she was surprised they were still there.

“Oh, right. He said he made it all up. There’s no secret ingredient at all! He just thought I looked skinny, so he made me a… milkshake with alcohol in it, basically,” Meredith said.

“But it worked. It all went to the right place.”

“Yeah,” Meredith conceded. “It sure did.” She looked uncertain. Her long red hair was tousled and tangled, and she sucked at her lip. “Umm.. why don’t you make me one anyway?” she blushed. “Just, you know, one more. For old time’s sake.”

“You mean yesterday’s sake?” Justin raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Do you want them to get bigger?”

“No, no! Okay, maybe a little. Just a tiny bit bigger,” Meredith said. She hefted her boobs again. She didn’t seem to need to be pressured in order to pick them up. Her fingers teased the top of her nipples. “Just a bit more. Not cow titties or anything like that. It’s probably not going to work, anyways.”

Justin didn’t feel like arguing, especially not with his erection making a post-coital comeback. “What’s the recipe?”

“Whole milk, two eggs, a dash of cream, and rum. Lots of rum,” Meredith recited.

“Sounds like an explosion at the farm. That’s a whole lot of dairy.”

“Uh-huh,” Meredith’s eyes grew increasingly eager. “Make a big glass. Big.”

Justin’s cock agreed with her. The glass he handed over was thick, white, and full of cream. He watched, enchanted, as she noisily sucked down the entire cup.

Behind them, nearly unnoticed, Danni quietly walked up, took a banana, and strode back to her chair.

“Is that all?” Meredith said, eagerly. She had a line of white around her lips, and she pulled herself over the counter to see if Justin was holding out on her. “No more?”

“Geez, Meredith, how big do you want to be?” He said, playfully.

Meredith giggled. She toyed with her hair. The contented smile from earlier in the day still hung on her face. “Hey, I’ve had plenty of success so far with this stuff.”

“You know it’s probably going to go right to your thighs, right?”

“Yeah,” Meredith conceded. She picked up her expanding tits once more. “But what if it’s not?” she whispered. “God, I feel so… creamy. So full. They feel so full. That drink is something else.”

Justin didn’t know what to say.

She reached across and whispered into his ear. Her eyes were wild. “Do you want to play with my tits some more? I think they need to be played with.”

Justin nodded.

“Go get the master key from Jessica’s office. I’ll meet you in Room Three.”

She ambled in the direction of the hotel suites. The redhead had a blissed-out smile on her face, and now her hands were openly tugging and stroking at her concealed chest.

Danni didn’t seem to notice. The brunette had her eyes closed and was noisily enjoying a banana.

Although she didn’t seem to have bothered to take the skin off.

Jessica hadn’t been in.

Justin had simply taken the key from her office drawer. He hadn’t even thought about what it meant to be stealing from the boss.

Any ideas he might’ve had about the insanity of Meredith’s fevered boob growth were chased away by the tight feeling in his cock.

Meredith was waiting just outside the room. Once he opened the door she pranced in, threw herself backwards on the bed, and tugged at the buttons.

“Ohhhh, this shouldn’t feel this good,” she said. “Boobs don’t feel this good. I know it. This is not normal. God.”

She popped off the last button, tossed her blouse off. That left only the red bra. It really did look full, straining to hold back the heavy mounds on her chest. Even with the bra off they held tenaciously onto her chest, ignored the usual effects of gravity.

Meredith snapped the bra off, tossed it aside, and hugged her chest together. “Right here,” she said, pointing to the narrow groove that emerged from her cleavage. “Put your dick right here.”

Justin had already thrown his pants off, shucked his underwear aside. He knelt on top of Meredith’s naked body, right on top of her stomach, and pushed to let his cock in.

It was already oozing a stream of wetness, and Meredith moaned when he pushed it into her.

“Jesus, Meredith, your tits,” he exclaimed. They felt like he was fucking a silk blanket. The soft, round, jugs caressed the sides of his cock, formed a hot tunnel of delicious friction.

“Amazing. They feel amazing,” Meredith said. She had her eyes closed, and pushed hard against the weight of her chest. Justin set up a steady rhythm of frantic shoving, and a river of translucent pre-cum soon stained the entire interior of her boobs.

Meredith blinked when he withdrew. “No… come back,” she whined.

“Hold on,” Justin ordered. He stepped off the bed, grabbed her hot body, and pulled it to the left, until her head flopped off the bed. “I need a better angle.”

This time he was in charge of her tits, and he roughly mauled them with his hands, pulling the boobs over the length of his dick. The treatment sent Meredith off, and her legs kicked, weakly, in the air. She opened her fevered eyes and watched his dick flashing back and forth in the air just above her. A droplet of cum landed on her cheek, and she blinked.

Justin came. He roared with the force of it, blasting a stream of cum well down her chest. Acting on impulse, he directed the next stream of foamy cum onto Meredith’s face. She opened her mouth automatically, and the third shot landed right on her tongue.

“Oh… it’s creamy too,” she said. The last few drools landed on her outstretched tongue. “Yum.”

Justin collapsed onto the next bed over. Meredith sat up and eagerly pulled the cum out of her breasts and into her mouth. Her hair was covered in rivulets of the stuff.

She paused, examined the white puddle in her hand.

“Justin… what’s happening to me?” the redhead said, puzzled. “It’s too good. All I can concentrate on is whatever is going on in my tits.”

Justin grinned. “You’re welcome.”

“No!” Meredith insisted. “Look, this is getting out of hand. All I want to do is get my titties sucked… or fucked… or whatever. We can’t do this anymore.”

“You’re still licking my cum. Right now,” Justin pointed out.

Meredith licked her palm clean. “I know, okay! I know. Just… give me a day or so, okay? To get used to these new… things on my chest.”

Justin was speechless. His cock was still dangling out of his pants.

“Fine,” he said, curtly, and walked out the door.

Behind him, Meredith scooped another dollop of cum out of her boobs.

Saturday, 4:01 p.m., Mr. Phillip

Phil spent most of his work day sitting in front of the Hotel, on a stool with no back to it, waiting for guests to arrive. He fought boredom with every tool he had. Watching cloud formations pass, and making up their shapes, even when they were really just big poofy balls. Spitting contests against himself.

The heat of the day soaked into the pavement and wavered in the air above. He hadn’t seen anyone in several hours, since the tittering Mom/Daughter combination had left in their gleaming Mercedes.

There weren’t even any clouds in the sky.

Phil went inside.

The air conditioning was a blessing. He had actually liked his old uniform, with the too short pants and shirt. It was breezy and cool in the summer heat. This new one had a bowtie, and the woolen black pants were torture in the sun.

Then he saw Danni.

“Maybe the pants aren’t so bad,” he thought, as an erection shot up.

The girl with the dark-lidded eyes had her head back, and both feet up on the table. A discarded, mushy banana sat on the floor, at her side. She rubbed a single #2 pencil up and down up the length of her lips.

She didn’t seem to notice him. Her free hand was rubbing up and along the smooth length of thigh.

Phil couldn’t think of anything to say. He backed slowly into the bar area.

Justin and Meredith were gone. Phil poured himself a coke out of the fountain, and felt strange about invading the bartender’s work space. He had always admired the confident older man with the slight smile.

Someone knocked on the window. Phil turned, let the coke slosh out, over his pants, and then dropped the glass entirely. At least it didn’t break on the carpet. Which was, however, now stained black with soda.

Caitlyn was at the window.

He hadn’t seen her in her swimsuit, before.

Phil’s erection doubled in ferocity. Her body was drunk with sun-drenched sensuality. Her new purple outfit glinted in the sun, as did her sunscreen-covered form.

Phil let himself into the pool area. He desperately hoped that she hadn’t seen the maneuver with the glass.

“Oh, hey Phil,” Caitlyn said. She sounded disappointed. “Have you seen Justin?”

Phil’s heart sank.

“I haven’t.” Her outfit gave him the strength to continue on. “…can I help with anything?”

“Oh, sorta,” Caitlyn said. She sounded frazzled, spacey. In the past few days her curves had acquired a light brown tan. “I guess you can help.”

Phil frowned. “Caitlyn, since when are you a blonde?”

“Ohhh, is it even worse now?” She tried to look up, at her own head. Then she brought a lock of hair around. “It is blonde! It’s the sun! It’s lightening my hair like crazy. Oh, this is terrible. I don’t want to be a blonde.”

Phil strongly disagreed. Her hair was now a long streak of light, and swayed around her shoulders. It contrasted nicely with the purple.

“I hate this new dress code,” she complained. “I’m all tanned, I spend all my time cat-napping, and I can’t get anything done. I don’t know how lifeguards get any studying done.”

“I’m pretty sure they don’t,” Phil said. Caitlyn was toying with a lock of her new blonde locks. It was an un-Caitlyn like feminine move. He should know. Phil had spent two years sitting behind her in class, watching the ramrod straight bookworm raise her hand for each and every question.

“Okay, well, maybe you can help me,” Caitlyn said. “Can you adjust that umbrella? So it’s on my book?”

“Book?” Phil looked around. There was a huge tome he recognized as the unabridged Shakespeare. But that was tossed aside. The only piece of writing in use was an open Cosmopolitan, on the ground below a deck chair.

“Okay, yes, it’s a Cosmo. I stole it from Danni,” Caitlyn said. She sighed. “It’s so hard to read in the sun like this. I just wish Mr. Shakespeare hadn’t said thee and thou so much, it’s sooo hard to understand.”

“Thee and thou?”

“Yeah, and what’s with Hamlet? Do stuff! Stop sitting around!” She giggled. “Right, Phil?”

“I guess so?” Phil said.

“Caitlyn, are you feeling okay?”

She put her hand over her mouth and smiled. “Sorry, it’s just.. anyway, can you move the umbrella, Phil? Pleeeease?” She gave him a winning smile.

Phil reached over and wordlessly twirled the overarching umbrella. It swirled into position in front of the midday sun. It took virtually no effort at all. Caitlyn cheered and clapped her hands together. “Oh, that was great! Thanks, Phil! That was really smart! Here, wait, let me try it out!”

The new blonde clambered onto the deck chair. Her glossed arms and legs moved in interesting ways, and Phil had a superb look right at her spandex-clad butt. She looked down at her article, “Ten Ways to Please Your Lover—With Both Hands Tied Behind Your Back!”

“This is great,” she enthused. “Thanks Phil! We should hang out sometime, and you know, talk about stuff. Since we’re working at the same place and all.”

“Uh, sure,” Phil ventured. He put both hands in front of his zipper. Now his pants were definitely too hot. He had a sudden thought. “I’ll be right back.”

Back at the bar, his trembling hands mixed together equal portions of coke and rum. He poured himself a glass of the same and re-emerged with the two. Caitlyn squealed with delight when he sat it next to her.

“Aw, that’s really sweet!” the blonde enthused. She took a sip and coughed. “Whoa, Phil, this is like half rum!”

“Oh, sorry,” Phil stammered. He tried his own, and willed his burning throat not to choke. “I’m not used to mixing drinks.”

“And here I thought you were trying to get me drunk,” Caitlyn said. “That’s okay, I need to learn how to handle these things for college, anyways. There’s this really neat article in here about sororities.”

“Uh-huh,” Phil said. “Where are you going to college?” As if he didn’t already know the answer.

“Virginia. Mr. Jefferson’s school!” she said.

“Oh, that’s funny, me too,” Phil said, and watched her reaction.

“Seriously?” Caitlyn said. She took another long drink from her cup. “Oh my gosh! I didn’t even know! How did you get in? You weren’t in any AP classes, were you?”

“Actually, I was. In all your classes. For the past two years,” Phil said. “I just sat in the back.”

Caitlyn pouted. “Sorry, you must think I’m such a ditz, then! Oh, well, we’ll have to talk about school and stuff!”

Caitlyn sighed, happily, and unlatched her bikini top from behind. It fell away, and now there was nothing on her back but the purple-shod arc of her rear.

They chatted for a few more minutes, about High School teachers and college. Caitlyn confessed that she was thinking of switching from English to Mass Communications. Phil didn’t mention his bioengineering interests. The blonde didn’t seem like she’d be interested.

Then he got up, reluctantly, to go. His eyes had never left the exposed sides of her boobs.

Caitlyn seemed to remember something. She pulled herself into a sitting position. “Oh, Phil can you..”

The lanky boy was hardly listening. He was too busy staring at her brown, perky nipples. Caitlyn had neglected to put her top back on, first. She looked down, noticed her unleashed chest, and giggled.

“Whoops!” she said, lowering back down. “Sorry about that. You must really think I’m a lightweight, huh?”

She looked at him with large, liquid eyes.

Phil didn’t know much about girls, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Not at all,” he assured her.

The tall boy made an immediate left turn when he walked back into the hotel lobby. An extensive date with his left hand was definitely in his future, aided by new visions of Caitlyn’s glorious boobs. They had been even more wonderful then he had imagined—and she certainly hadn’t minded his hungry eyes all over her chest.

“Phil!” Danni said. She was sitting in her chair once again, and had her legs primly crossed. Her eyes waltzed up and down his body.

The older girl tightened her gaze on the bulge in his crotch. Phil shifted his stance. Was it noticeable? Was she offended?

“Sup?” she said, happily. “How’re you doing?”

“Uh, fine?” Phil said.

“You look good. All grown up, huh?”

“..Yes?”

“Eighteen, right? So you can drive and buy smokes and everything, huh?” Danni said. her index finger ran up and down her lips, until it finally plopped in. Danni spoke around her sucking finger. “That’s so cool.”

“Isn’t she in her late-20s?” Phil thought. In her shorts and tanktop the girl looked like a runaway from summer camp.

“I remember when I was 18,” Danni said, wistfully. “All those long summer days… walking around… wearing nothing but…”

Danni stood up. His own eyes fixed at the juncture of her legs. She had painted-on brown shorts, and they clung around her thighs.

“Come on, lets go somewhere Ms. Jessica won’t catch us,” she said, in a low, husky purr. Her lips were still those big pillows, but she didn’t seem to mind them, anymore. “She’s been riding my ass all day.”

She took his hand, and Phil followed, stumbling over his own feet. She drew him wordlessly into the break room and put his back to the door.

“Thish is sooo cool,” she gushed, and sank to her knees. For the first time Phil could see an odd discoloration on the front of her shorts. As well as the tops of her tits.

A moment later she was patiently tugging down his fly.

Phil gasped. His dick responded, springing out of his straining boxers, bobbing and weaving in the air. Danni looked at with obvious interest.

“Ooh,” she said, eyes wide with wonder.

Her lips descended on his cock.

Phil watched, dumbfounded, as she rolled the very tip around the edges of her lips. Her expression grew a big, happy smile, even as she teased at the end of his dick.

“I can’t believe we’re getting away with thish,” she said, giggling. “Ms. Jessica won’t even shushpect.”

Phil didn’t know how to ask her what the heck she was talking about. All he could manage was to keep his shuddering legs upright. Danni grabbed the base of his cock to keep him steady.

She looked him right in the eyes, for the first time. “Don’t think that jusht because I shuck cock I’m an easy lay,” she warned. Then she fit her lips over the top of his head, and descended all the way to the very base. When he could nearly feel the back of her throat, she purred, sending ripples up and down the length of his dick.

Danni began to slide her pouting pillows up and down the length, her eyes closed. It took Phil a moment to realize that, whatever she was after, it wasn’t his own enjoyment. Her free hand had burrowed its way underneath her shorts, and she was rubbing hard at the inside of her panties.

The bucking motion grew feverish, hot, and her lips were covered with a lake of drool. The interior of Danni’s mouth was like a warm bath, and her tongue slid up and down the underside even as she worked him back and forth.

“I’m gonna… cum…” he said.

She came first.

Danni’s orgasmic shrieks came out as vibrations along the base of his penis. It was all too much for the overexcited boy. He shot a load right into the back of her throat. Danni didn’t even notice. She continued her own frantic work, her hand gradually slowing underneath her shorts, until she finally let loose of his dick. A bit of drool and cum slipped out along with it, and stained her tanktop.

“Wow… that was… wow” she said, breathless. Danni pulled herself into a chair. She felt, trembling, at her lips.

“Hey, do you have a car? Are your parents around?” she said, eyes wide. “We could…”

“Thanks, Ms. Danni,” Phil said. “That was… incredible.”

Danni looked puzzled. “Ms.?” She said, then looked down at herself. Her eyes narrowed. “Ohmigod. I just…. I just sucked off a teenager. I gave a blowjob to an eighteen year old.”

“I’m almost nineteen,” Phil said, hopefully.

“I’ve got to go,” Danni said. “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay? Especially not mean Ms. Jessica.”

Something sparked in Phil’s memory. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pacifier. He raised an eyebrow and gave her a sardonic look.

“Is this yours?” he said. “I found it on the floor this morning.”

Danni stared at it.

She reached out, picked it up, and placed it between her trembling lips. Then she tossed it to the floor, stepped on the unoffending piece of plastic, and fled the room.

Saturday, 7:36 p.m., Ms. Rebecca

“Are you sure about this, Rebecca?” Sabrina said.

“Have I been wrong so far?” the older woman said. She had a tipsy smile plastered across her face. Their wild expedition through the city had included a lot of stops into handy bars. Rebecca had acquired a taste for martinis, all of a sudden.

“Well, okay, then,” Sabrina said, tentatively. She lowered her head into the hairdresser’s sink. The heavyset woman who owned the place started to lather the dye into the young girl’s hair.

She looked a far cry from this morning. Gone were the dark boots, the black shirts, the outfit good only for a shabby funeral. Now Sabrina’s feet were laced into ankle-high white boots, the shiniest, brightest ones on offer, with a heel that was probably illegal in conservative parts of the country.

Rebecca had gotten the same ones. After all, she had to show the younger woman how to walk in the things. They had spent part of the afternoon practicing in a half-empty Irish pub. Rebecca hadn’t spilled a single drop of her drink.

“Trust me,” Rebecca assured her stepdaughter. Then she winked at the hairdresser.

She had one last surprise for the young woman.

Maybe it was taking their newfound camaraderie a little too far. But Sabrina had already easily agreed even to the light blue dress she now wore. It had a high bodice, with embroidered stripes down the center, and then closed into an abbreviated pencil skirt. With that and the white boots, every bartender they had seen had somehow forgotten to check Sabrina’s ID.

Rebecca had also taught the girl how to play pool well enough to keep the guys around, but not so well that they lost interest. And, of course, just the right shot to give the boys a good angle on a beautiful butt.

Sabrina had gone along cheerfully with everything. The scowling menace had been apparently sandblasted right out of her. Her only resistance had come when Rebecca, flying on four martinis, had tried to push a lacy pair of panties onto her. Her stepdaughter had drawn the line at the sexy, wire-strewn things.

Rebecca had bought them anyway.

The older woman kept her legs crossed. The stares from the bartenders and the other boys hadn’t stopped at Sabrina. Her abbreviated white mini had attracted a gratifying level of attention.

“All done,” the hairdresser announced. Sabrina opened her eyes. She waited, patiently, while the dye drained out, then sat up. Rebecca, grinning from ear to ear, handed her a mirror.

She had told Sabrina she was in for a return to her normal, ash-blonde self. A few words and an underhanded $20 had convinced the owner to bleach the young girl into a shining platinum.

“You look beautiful!” Rebecca gushed, jealousy forgotten. With her blue-tinged eyelids and new dress, she looked ready for a red carpet to roll out.

Sabrina looked at her sharply.

“I look stupid as hell!” she said, and sniffed. There were shining tears in her eyes.

Rebecca sat with her mouth open. The hairdresser retreated to the back room.

“No… no.. you look amazing,” she stammered, fighting past an alcoholic haze.

“I look like a call girl!” Sabrina moaned, examining her new bright look. “Oh my god! Everyone I know is going to think I’m some kind of bimbo!”

“That’s… that’s not true,” Rebecca said, weakly. “You look like a starlet!”

“I look like a tart!” she stared at Rebecca. “I trusted you! You told me we were just going to do my usual hair! Why did you do this to me?”

Sobriety crashed, hard, into Rebecca’s head. Sabrina stood up, flecks of water still dripping from her head, and fled, sobbing, out of the store.

Saturday, 7:42 p.m., Ms. Jessica

This time, Jessica walked into Room Number Ten with every ounce of grace she could pull up. Each step went precisely in front of the other. From above, an observer could draw a straight line between each impression left by her sharp heels.

Not that Mr. Wren praised her, even in the slightest. He slouched in his leather chair, stroking his chin. When she put out her hand, he grabbed it and shook with obvious haste.

Jessica told herself not to let it bother her. She was a professional. She was negotiating.

And she had just spent a delicious fiftee—twenty minutes masturbating in the bathroom, to make sure that nothing would distract her.

“Ms. Jessica. I had hoped to have your bartender here, but apparently he is nowhere to be found,” Mr. Wren said. “Which is strange, because I believe he is supposed to be on duty, at the moment.”

Jessica flushed. “He’s just trying to fluster you,” she told herself. The blonde avoided his dark eyes.

“Do you have a problem with Justin?” she said, sweetly. “I think of him as a model employee.”

Mr. Wren’s eyes burned into her. “Do you. I see. I notice that you have taken my advice with regards to your attire.”

Jessica jumped at the opening. “About that, Mr. Wren. I noticed that you own Professional Boutique.”

Mr. Wren grinned. “Cheap, perhaps, to patronize my own business. But business never ceases.”

“I was… curious… as to why the store stopped selling actual professional suits, and started selling… pink things. Flirty pink things. And nothing else.”

Mr. Wren sipped at a glass of water. “Ms. Jessica. Tell me. Where can you find a perfectly sensible business suit at any hour of the day?”

“I don’t—“

He ticked them off on his fingers. “Macy’s. Nordstrom’s. Penny’s.” the ‘Penny’s’ came off scathing, “Any number of mall shops. You see what I mean? If a woman should want a sack-cloth bag of boring she has every opportunity. And yet, where can you go for high-quality ladies’ apparel for the truly discriminating, feminine woman? My store.”

“But it’s.. so pink,” Jessica said, hesitantly. It sounded so reasonable when he said it.

“That has always been my strategy. I find a niche, and I fill it.”

Filling niches? That sounded… nice.

It was warm in the stuffy room, full of Mr. Wren’s powerful aura.

The stocky man reached into his suit jacket pocket, pulled out a packet of gum. He opened the wrapper, tossed a pink slice into his mouth, and reached out to Jessica.

“Gum?” he said.

Jessica stared at it. Her mouth flooded with water. She had spent much of the afternoon telling herself that she didn’t need the comforting snap of bubblegum. That the pink made her look like a bimbo.

The telltale wetness started to glisten between her crossed thighs.

“Yyyyesss,” she sighed, snatching one of the pieces. She threw it into her mouth, let the juicy strawberry taste wash over her. Jessica leaned back in her chair.

Mr. Wren was smiling.

“But on to real business,” he announced. The man reached over to the desk, pulled a sheaf of papers off it, and plunked them onto the coffee table in between the steaming blonde and himself. “I have decided, against my better judgment, that I am willing to consider purchasing your small bit of hotel.”

“You are?” Jessica said. She sat up straight, her heart pounding with anticipation. Daddy had basically told her to either sell the stupid thing or give up on business entirely. Now she could go back, show that she had real financial acumen, and…

“Calm down!” Jessica told herself. She wasn’t sure how professionals dealt with an offer, but jumping up and down and clapping their hands was not the way to go. Mr. Wren was still grinning at her.

“I mean, of course, that’s possible,” Jessica conceded. She tossed her hair back. Somehow, someway, she had to switch the balance of power in her favor.

Mr. Wren’s eyes slowly dwindled downwards. In her excitement Jessica’s legs had come uncrossed, and the short pink skirt had ridden upwards on her curvaceous thighs.

Of course, sex appeal! The lecherous old man had nearly ordered her to use her feminine wiles against him, after all, with his pink obsession.

Jessica popped her bubble and smiled right back at him.

“I’ll review the financials,” she said, picking up his handwritten papers. In the meantime she let her thighs slowly creep apart, and slouched back in her seat just a tad, to give him a better look.

The numbers themselves were confusing. They were all in Mr. Wren’s florid, curled handwriting, written in a faded pen. Jessica tried to piece together the essential terms, but the heat between her thighs and the scribbled figures made that nearly impossible. Oh well. It was probably a fair number.

She turned to the second page. Her blowing bubble nearly stuck to it, and she had to suck it back in. Mr. Wren sat quietly, and she rewarded him with gaping-open thighs.

“Wait,” she said, slowly. At least part of the offer was clearly written.

“You’re going to fire all my employees?”

“I’d be cheating myself otherwise!” Mr. Wren said. “I have noticed some marginal improvement in their attitudes and attire, yes. But this has come about when I am constantly supervising and disciplining the slackers. I fear they will slouch back into old habits the moment I leave.”

“You can’t fire my employees,” Jessica said. “They’re mine. They need these jobs. You’ve seen them. What else are they going to do? They’re helpless!”

“Truer words, never spoken!” Mr. Wren said. He was openly staring at the juncture of her thighs, now. Jessica relaxed. Better he was staring at her panty-clad pussy then right back at her eyes. “But in all honesty, Ms. Jessica? You have a lifeguard who cannot swim. Justify that, for me.”

“Caitlyn? She’s so smart! She’s going to Virginia next year,” Mr. Wren looked completely unaffected. What would keep him interested? “And… have you seen her? In those swimsuits? She’s delicious. She’s got the cutest little body. What hotel doesn’t want a hot lifeguard watching over their pool?”

Mr. Wren raised an eyebrow. Jessica popped her gum, triumphantly.

“And two maids? For a ten-room boutique?”

“Oh, they’re a team!” Jessica said. “You’ve got fiery Tara… cool Nicole… you’ve seen her ass, haven’t you?”

“Perhaps I have,” Mr. Wren conceded.

“And Tara’s got the Assets of the two.”

“They hate each other,”

“Good!” Jessica said, truly rolling now. Thoughts of her exotic maids popped through her head. Stockings and lace. She casually scratched at her jacket, let it fall open. “More exciting that way.”

“You like Justin, don’t you? You want to fire your martini maker?”

“I do like Justin,” Mr. Wren said. “At least, I like him until I find out his secret recipe. But what about Danni?”

Jessica struggled for something nice to say about Danni. “She’s… she’s got that voice. It sounds like sex on the wire.” She was sweating, now. Part of her, something distant and far away, was shouting something about her conduct. That she was dressed all in pink, blowing bubblegum, and nearly masturbating right in front of the older man. She shoved it back. This was how business worked!

“How about Meredith?”

Jessica thought for a moment. “Meredith can go,” she concluded.

Charity had to end somewhere.

Mr. Wren chuckled to himself. “Perhaps. Let me make a counter-offer, then. They may all stay. May. But they will have to reapply for their positions, and there will definitely be… changes. Oh yes. Many changes.

He leaned forwards, and put both hands on his doughy legs. “Now. Ms. Jessica,” he said, expectantly. “Lets get down to brass tacks.”

Jessica had lost track of time entirely.

Not that she had the present mental acuity to even multiply single digits, just now. An hour of tense back and forth negotiations had drained her of everything.

Mr. Wren had been polite, at least. He had even given her two more sticks of gum, each time the flavor faded. Half of Jessica’s faded concentration was on chewing the wad in her mouth. Twice she had drooled onto her jacket.

“…And here,” Mr. Wren said, producing the last document. She signed with a shaky hand.

“Actually, with your full name, not Ms. Jessica,” Mr. Wren said, soothingly. She resigned after thinking, for a moment, about what that would be.

She had been leaking for the past twenty minutes. Jessica was past caring that her skirt was probably ruined, or that her new business partner could see every patch of soaked panty. She had even probably ruined her own leather chair.

Still, she smiled. She had done it. The sale was over, and she had successfully held her own.

Even if she was so turned on her aching tits screamed for attention. At Mr. Wren’s suggestion she had groped them with both hands, but it hadn’t helped.

“Lovely. You may masturbate now, Ms. Jessica,” Mr. Wren said.

“Oh, thank you!” she said, and her hand flew to her thighs. She had already planned in excruciating detail how she would push one throbbing finger up the length of her snatch, rub the well-lubed digit up and down over her clit. But all plans went out the window once she touched the interior of her desperate pussy.

Within moments her fingers were noisily plugging away at her snatch. A wet “shlick” sound filled the warm air. Jessica knew, distantly, that she was moaning. Mr. Wren was still silently reviewing the documents.

Her second finger was joined by a third. She was drooling, now, uncaring, unaware of anything but the amazing sensation pouring out of her pink, pink pussy.

Then she came so hard it took her a good five minutes just to move again. Mr. Wren put a black pen into her wet, juice-covered hand. She signed and initialed the papers.

“One more thing, Ms. Jessica?” Mr. Wren said, “About your attire?”

“Huh?” Jessica said. She chewed, swiveled back and forth.

“If you are going to utilize your panties as a negotiating ploy, please make sure they are somewhat attractive. Stale white is simply not professional.”

Jessica snapped her legs shut.

Her cheeks burned. Something resembling rational thought pushed its way back in. So all this time, he had just been quietly amused at her wanton display. What had she been thinking, masturbating in front of her adversary?

“But… it was an intelligent ploy,” Mr. Wren said. “I’m going to provide you with a five hundred dollar allowance, and you can buy whatever you wish with it at Professional Boutique.”

“Really?” Jessica said, disappointment instantly forgotten. She stood up, beamed at him. “Do you really mean it?”

“Of course. Good night, Ms. Jessica.”

He shook her hand gently, then wiped the wetness on the side of her skirt. She nearly floated out of the room, wobbling on her unsteady heels. Mr. Wren gave her a friendly slap on the ass as she walked past him, and she giggled, cheerfully, as she stalked out the door.

Her hand was buried back inside her pussy before she was halfway to her office.