The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Master PC for Lovers”

by Kaia Golightly

12. My Lesbian Past

Saturday morning we slept in. At some point, I got myself out of bed and started the coffee. Then I slipped back under the sheets and cuddled up against Ian. He was totally wiped out from his evening adventures. It was noon by the time we had lunch.

I made pancakes and we ate enough for a whole family of hard working farm folk. We topped them with fruit and then smothered them in maple syrup. We ate them with toast and jam and salad. We washed them down with coffee and orange juice and cola.

Super sex means super appetites, I guess.

Then we collapsed on the couch together. I had fantasies about the kitchen being clean, but they did not magically come true. That seemed like an odd departure. Didn’t my fantasies just magically come true these days? Or was that just for Ian’s fantasies?

Did I even have any fantasies?

I mean, I had been a pretty wild kid once, but when I met Ian, I made a real choice to settle down and put my energy into making our relationship work. Good marriages don’t just happen, you know. They’re like skateboarding or surfing. You have to lean into them.

Adventures are almost the opposite of fantasies. I mean, you think about fantasies. You dream them. But adventures? You just do them. I guess I had never really been a fantasy person. I just did stuff. Dreamers get into a lot less trouble, I bet.

If you don’t have fantasies, you should at least have ambition. Ambition gives you a future. What were my ambitions? Did I want kids? A rewarding career? Did I have an image of where I wanted to be ten years in the future? Not really, I guess.

I had stumbled upon the ultimate in wish fulfillment, Master PC. I could do anything with it. So far, I had mostly used it for amazing sex, just like in all the stories. Perhaps those sixteen year old boys had been right after all. I had been quick to make fun of them before, but using master PC to make sexual fantasies come true seemed to be one of its safer uses. I had not quite become one of those story characters yet. I did not want to make love to my sister, for instance. Of course, Ian probably did want to make love to my sister, so there you go.

I snuggled up against my man. We had nothing on but one pair of pajamas. I had the top half, he had the bottom half. If that doesn’t make sense to you, then you probably haven’t been married.

“So,” I asked. “How did Bachelor Night go? Am I going to hear stories? Or was it the kind of night where you just say ‘It was OK dear’ and nothing else?”

“Oh, it was the usual silliness.” Ian spoke softly, but my head was up against his chest, so his voice seemed deep, resonant, and comforting. “We went to this party but it turned out to be pretty lame. We saw Doyle. Do you remember Doyle? Anyway, we ended up at Ryan’s. That was the fun part, actually, there was this total babe at Ryan’s, just sitting by herself, like she got stood up or something.”

“Total babe?” I asked, with what I hoped was a skeptical tone.

“She really was. I made a fool of myself hitting on her, too.”

“Tiger,” I said, trying to sound a little threatening. “You’re not supposed to hit on girls. You know, cause of the whole marriage thing. You remember the marriage, right?”

“That’s just what Tyler said,” Ian went on, as if he was being perfectly reasonable. “He totally talked sense into me. Besides, I was out of her league. Never had a chance. If you’d seen her, you’d totally forgive me.”

“She must have really turned you on,” I said, teasing. “Does that mean she was just a teen-ager?”

“I am wounded,” he said, in the voice of virtuous boy scout. “Why do you think so little of me? Besides, you didn’t complain last night when I got home.”

“Apparently love is better than strange girls in bars,” I said softly, nuzzling him gently. He smelled gently of sweat, maple syrup, and summer.

“Apparently it is,” he said, sounding happy.

Ian always made me happy. He had been rather honest about his encounter with Candide Apples, more so than I had been expecting. I mean, boys will boys and all that.

“Poor boy. You missed out on a good adventure though. Perhaps you’ll meet your hot girlfriend again someday. You might get another chance at her.”

“Well, If I do, I’ll bring her back home.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sure. Next time I get a chance at a girl like that, I’ll share her with you.”

“Oh right.” I poked his tummy playfully with two stiff fingers. “You’re consistent at least.”

He shrugged, which was fun when we were cuddled up together. “I’m a very simple person. I like hot babes. I like to watch hot babes do it. I’m lucky enough to have a hot babe wife. And why should I keep all the girls to myself? You deserve happiness too, after all.”

“Right. You are such a generous guy. It’s amazing!”

“Exactly.” He leaned back and closing his eyes. “Exactly.”

“You probably wouldn’t really like it anyway.”

“Of course I would. Why wouldn’t I like it?”

I sighed. “Because Lesbian sex is not about boys.” He smiled and snorted at me. That’s when I changed the subject. It was, after all, the thousandth time Ian had mentioned his two-girl fantasy.

What is is about guys and their lesbian fantasies?

I mean, I understand the “two girls” part. If you like to have sex with one girl, then two girls would be even better. I did my share of group sex when I was young, and I liked it fine. But the “lesbian fantasy” goes way beyond that.

Perhaps it’s just that lesbian sex is something no guy can ever have. It looks pretty in a movie, maybe, but no guy can ever be a lesbian, he can never know what those two girls are feeling. And boys make female sexuality into something weird and magical, don’t they? To a boy, two girls together is pure science fiction.

The whole topic always bugged me, however. I mean, our culture is so homophobic. Gay men and women are treated like criminals. And it’s weird and evil that gay men are “icky” but gay women are cool. Well, gay women are cool if they are pretty enough, I guess.

Like, my first real girlfriend was Spike. She was a tough street dyke who seduced me back when I was in high school. She was a broad, muscular girl with a shaved head and a world full of spit and style. She had incredible energy and she totally swept me off of my feet.

She was amazing. She was wonderful. She was not pretty, however. She wasn’t Marilyn Monroe, she was more John Wayne. If that doesn’t sound good to you, then you aren’t a dyke. She was beautiful to me, though.

When boys dream of girl-girl action, they dream of two lingerie models air-kissing each other in slow motion. I’ve seen the movies. They don’t dream of Spike. Guys would curse Spike, throw things at her, try to beat her up. One on one, Spike would win. But boys, brave creatures that they are, always move in packs. So Spike got beat up a lot.

Spike didn’t do gentle air-kissing. Spike kissed like a Tiger, all teeth and hunger. Spike fucked like a beast.

The whole “girl on girl” fascination really only applies to young girls, pretty girls, girls who obey and conform. Sure, there are pretty dykes, and glamorous femme lesbians, and skinny supermodel bi chicks. But my lesbian fantasies, when I have time for fantasies, also have genderqueer bois, tough dykes, and old fashioned stone butches. I guess something about turning dykes into a commodity, into a sideshow, has always bugged me. If you’ve lived in that world, it doesn’t seem like something that exists for guys to drool over.

So when Ian would bring up wanting a hot threesome, I’d always sort of put him off. Ian knew I used to sleep with girls. He didn’t know all the details, however. He didn’t know I was poly, and he had no idea how kinky I was back then. He didn’t know a lot of things. I’m sure what he knew sounded totally hot to him. It’s always good to have an exotic and mysterious past.

But what would happen if I really went out and got us a girl to share? It’s a fine fantasy, but in real life, it can get kind of complicated.

I know, I was the other girl a couple of times.

OK, here’s a story.

One summer, during my college years, I met this girl. Her name was Halo and she was very hot. She was a curvy girl, I suppose you could call her rubenesque but she just called herself fat. She was smarter than a room full of PHDs and had enough energy to launch moon rockets. She was one of those people who seemed to live for sex and kink. You always saw her at dyke parties and get-togethers, and she spoke openly of having several lovers, and she did dominatrix work on the side.

I thought she was awesome. I was totally intimidated by her.

I actually met Halo at a leatherdyke party. I had come along with some friends, I was a total newbie. I really didn’t know much and must have looked like a kid in a candy store. Halo took me under her wing. She was actually the first girl to flog me, and she was my first real mentor in the gentle and subtle arts of BDSM.

We had sex a lot. She was good at it too. Really good at it. She could do things with her tongue that would just make your clit melt. She was romantic as well, which is a killer combination. We made an outrageous pair. I found her courage liberating. We had many adventures together.

Halo had a boyfriend, Cory. Cory was a big, muscular boy. He was just out of high school but he looked like he was ready to star in his own line of Hercules movies. He worked as a bouncer at some very cool clubs, and he and Halo were pretty tight. I found Cory to be kind of scary at first. He was so big, he seemed so rough. After meeting a million boys who posed at being macho, Cory was the real deal. When you watch one of those tough guy movies, the actors are pretending to be Cory.

Cory turned out to have sweet and gentle sides too, and I became very fond of him. The three of us started to get along famously. And so of course we slept together. One night we were out dancing and Halo was taking turns making out with both of us, and it just sort of happened organically. At some point, Cory put his arm over my shoulder and I melted in against him. He was a big muscular wall of manliness, and for the first time in my life, that seemed really good to me.

We all went home together. It was awesome. Cory was as wild as Halo in bed. I was scared of his huge cock, but he knew how to take his time and use it well. To tell the truth, my experiences with boys up until then had been pretty disappointing. With Cory, I found a new appreciation for sex with men.

Halo taught me a lot about that. She taught me how to suck cock, and how to make a boy happy. Some girls just sort of make up those skills as they go along. Not Halo, she had chosen to really study and research and practice. She was an expert at sex. She taught me all sort of things.

For a month or two, the three of us were an item. I pretty much moved in with them, and I took over the housework and stuff. They both worked odd hours, and when one of them came home I had a meal ready, and I was ready too. Cory would come home from a job and have a meal and fuck me and go to bed. Then I’d watch court TV until Halo came home, and I’d feed her and she would play with me.

It was a lot of fun, and I remember that summer very fondly.

It didn’t last, though. Over time, it became obvious that Cory was growing unhappy. He and I had a good friendship and great sex, but what Halo and I had was something else, something more romantic. Something more like love. Cory found that kind of intimidating. Sex is fun but love can really scare people.

Eventually, things got tense, and the household became kind of nasty. Feelings got hurt. Things got said. Doors got slammed. People went to bed alone. I realized that if I stuck around, Halo and Cory were going to be driven apart. I loved them too much for that. I sort of pulled back and got out of the way. I think they both appreciated it.

I ended up moving in with Vampirix, a mutual friend, and Halo and Cory stayed together. Last I had heard, they were a running a tattoo parlor up in Boston, and Halo was more or less the queen of the local sex scene.

But I never forgot the basic lesson. Adding an extra girl makes things complicated. I wanted to make Ian’s fantasy come true, really I did. But I didn’t want to ruin a good thing.

Surely Master PC made all things possible? Well, if you used it right. I would have to think about it.

Ian and I eventually got up off the couch. Ian cleaned up the kitchen, the doll, and we ended up puttering away the afternoon and then going out to dinner. Apparently, mind-blowing sex will make your man all cuddly and romantic for a day or even longer!

We went to Maisey’s on Meadowfront Ave. Maisey’s is one of those wonderful sidewalk cafes were you can really enjoy a nice summer evening. I surprised Ian by ordering a big meal. I was totally off my diet. Thanks to Master PC, I could weigh exactly want I wanted to weigh. I had avoided using it to lose weight, or do anything else radical. That just seemed smart. Still, there was no need to get silly about it. I certainly never had to gain another pound.

Yes, that means I got dessert. Master PC is not just the key to magical sex, it’s the path to all the tiramisu you want.

Ian had the blueberry pie. While we were eating, a girl strode by and Ian made a great show of ogling her. She was sort of pretty, a corn-fed farm girl trying to pass herself off as a playboy bunny. She had hair and boobs and not much else. She was sort of a coach version of Candide Apples. She was chatting with a friend and she seemed very shrill and giggly. More Ian’s kind of girl than mine, I supposed.

“Like what you see?” I asked, letting Ian know by my tone that he had overdone it a little. He just grinned. I shrugged it off. My tastes were just different than his, after all. What could you do about that?

And that’s when I started to have ideas.

13. Just a little influence

Ian and I had very good sex that night. In fact, we had very good sex several times. When Ian had drifted off to sleep, I slipped out of bed and into the study. I launched Master PC.

Like everything with Master PC, this would be easy, but it would also be easy to screw it up. I took a deep breath and opened up the windows that covered my own personality and sexuality.

According to Master PC, I was a 62% female oriented bisexual, but that was the only part that was easy to read. The rest of it grew more and more complex. What did “20% andro_matt” mean? What did “23-33/100 sx:Repulse?” actually say about me?

The Master PC read-me files did not cover all of that. Sometimes you could work it out, sometimes you couldn’t. Luckily, you didn’t have to work down in the details. There was a higher level interface that was mostly icons and drop-down menus. As far as I could tell, it said that I was a fairly normal person, a woman of reasonable intelligence, a cheerful disposition and a can-do attitude. Sexually, it said that I was possessive, dominant, bisexual, and very kinky. It said that I was had powerfully sadistic tendencies. I didn’t agree with that.

It also said that I was a total control freak. Well, fair enough.

I started to make changes.

I put my sex drive way up, higher than Ian’s. I set it close to where it had been for my night out as Candide Apples. Now, that much sex drive was distracting, but I could always change it back later.

Since I had first fallen for Ian, I had been trying to keep up with him and his testosterone driven sex-drive. Even when I had started to improve our sex lives and responses with Master PC, I had carefully kept our relative values about the same. Now I would be the one with the stronger drives for once.

Next I broadened my “attraction matrix” to overlap totally with Ian’s. From now on, I would understand Ian’s sexual attractions and tastes better. I would share them. I made myself a lot more sexually responsive to “Visual stimuli.” Master PC said Ian was “very” responsive to visual stimuli, and listed me as “mildly” responsive. Classic boys vs. girls stuff, really. Testosterone does that to you. I made myself “extremely” responsive. That would be a new experience. I would see girls the way a teenage boy sees them.

Now, according to Master PC, I was sexually flexible, but romantically monogamous. I made myself much more flexible sexually. I figured that would make me a total slut who really stood by her man.

That sounded good to me.

I made a few other changes too. I gave myself a few of the sex-response changes I had tried out as Candide Apples. I notched up my O-index and other sex-stimuli and response values. Not as high as I had them the night before, but pretty high. Once you’ve had magic Master PC sex, it’s hard to go without.

I also gave myself the triple-element “Command Voice” that had been so useful the night before. I wasn’t sure what I would do with it, but it was an awfully handy thing to have.

OK, that was part one of my plan. Part two was going to be harder. Where exactly was I going to get us this mythical girl for us to sleep with? I mean, I knew that I was reasonably attractive and personable. I could score myself a nice date anytime I wanted. But we wanted something more than that, right? We wanted someone that Ian would consider really hot. Someone who would want to sleep with a boring old married couple. Someone who would behave herself. We weren’t looking to pay her back in either love or money, either. Generally, in my experience, girls have sex for love or money.

Well, those had always been my motivations. Of course some girls are motivated by fun or power. Still, love and money rule.

I very much wanted to leave love and money out of this for now, if I could.

The best way to find such people, of course, it to just meet them. I didn’t really move in the right circles for that. Not anymore. I was not connected with the local sexual subcultures. Since I had met Ian, I had stopped going to wild parties, dungeons, and orgies. You have to know all the right people to get invited to such things. I was years out of touch.

Now, OK, I know what you’re thinking. With Master PC at my command, I could have all the girls we wanted. I could use Master PC to make any cute girl swoon for us. Or I could make someone else into a cute girl and then make her swoon for us.

Except, of course, that it would be Wrong. “Evil” type wrong. Seriously.

Humans aren’t toys, and you can’t treat them like toys. Sure, I had used a little mind control here and there. That had been very convenient for me, but it hadn’t really affected people’s lives. I had been using Master PC to improve things for Ian and I, but that was my job, wasn’t it? That’s what a wife does.

On top of all the moral arguments, there were practical considerations too. In all the Master PC stories I had read, horny boys used their magical power to seduce all the women around them. In fact, they seemed to start with the female who was literally closest and work outward, regardless, as if following some deep, hard-wired imperative.

But imagine the real consequences of doing that! If I started turning my neighbors into mindless sex slaves for Ian’s pleasure, it would certainly all end badly. It sounded like the sort of thing that would lead to a big FBI shootout. As Ian would say, it’s all fun and games until Mulder and Scully show up.

Additionally, there were surely other copies of Master PC out there, right? I mean, I couldn’t have the only copy. And since I had never heard of a whole town being turned into giant breasted bimbo cheerleaders, it stood to reason that there was some limiting factor. Was there some kind of Master PC Police out there? I could imagine a secret subculture of Master PC users working to keep the secret safe. I had belonged to my share of shadowy sexual subcultures, after all. Surely the other Master PCers would take action to stop one person from ruining it for everyone?

Master PC Police? That was something to think about.

It struck me that “mind control” was a phrase that covered a lot of ground. I could use Master PC to directly control anyone, and that was a scary kind of power to have. There were lesser levels of power, however.

For instance, you could use Master PC to make subtle tweaks to someone’s personality. What if I made a girl just slightly more attracted to me and then I hit on her? She still might say no. I mean, people do things to influence each other all day. Most of human interaction is based on trying to get each other to cooperate. What was cheating and what was fair play?

If I turned myself back into Candide Apples, all young and sexy, it would certainly be easier to seduce someone. That sounded like a lot of fun. Maybe I would do that. It wouldn’t really help my problem though. If Candide seduced a girl, that didn’t explain how Candide was going to get her to sleep with Jean and Ian.

Following this line of thought, I opened the “Second order Mind Control” panel, where I had found the Command Voice and a host of other “lesser” Mind Control powers Master PC could bestow. They all seemed to have different uses. The Command Voice let you give short, simple, and direct commands to another person verbally, and those commands would generally be obeyed. For a moment, anyway. You could tell someone “give me that” or “go to sleep” but it had to be something simple and quick.

There were other “second order” powers, however. There was something called “Zombie pheremones” that could be used to turn anyone who got close to you into a sort of mindless automaton. They would obey any commands like a robot. When the effect wore off, they would remember nothing. That seemed kind of creepy to me. More than creepy, it was the perfect rape technique. Who would even want such a power?

Well, it struck me that several women had been assaulted in my neighborhood recently. Zombie pheremones would really come in handy if I ever got into a tight spot. It was something to think about.

I kept looking. I browsed through “Subliminal emotography” and “Telepathic Sexual Implicity.” A lot of it made no sense to me at all.

Then I found “Charisma augmentation,” which seemed to be very similar to the Command Voice. Augmented charisma used a combination of “neutral scent” pheremones, subliminal ultra-sound vocal-signal conditioning and low-band infra-telepathic broadcasting to make you “more appealing, more authoritative, more admirable, and more sexually desirable.” The effect, according to the help notes, was real but not overwhelming. It just made you noticeably more influential. More likable. More hot.

That seemed about right to me. Useful, but not totally evil. I mean, I used eyeliner and lipstick and good etiquette to make myself more likable every day. Why not add augmented charisma to the list? It wasn’t really mind control, it was just a little influence.

I gave myself Augmented charisma, weighted mostly for command and sexuality. I didn’t need Master PC to make friends. I also made some improvements to my Command Voice. Now that I had actually used it, it was easier to figure out what the various parameter dials meant. I was becoming a Master PC expert.

Now, up until that point, I had avoided making any real changes in my appearance. After all, if I turned myself into a centerfold, how would I explain it to everyone?

Being Candide Apples for a night had been a lot of fun, like taking a vacation from being me. A vacation is one thing, but I didn’t want to move away. I still wanted to be Jean. It’s never good to forget who you are.

However, If was going to seduce a babe for Ian, I needed to look good. That was all part of charisma, right? I decided it was reasonable to make mild changes. After all, I had been making Ian a bit younger, a bit leaner, a bit more muscular over the last two weeks. I was doing it gradually. People were impressed with him, but not suspicious. “Gradual” was the key.

I made myself five years younger. Just five years! I balanced out my skin tones. I dialed my nose microscopically smaller. I made my eyebrows neater and cleaner. I essentially did all the cool things I had done to become the lovely Candide Apples, but I did them at 5% instead of 100%. Just tweaks.

Well, I went further with my eyes and hair. I made my dull brown eyes a bright green. I made my lank brown hair a little longer, a little thicker, a little curlier. I changed my hair to a gorgeous bright red, Strawberry-2/copper-1/Auburn-2 on your master PC hair chart.

It was OK, I would just tell everyone I had gotten contact lenses and had my hair done. Claiming a makeover would help cover up any other changes too. People would just enjoy the new look. My old girlfriend Vampirix used to do stage magic, and she always said that people were willing to believe anything if you just helped them along.

I dialed away about ten pounds of unwanted weight. I decided to wait a week or two before getting rid of any more. I tightened up my muscle tone, but just a little. Oh, and I made myself slightly more attentive and fastidious about my clothing, makeup, and appearance. Would you believe Master PC had dials for all of that? Ian deserved a girl who always looked her best. Master PC was the ultimate tool for following through on your New Years resolutions.

And that just left my breasts to think about. I saved them for last because I was feeling conflicted. Ian had really appreciated Candide’s big breasts. They had been a lot of fun for me too. It was certainly tempting. How much could I get away with, though? I could hardly claim to have gotten breast implants over the weekend!

I hemmed and hawed. I finally gave myself very lovely c-cup sized breasts and decided I would just bluff my way through. They felt wonderful, big and proud and beautiful. Candide’s huge breasts had felt a little, well, a little silly. A little over the top. These seemed more realistic somehow. I loved them.

I glanced up at the clock. It was late, and I just spent hours furiously editing myself. I wondered if Ian was going to like the changes? I went into the bathroom to look at myself in the big mirror over the sink.

It was still me, really. I was just younger and in better shape, with gorgeous hair and lovely breasts. Lots of other, subtle little changes combined to make me look more, well, more polished. It was a more glamorous version of me. I wasn’t supermodel material, but I would get noticed more.

I mean, I was still me. That’s what mattered.

I sort of reminded myself of my big sister Diana. She had always been more glamorous then me. Diana was a real girly-girl, the kind who can apply eyeliner perfectly while riding the crosstown bus. She had always been the pretty bird, and I had been the plain jane.

Well, I didn’t look quite so plain anymore, but no one was going to call Scully and Mulder, though.

I felt good too. When you make yourself younger and leaner and more muscular and more sexually sensitive... it makes everything tingle. Life is more than just good sex. It’s the taste of ice cream, the warmth of the sun, or just the feel of a cool wood floor under your toes as you pace around your apartment thinking.

I went into the living room and sat on the couch, a little overwhelmed. So much was changing! In less than two weeks, Master PC had transformed my whole life. My next step was clear. Ian wanted a girl for a threesome, and I was going to deliver.

But what kind of girl? I glanced at the pile of magazines under the coffee table. Generally, in our apartment, that means a men’s magazine or two. I dug out a dog-eared copy of Playboy. I flipped through it. These were the sort of girls that Ian wanted.

I had never been a big fan of girly magazines. I am a good feminist after all. Still, I appreciated Playboy for it’s old fashioned, glamorous approach to the world. It was glossy and pretty, not sharp and vulgar like so much internet porn. The girls were certainly hot. They were clean, long limbed vixens who looked like they didn’t have a care in the world, but spent all their time working out and getting pretty for you. They were like luxury class girlfriends, designed to look good on your arm and feel good underneath you. I wondered who could actually afford such girls.

One girl caught my eye, a lovely little thing with a killer body. She had amazing round breasts and a lean, impossibly flat waist that funneled your gaze down to her waiting pussy. I could almost imagine her playing all coy, and then opening up like a flower. Would I be gentle with her? Would I be rough with her? She’d be happy either way, I figured. Ian would like her. I’d make him sit back and watch us girls make out. He could watch her suck my breasts. I could almost feel her sucking on me. I would cradle her head in my arms as she sucked and then I would look up at Ian, catch his eye, and smile.

I couldn’t stop myself. My clit turned hard and hot and I reached down to soothe it, looking at each picture in turn. As I turned the pages, I worked my clit faster and faster.

I picked my favorite picture out of the spread, a full page image that showed the girl with a hungry smile, her legs spread wide as she played with her tits. I left that page open so my other hand could touch my own nipples.

I wouldn’t just kiss her, I’d do her. I’d totally fuck her! She’d yell and I’d do it harder. I would push her down into the mattress and teach her a lesson or two. Oh, the look in her eyes when she started to come! She would love me. She would fear me. She would be mine.

That’s when I came, hard and strong. Not a gentle little pink cloud orgasm, but a rock solid orgasm, fast and violent and satisfying. I closed the playboy and leaned back on the couch. I was still totally horny, but my head was clear, like it had been filled with positive ions by a passing storm. I started giggling happily.

This was going to work after all.

15: Girl hunting

The room was hot and loud and packed with lesbians. They were so tightly crammed together that you could barely move around. You had to negotiate a path through them carefully. To make it worse, they were dancing. They rocked and twisted to music so loud that it quickly numbed the ears.

The air was so hot and thick that sweat just pooled on your skin, going nowhere. There were spinning fans up above but they were just a placebo, we were dancing to waves of heat as much as the waves of sound. It had to be the most uncomfortable place I had been in years.

It was heaven.

I could not remember the last time I had in a room with so many girls. They were blondes and brunettes and redheads, they had long hair and crew cuts, curls and afros, bangs and dreads, braids and ponytails. They were tall and fat, lanky and busty, skinny and muscular. They came in every color and shape and style.

It was Trix, the Dyke Club at Madigans. Every Wednesday night, the little bar slash club opened its doors to the local lesbian community. Wednesday nights because dykes don’t spend enough on booze to rate one of the good nights. Why do gay women have less money than everyone else? Ask your local feminist studies professor, she’ll explain it to you.

Now, I do not mean to say that all the women at Trix that night were dykes, or would call themselves dykes. Experience told me that they came in a rainbow of complex self identifications. They were dykes, lesbians, and bi-curious. They were straight girls who had just come with friends. They were single and married, monogamous and polyamorous, faithful and cheating. They were sultry femmes, tough butches, suave gentlemen dykes and everything in between. I saw a handful of female to male transsexuals, a dozen or so male to female transsexuals, and all kinds of genderqueer people whose fluid and shifting gender presentations I would not dare to name.

I totally swooned over them all. I was a teenage boy in the cheerleader’s locker room. There were leather dykes in steel-sheathed boots, dominatrix femmes in shiny black corsets and mohawked slave-girls being led around on leashes. There were glam girls in ponytailed pop-singer drag and mod bois with narrow ties and wing-tip shoes and perfect spit curls.

Of course, most of them were really perfectly normal looking college girls in t-shirts and jeans, but mohawked slave girls always deserve special mention. I could not remember the last time I had led a girl around on a leash.

There were even a few guys. Several gay boys and even a straight boy or two were dancing in the throng. The straight boys may have been a bit out of place, but they still had a chance of getting lucky. Trix was not a bastion of gold-star lesbian purity.

A few older, straight looking men sat at the bar. They looked like regulars who just had to put up with the lesbian invasion every Wednesday night. They adopted a slightly offended, long-suffering posture, but they found many opportunities to enjoy the view.

The DJ was a tall, spindly girl, like a praying mantis with a spikey black crew cut. She didn’t so much dance to the music as pulse to it. It was hard to take my eyes off of her. To my amazement, she seemed to have no turntables at all, and was apparently just mixing music from several iPods. I had never seen such a thing, and felt suddenly old and out of place.

But then the DJ played a track of Bananarama that I had never heard before. I’d know those voices anywhere. Was Bananarama still around? Well then, I was not a fossil. Not yet.

The average girl at Trix looked to be in her lower twenties, but there was a pretty good spread. I saw fresh faced Lolita baby-dykes who must have slipped in with fake IDs, and a bunch of middle-aged women were in the mix. I even saw an aweseome grey haired grandmother butch, squat as a fireplug and tough as old leather. She had no trouble finding sweet young things to dance with.

I wasn’t too old for Trix, not really, but I was glad that I had shaved those years off of my age. It felt good to fit in. Still, I could not help but wish that I had come as Candide Apples, instead of plan old Jean.

Still, I did OK. Girls danced with me and I had a ball. I did not lose track of my mission, however. I was looking for a girl for Ian. Darn Ian for being so picky anyway!

There was a gorgeous butch who clearly wanted to take me home. She was tall and lean, from her manner and her clothes she might have been a cowboy who had just wandered in after a hard day on the range. She was smooth dancer and her smile was full of wonderful promises. Her face was gentle and happy, but she had strong, roughly calloused hands.

When my Cowboy moved in close, I was able to learn all sorts of things about her. Her breasts were bound almost flat under her western shirt, and she was packing. I couldn’t tell if it was just a rolled up tube sock or a little pack-and-play strap-on, but she was happy to grind the firm bulge in her pants up against me.

I was totally charmed. I was ready to bet money that she was an old-school butch. Her friends probably all called her “he” as a sign of respect. I wondered if she was stone. I had always been weak in the knees for stone butches.

Regretfully, I did not pursue the possibilities. I did not respond to all of the cowboy’s advances, and in time a skinny little damsel with long pink braids stole her/him away. I sighed heavily, swallowed my jealousy, and kept dancing. The Cowboy just wasn’t Ian’s style.

A few minutes later, I almost melted while dancing with an awesome couple, a top and her slave. The top was an amazing fat dyke with wild black hair and perpetually unlaced combat boots. Her bitch, all properly leashed and collared, was a perfect little goth princess with the most nicest figure you had ever seen. She had the face of an angel. She was every fetishist’s dream of a playboy centerfold, and she was clearly the total, adoring property of her Mistress. She wore the teeniest little black dress and the cutest black lace gloves. I could not keep my eyes off of her amazing tits. She had Candide sized tits. It’s true what they say, I never saw her eyes.

They made it very clear that I could go home with them, and they looked like a lot of fun. I loved watching the top push her girl around, she was mean and loving all at once, and it reminded me of perversions I had not touched for years.

Still, Ian did not share my taste in fat girls, and bringing one girl home was complicated enough. I did not think I was ready to navigate the complexities of bringing home two of them.

I did make out with them though, and that was amazing. They had this tag team way of kissing a girl. The top would chew deliciously at your throat, like a vampire, while the slave-girl frenched you sweetly. They were an intoxicating pair.

I took my time. There was no hurry, and I was having a wonderful evening. I suppose it was just my new augmented charisma, but it seemed to me that I was terribly popular. Girls smiled at me, danced with me, offered to buy me drinks. I had a ball.

There wasn’t much conversation, of course, it was much too loud. People would pretend to talk to you but you’d be lucky to catch one word in three. Mostly, I nodded and shrugged. Some people seemed to be having whole conversations though. I tried to recall if clubs had been so loud in my day. All these college girls were making me feel a little old.

And then I found my girl. She came right up to me and started to dance in front of me in a rather brazen display. It was like she was saying “here I am, if you like me.”

I liked.

She was tall and lean, with the grace and the muscles of a professional dancer. Prominent cheeks and anime eyes made her seem happy and girlish. I met her gaze and we danced. I knew she was perfect. She was totally femme and her body was to die for, with bold breasts and a deliciously hard and contoured tummy. She had long, curly dark hair tied back into a single big ponytail, and she was dripping with pure cheerleader energy.

Right then and there, I wanted her. I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to watch Ian fuck her.

“Hi!” I yelled. “I’m Jean!” I didn’t really care if she could hear me, I just wanted to give her the full effects of my augmented charisma. I knew that some of it was encoded in my voice.

“Cindy,” she said, and she glanced down at her feet, shifting from bold to bashful in the wink of an eye. I knew that I had her. I didn’t care if it was my new breasts or my magically enhanced charisma, I had snared her.

We danced like maniacs. I fed her smiles and each smile made her grin more, as if she was desperate for my approval. In a song or two, our bodies were pressed close, hands on each other’s hips, the crotches of our blue jeans crashing together to the rhythm of Madonna, Li’l Kim, and Sleater-Kinney. Her skin was soft, smooth, and sweaty. She smelled like perspiration, vodka, and white musk.

We were surrounded by women. You couldn’t dance at Trix without making contact with the women around you, but soon the world seemed to contract until it was just the two of us.

She said she was thirsty so I bought her a hard lemonade and made a point of opening the bottle for her. There’s something about buying a girl a drink that can really establish who is in charge. She took it from me like a good girl poured it down her throat like it was water.

It turned out there was an alley behind Trix. The bright end, by the street, was guarded by all the girls who had come out to smoke or make cell phone calls. The darker end of the alley was therefore the perfect place to pull a girl aside for a little fast fun. It was pretty grubby, way too heinous for anything but up-against-the-wall type stuff, of course.

Cindy and I ducked out of the club for “fresh air.” I dragged her down the alley, threw her up against the wall and pressed myself in against her. She was all firm muscles in a very soft package, and her throat was smooth and silky in my mouth. She tasted like salt and electricity.

I held her up up against the bricks, grinding myself into her like my whole body would somehow find it’s way into her. She was supple and stronger than I was, but I had experience on my side. I had conquered stronger girls, in my day. And she didn’t really want to get away, she just wanted to writhe against me.

I grabbed the base of her ponytail to hold her head still as I moved in for a kiss.

I could not remember the last time I had really kissed a girl, the last time I felt another girl’s lips against mine, opening and eager. I had forgotten how good a girl’s mouth can taste. I feasted on her lips and her tongue, lost myself in her warm wet passion.

I took a deep breath and said “Come home with me. My husband will fuck you silly.” That gave her pause, I could see she was not sure how to answer. The poor little thing was not quite sure if she wanted to be in a threesome of not.

She had come to Trix to find a girl, after all. Not a couple.

COME HOME WITH ME, I commanded. FUCK MY HUSBAND.

I prefer to think that it was my kiss that charmed her. Either way, she said “Yes” and then “Oh God Yes!”

My conscience was clear. The Command voice was transitory, any given command only lasted for a moment. If she actually came home with me, then it was what she wanted anyway. The voice had just helped me close the deal, really. Same thing as buying her a drink.

I led her past the mob of guardian dykes and we flagged down a cab. The dykes waved us cheerful good-byes as we sped off home.

16. Can’t Live with them

“Husband, huh?” she said as I closed the apartment door behind us.

“My husband Ian,” I said with a grin, “Is the best lover on the planet. You’ll adore him.”

She nodded at me breezily. “Oh God, I’m sure I will. And you guys have a lover-ly apartment.” She said it just like that, “lover-ly.”

“Your old man must have a real job,” she said as she scanned our CD collection with a frown.

We both have real jobs, I almost said, but this was my time to be charming. “He’s a programmer,” I said. “A good one.” I was grinning like a cat. This was all working out just as I had planned. Ian had gone to see a band with Tyler. It was only wednesday night, so he would be back soon. Cindy and I could relax for a few minutes, and then I would lure her into the bedroom. When Ian came in the door, Cindy and I would be naked, wet, and putting on a show.

It was just what Ian wanted. He would come into the bedroom and find his wife making love to a beautiful young girl. He would watch us for a few minutes, and then Cindy and I would smile and invite him into bed. Perfect.

“Do you want some water?” I led Cindy into the kitchen and pulled out some cold bottled waters. “All that action totally dehydrated me.”

Cindy screwed up her face. The result was very cute, very teen-age girl. “Water makes me thirsty. Do you have any forties?”

I handed her a Guinness, which she accepted happily enough. I resolved to get her to drink some water afterwards. She had obviously been drinking all night. She was in a happy place, but I didn’t want her to crash too early. I had plans, after all.

It was a work night. I wondered if Cindy had to get up in the morning. I assumed she was a college student, which meant she probably had class. Ian and I would have to let her get some sleep, eventually.

“So where’s your Old man?” She took a deep pull on her Guinness. We leaning against the kitchen counter, very close to each other, like people who were planning to fuck soon. She played with her hair and rocked back and forth faintly on her hips, all coy and lovely.

“He’ll be here soon, he went to see Uma Theriman play at the Podium.”

“I’ve seen Uma Theramin. They’re really freaky. So what am I, his birthday present?” She giggled and emptied her bottle. That was fast.

I smiled. “He’s been a very good boy. He deserves something special.”

“That’s OK, I’m totally a Cancer, so that’s perfect.” I didn’t say anything. I had no idea what she was talking about. She giggled again and opened the refrigerator, clearly planning to grab another drink. Her capacity was impressive, but then she was a college student, right?

WATER, I commanded. She reached past the Guinness for a bottle of water. She stared at the bottle for a moment, as if confused. Then she shrugged, opened it, and started to drink. She gulped her water as loud as any twelve year old boy.

“So,” she glanced at me with a happy smile. “We don’t have to wait, do we?”

I smiled and took her hand. I led her into the bedroom.

She plopped herself down onto the bed. “Oh God, if we’re going to party, we should totally chill. Got any hay?”

“Hay?”

“You know. Weed.” Her tone reminded me of when my niece was young, the way she would lecture her Mother for being clueless.

“Sorry,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. I had stayed far away from drugs since my “Heroin Season.” Some lessons have to be learned the hard way. And even a libertine should know better than to mix sex and drugs. Sex is a serious business.

“I’ll make it up to you,” I said. I sat next to her on the bed and kissed her, long and slow and seriously. She purred like a kitten. We made out for several passionate minutes. She wrapped her arms around me like she was hanging on for dear life. I groped delightfully at her tits.

“That’s nice,” she said. “Oh God though, I need another drink!” She pulled away from me and got up off the bed, as if to head for the kitchen. It struck me that she was not as sober as I had thought. She certainly didn’t need any more.

STOP, I commanded. STRIP.

She paused, looked at me oddly, and then smiled, as if suddenly pleased with her own cleverness. She began to undress. She didn’t have enough clothes on to make a real show of it, but she was supple and clever. I had assumed she was a dancer when I first saw her. As she slowly peeled out of her blue jeans, it looked like I had guessed correctly.

I have to say, I really enjoyed the show. Since I had made myself more “responsive to visual stimuli” I had become a serious girl-watcher. If a pretty girl is like a song, then bare breasts and fluid hips are like a hypnotist. I watched her hungrily.

“You like what you see?” She ran her hands over her own breasts, as if to plump them up and prove that they were real. The sight made my mouth water. I could almost taste her.

I couldn’t wait any longer, I started to pull off my clothes. Cindy climbed onto the bed and helped me undress. Her hands touched and explored me. I loved the feel of so much of her bare skin against mine. She started to kiss me all over, her lips discovering me everywhere.

My hands went to her tits like they were magnetic. I liked the feel of having them in my grip. They were amazingly soft to the touch. Somehow, they were the outer key to all her hidden, inner mysteries.

And then her mouth found one of my nipples, and she started to suck. My nipples had never really been all that sensitive. When Ian and I first started to have sex, he was always trying to play with them, and I would get bored fast. But I was so much more sensitive now! When Cindy started to suck on my tit, I thought I was going to come, as easy as that. It was like she was sucking on some new erogenous zone I hadn’t really known about before. I was finding whole new kinds of sensation. I cradled her head to my breast and leaned back on the bed, closed my eyes, and rose into heaven.

She was an eager, greedy little girl, and she sucked with great enthusiasm. If she hadn’t been so annoying, I might have fallen in love with her.

When she switched to my other tit, it was so good that I screamed out loud. it was like my nipples had each become a clitoris in their own right.

“Oh my God, you are such a freak!”

“Just don’t stop.”

“I can do better than that.” She slid down my belly and slipping her face between my legs. I spread them eagerly. Ian was reasonably skilled at oral sex, but since I had notched up his sex drives, he had been all about fucking. I was overdue for the skilled tongue of a girl.

Her technique lacked the sense of drama and theatre that she had brought to stripping. She just started to lick me without preamble, probing and exploring me. It only took a moment for her to find what she was looking for. I leaned back on the bed and let my breath out slowly and everything was bathed in light.

If my nipples had each become a sort of clitoris, my clit had become something totally new. Something magic. As her her tongue thrummed against it, I could feel my body turn electric, bright, and wondrous. I had been waiting for this my whole life.

She put her strong hands on my hips, her fingers grabbing tight to me to hold my body in place. She worked me harder. Her tongue touched me someplace deeply, and then stirred me there. I bit my lip and I may have cried out. Then something loomed ahead of me, something vast and unknown. Her lovely tongue was summoning a kind of supergasm up from hell. I was someplace outside of thought, but I grabbed fistfulls of bedding and braced myself for the event. I could feel it welling up inside me, inevitable, unstoppable, awesome. The godhead beckoned.

“Oh my God, I’m gonna be sick!” Cindy pulled away from me, got up, and ran to the bathroom.

For a moment, I was lost, an angel plummeting from heaven. Cool air touched my cunt and I was alone. I sat bolt upright in bed. “Come back here!” I yelled, my voice hoarse.

“Oh my god!” she groaned. My legs were not steady, but I got to the bathroom just in time to see her vomit a second time. She sprayed the toilet with pale amber.

She had not, alas, bothered to lift the lid. Everything was sickly wet. The bathroom was thick with the smell of vodka and bile.

“Sorry,” she croaked, looking up at me through half-lidded eyes. A whole evening’s carouse dripped down her chin, her throat, and her lovely breasts. As a dominatrix had said to me once, other people’s fluids dripping on a girl’s face is hot. Her own fluids dripping down her face is just gross.

I knew that look in her eyes. Fast as I could, I reached down and lifted the toilet lid, cringing to touch the slick surface.

I was just in time.

When Ian came home, he found me on my hands and knees, scrubbing the bathroom. “Why are you cleaning the bathroom late at night?” he asked, reasonably. “And why did you put on makeup first?”

I just shrugged at him. Cindy was on her way home in a cab, and I was reconsidering my plans. It seemed that I had been so worried about Ian or I falling in love with the damn girl that I had failed to forsee that chance that I just wouldn’t like her at all.

That’s the problem with having the sex drive and “stimuli patterns” of a teenage boy. All you can see are the damn tits.

I finished up in the bathroom and found Ian in the living room. He was relaxed on the sofa, checking out late night TV.

“How was Uma Theramin?”

“They were ok,” he said. “Fun, not impressive.”

“I know just what you mean.” I plopped down next to him and snuggled up close. “Were there any cute girls there?”

“Yes,” he said. “Plenty of them. Note quite as cute as you. One of them even hit on me, if you can believe it.”

“I do,” I said.

“But, you know. I promised to share my girls with you. She said she didn’t do couples, and so I had to say no.”

With a happy grin, I found my way to Ian’s crotch, pulled open his pants, and gently revealed his lovely cock. I licked him up and down and all around. I sucked him slowly into my mouth. I made love to him with my lips and tongue. I took him deep into my throat, and then I did it again and again, faster and faster until I could synch to his inner rhythms and tides. I gave him the best damn blowjob ever. When he came, he tasted so good that I knew I was going to have to share him soon.

A little influence? A little just hadn’t been enough. It was time, I thought, to learn a bit more about mind control. Tonight I had unfinished business though.

I swallowed Ian’s come and looked up at him. “Let’s go to the bedroom, Tiger. I need it bad.”

He carried me there