The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dent could tell that Regina Dinelli was one of those women who knew she was attractive but was uncomfortable with it. That was understandable. As a thirty-eight year old divorced flight attendant who looked like she did, she had to know the passengers on her flights were studying more than the safety diagrams.

As Dent took stock of his newest patient, he only wished he had enjoyed such lovely instructors when he was younger. She was a fine specimen of womanhood, her olive-complected face very expressive with fine eyebrows over searching brown eyes. A nose a bit too long perhaps, but not overly so, a luscious pair of naturally crimson lips and subtly sculpted cheekbones gave her an “inside” look that said she was more comfortable in a romantic restaurant than a hiking trail. It was a nice look that was only complemented by her figure and frame—5′5″ and a 34C-28-32 if Dent had to guess. Her dark hair was cut too severely for his taste—one of those stupid cuts that women get who don’t want to spend time with their hair. Like he cared.

Her speech was clipped, the words over-enunciated, and he could tell even without his amazing powers, that she was someone anxious to upgrade her image.

“You seem like a very confident woman, Ms. Dinelli. I can only guess why you might need the services of a psychoanalyst.”

The thick sexy eyebrows arched with a world-weariness, though the brown eyes were friendly. “I make look ‘pretty together’—and I’d say I am—but my profession doesn’t give me a lot of time to meet friends to just...talk. I’m busy even when I’m on the ground.” She tossed a laminated card on the desk and Dent examined it.

“Congratulations,” he murmurred, pushing the private pilot’s license back to her.

She gave him a cat-ate-the-canary grin and placed it back in her wallet. “Thanks. I’m a quarter way through the commercial training too. In four years, I’ll be the one in the drivers seat in those 777s.”

“How commendably ambitious of you, Ms. Dinelli. An aspiring airline captain! And while holding down your current job too. And I imagine being a stewardess must be fairly stressful—”

“STEWARDESS?!? I AM A FLIGHT ATTENDANT!” Regina was livid. “It takes lots of training to do what I do—”

“Oh please!” Dent was exasperated with this one already! “Stewardesses ar enothing more than waitresses in the sky. Let’s be honest Ms. Dinelli!”

Her brown eyes considered him with outright revulsion. “I didn’t come here to be insulted! You can go f—” Her lips froze and she was unable to complete the word. Her brown eyes bulged looking down at her renegade mouth.

“That’s not very nice. I’d expect a stewie to be a bit more pleasant than that!” Dent scratched his head. “You know, you looked fairly sympathetic. I might have even let you off with nothing more than a newfound passion for anal sex or a new fetish for crotchless panties. Obviously you need more than that—a great deal more.”

Regina shook her head, but despite all efforts was unable to rise from the chair or speak. Brown eyes registered surprise, shock and fear.

This had been a long day already and here he was with yet another recalcitrant feminist to break! Dent concentrated for a moment, then began to dispense his brand of justice.

“Let’s start with you. Without a doubt, I want you to go by ‘Gina’ from now on. It is sexier and besides I know lots of strippers named ‘Gina.’ Have you got that? Cat got your tongue? He’ll give it back in a moment. Keep listening, Gina.

Let’s talk jobs now.” He picked up the laminated private pilot’s license. “I can’t believe they let women be pilots! Now I know your plan. You’re thirty-eight and gone as far as you can go as a stewie so you want to be a captain. Well,” he pulled out a pair of scissors and cut the license in two, “no more. I don’t want some flighty gal like you piloting my aircraft! So from now on, you’re petrified of the cockpit! No more lessons and no more flying! A stewie you are and a stewie you’ll remain!”

The brown eyes burned hatefully into him. Though her lips couldn’t communicate what she thought of this, the eyes surely did. While they still could.

“Now about your stewie job. You’ve got a big misconception about what it is you do. Alas, it is a misconception shared by many in your silly and superfluous profession—if I may call it that. You think as a ‘flight attendant’ that you provide a real service, when you clearly do not. It is time to redress this problem. Therefore I think you will begin the return to the wonderful tradition so popular with male passengers not so long ago of the pretty, vapid stewardess. I never ever want you to refer to what you or your peers do as being a ‘flight attendant.’ From now on you think of yourself as a stewardess or ‘stewie.’”

She was so furious her jaws had locked up in muscle spasms. How gratifying!

“Furthermore, you’ll be the kind of stewie that lights up otherwise boring business trips for men. Your appearance for instance. You’ll work on it—allow your hair to grow to full regulation length and curl it regularly. Make yourself up more and wear your uniform a bit tight to give your passengers lots of leg and cleavage. Your blue skirt should be tight enough to show off very visible panty lines and I think you’ll wear darker brassieres underneath your white uniform blouse to titillate the travelers. In other words, think of yourself as an ornament, something that begs for notice from the men aboard.

Conduct on board should be focused on males—boys from eighteen on up. Ignore the women or treat them rudely if at all. You’re not there for them—stewies are eyecandy for men. With that in mind, I want you to personify the “Coffee, tea or me?” kind of stewie. You’re obviously single and on the make for a husband and I want you to flirt with each male passenger you serve that is traveling alone.

Your fingers will ‘accidentally’ graze arms and legs when serving drinks. You’ll smile, wink and swing your hips for them. Furthermore, you’ll pick out one special passenger—that you’ll concentrate on. You’ll be extra sweet, extra doting on him and his needs. You’ll try to get him to talk to you, get him to share personal information. As you do, you’ll make it clear that being a stewie is awfully lonely at times. Before you land, you’ll hand him a slip of paper with your name and the name of the hotel you’re staying at. It won’t make any difference if he’s wearing a wedding ring or not. ‘Stewies’ are notorious homewreckers. If he calls you, you’ll sleep with him.”

Regina Dinelli had never slept with anyone on such flimsy basis. The idea was inconceivable to her before. Or rather it had been inconceivable. Why couldn’t she move or open her mouth?

“And let’s not forget the captain, shall we? It wouldn’t be nice to ignore the boss of the plane! You’ll make it clear that while on his plane, you’re ready to serve his needs too!”

But she hated those supercilious macho morons! The way they always lorded it over the flight att- stewies... Now she was thinking the way he told her too! Regina pressed her heel into the carpet, the only protest she could make!

“I’m still worried that there will be some that will still give you the benfit of the doubt, some other stewies who will think the passengers and captain are hitting on you unfairly. So to make sure, let’s do this.” Dent passed a business card over to the immobilized woman. Suddenly she had the ability to move. As if guided by an invisible hand, she picked up the card. It was for a tattoo shop in town.

“Are you right or left handed?” Dent asked.

“Right.” She could speak now as well? But only to answer his question she discovered she discovered she tried to add a few spicy words.

“Fine. On the wrist-side facing out of your right hand I’d like you to get a tattoo. Nothing dramatic in and of itself, I assure you! Just three words in red, so that s you serve your male passengers they’ll be able to read it easily.”

Gina could speak now! “What will the tattoo say?” Wait, she shouldn’t act as if she was actually going to have the thing done! As soon as she left, she’d ignore this whole visit!

“Mile High Club.” Dent was pleased with this inspiration. Gina’s expression of disgust told him he’d chosen the right approach to humiliating her.

“Now every male—and the other stewies—will know you’re that kind of girl! One last thing and I’ll let you go. I want another tattoo—you’ll get both done as soon as you leave my office naturally. At the tattoo parlor you’ll need to borrow a razor first and shave yourself nice and clean down there—you know where I mean.”

Gina would do as he said. She knew she would—he had put his foot down on her will. There was no question in her mind that she’d obey every command he gave her.

“Then you’ll ask Jack to inscribe in red ink in a circle above your pussy the words ‘Fly Me!’—the final confirmation that your passengers will need to know you’re a fly-girl slut-stewie when they fuck you in your hotel room!”

At his command, Gina rose to leave. By the time she turned the block, she had forgotten any memory of Doctor Dent. All was focused on getting the new tattoos she had suddenly got a craving to have done. A tired sigh exhaled from Dent. That one had taken a lot out of her—it was getting harder and harder. Suddenly he felt as if the power was eating him up, his vitality and health. No, he just needed a diversion. Something special.

He picked up the paper to see what celebs were in town. Ah—Sharon Stone and Vanessa Williams at the opening of some new gal pal movie called “Double Agents.” He picked up the phone and dialed the hotel where it said they were staying. After today, he deserved an extra special Hollywood lesbo command performance to wind down with!

As Dent came over Betsy’s face, he wasn’t thinking of his secretary or her admittedly effective fellatio techniques. No, he was turning over the delicious turn of events with his starlet playthings from the previous night. It had been simply superb.

“Get me a fresh cup of coffee!” he barked at his kneeling secretary. Betsy looked disappointed as she nodded and scooped the come off her blue lace bra into her mouth. As if he cared whether of not she’d have to scrub the cum stains out! Besides he hadn’t given her a facial treatment the other day and the bitch looked sexy with his cum sprayed on her face.

“Yessir! Right away Doctor!” She scurried out after barely getting her skirt and blouse back on, leaving him to think in peace.

There were times, like the previous evening, when he wondered how far could he go. If he could have kept the two pretties he had toyed with the last night, he would have sold Betsy to a Mexican whorehouse without a second thought. There was something thrilling about manipulating those celluloid honeys that couldn’t be replaced with a Betsy blowjob. But if he had indeed kept the pair for his private pleasure...well, it was just too high profile. Who cared if a noted psychoanalyst like Dr. Liza Weston disappeared. But Sharon Stone or Vanessa Williams? No—too dangerous.

Still, when he thought of them, the way he had them dallying in his penthouse apartment... He had managed to get through fairly quickly to Sharon. A dippy receptionist put him through immediately to her manager, who divulged all her private numbers. He reached her at the Plaza on her cellular.

“If anyone is in the room with you, pretend I’m your boyfriend and listen...” He could feel the blonde actress gush on the other end, then proceeded to tell her what she was expected to do next. When he arrived at the hotel suite, he found the door open—as expected—and the two women chatting. Even in casual clothes, both women were gorgeous.

“I’m glad you could make it tonight—there’s something I really need to speak to you about.” Sharon glared at Vanessa, who looked back doubtfully.

“Sure, why not?” The black beauty smiled back. At his entrance, Sharon looked up in anger.

“How did you get in here?”

“Forget me. Both of you. I’m not here—just forget my presence and go on. I like the way this is headed.” Dent set up a camera in the back of the large suite. “Go ahead Sharon—do what I told you to do on the phone. You’re doing a good job so far.”

The two actresses promptly ignored him and returned to their conversation. Dent could have crashed cymbals and they wouldn’t have heard it if he so instructed them.

“Yeah, well Vanessa...I’ve noticed your stares and it is getting pretty obvious to everyone involved in this production that you’ve got a thing for me.”

Vanessa stood up to leave, but Dent was ready. He easily added a new element to her psyche—a deep-seated submissiveness of a special kind that would soon become apparent to her. Already the urge to leave had disappeared and she lingered, toying with the doorknob before turning to face Sharon.

“W-what do you mean?” the pop singer and actress asked weakly.

Dent gave Sharon a quick mental inspection. All was as he had adjusted it on the phone.

“You know what I mean.” The clean cold blue eyes regarded her with contempt. “Everyone knows you’re a lesbian. From the pictures, you look like a good one too. ”

Would she ever live down those damn pictures? Damn that Bob Guccione! Vanessa turned away, then said in a little girl voice, “I am not a, a lesbian.”

Sharon walked toward her. “Did you know that I’m from the South?”

Disconcerted by the sudden change in direction, Vanessa shook her long straight ebony hair helplessly. “No, I didn’t know that.”

Sharon nodded, her own bright blonde chin-length bob bouncing. “Yes, I come from a very old family from Virginia.” She stared at Vanessa, who avoided her eyes. “We had a plantation and owned lots of slaves, the family histories say. Lots of men slaves... and slavegirls too.”

Vanessa couldn’t bear to look at Sharon. She knew she should go, but...

“Why it may even be possible that my great-great-grandfather owned your great-great grandmother, Vanessa! And I bet she did ANYTHING her master told her to do. The masters had complete life or death control over their slaves. And if they didn’t obey, they were whipped, Vanessa. " Sharon reached out and stroked the light-skinned woman’s cheek and Vanessa felt tinges course through her. Leaning forward, she spoke softly into Vanessa’s ear.

“You’re pretty for a nigger girl.”

At the cruel racist word, Vanessa felt anger, shame and excitement. Despite what she knew she should feel about what the white bitch had just said, she was unaccountably turned on. Even now her nipples were rising and her mound moistening.

“If you were on my plantation, I might even pick you to be my personal lady’s maid. Would you like that—nigger?” Sharon clicked her tongue on the word, smirking as she said it.

With the word said again, Vanessa felt her knees weaken. Had she really just muttered ‘yes’ to the vile question?

The perfect white smile beamed in vicious glee. “Well, nigger girl, strip down for your mistress and I’ll decide whether or not you’re pretty enough to be my servant.”

Vanessa closed her eyes and felt her pussy soak her panties. Damn it! What was it about this blonde bitch that had turned her on so? But she couldn’t ignore the command. With humiliating heat, she slipped off her jeans and unbuttoned her blouse. From the side of the room, Dent began to shoot the scene.

“Well, what pretty WHITE lace bra and panties you’re wearing. Very nice for a nigger girl. But strip it ALL off for your Mistress!”

The sigh escaped Vanessa’s lips before she could stop it. It confirmed to Sharon that the bitch was ready to play! She was so glad she had thought of this. She had been fantasizing about it all day—to be the plantation mistress of this sexy black maid. And now it would all come true! She looked at Vanessa, who had obeyed her last command. The docile black superstar looked tamed and broken, just waiting to be used. Sharon could see from the liquid glistenings on her pussy that her new toy was very excited.

“Well, IF I pick you to be my maid, then I’ll change your name. “Vanessa’ is too uppity a name for a nigger girl like you—”

Vanessa was in high heat. She wanted to come, to be naked in bed with this blonde bitch,—

“Maybe ‘Cocoa’ or ‘Jasmine’ or...I know! ‘Fancy’! I’ll call you ‘Fancy’ since you’ll be my fancy girl!” Sharon unzipped her skirt, revealing her trademark lack of underwear, and sat on the bed. She’d keep her blouse on—just to remind her who was the mistress and who was the slave.

“Get on your knees Fancy.”

Vanessa responded eagerly to her new name.

“Oh—you’ve got a bush! I want my maid neat and trim—before you go, you’ll shave it off.”

Vanessa felt a pang of confusion. Her boyfriend Wesley would be surprised—then it dawned on her that with Sharon, there wouldn’t be boyfriends in her life any more. With absolute certainty, she knew that though she might let Vanessa continue to have a public career, in private Sharon Stone would be her lesbian lover from this point on. Her dominant lesbian lover. Sharon spread her legs wide in front of Vanessa, drawing her head forward by gently pulling on a handfull of her sleek black hair.

“Show me Fancy. Show me how you please your mistress.”

Dent enjoyed the rest of the evening. Sharon had prepared well, per his instructions. After a most thorough and passionate oral session, Vanessa, or ‘Fancy,’ was allowed off her knees and into her mistress’es bed. Sharon then showed her new maid what her great-great-grandfather most have done with her great-great-grandmother with the wickedly long strap-on dildo she belted on. ‘Fancy’ was soon cooing in ecstasy as her pale blonde owner rammed her repeatedly from behind, though the coos were replaced by shrieks when Sharon cruelly switched orifices. By the late evening, Dent had used up three rolls of film while his puppets performed, oblivious to the man photographing their lewd play.

He had liked the way they played together and decided to keep the two coupled. Before ‘Fancy’ was allowed to become Vanessa again, Dent dropped in a final bit of conditioning. Vanessa Williams would no longer be able to achieve an orgasm outside the presence of Sharon Stone. To cement the unequality of the relationship, he placed no such block on Sharon. Instead he gave her the insight that Vanessa was hers to do with as she wished—and that dominating the light-skinned beauty was something she would do more of, as her schedule allowed. Even in the darkest days of Southern slavery, no white woman had ever exercised so much authority over a black woman.

He was tired now, but the night’s activities had been worth it. Dent was mad now, frustrated that even with his awesome power, he couldn’t have the two playing right now! He felt like working out his aggression. Maybe he’d find some reason to throw Betsy over his knee and give the bitch a spanking. Miss-filing or something trifling like that—yeah, that deserved a good lesson!

Only problem was his busy schedule. He had too many patients he needed to ‘treat.’ The doctor open his appointment book. Ah—a Kristen Jeffreys should be arriving shortly. Betsy knocked timidly on the door to let him know that she had arrived.

“Send her in,” he ordered gruffly. He really wanted to sleep. Playing with less than Hollywood starlets today would be a letdown.

Not that Kristen Jeffreys was unattractive. A young professional of about twenty-six or so, she was a tall, thin woman with the body of a runner. Her short brown hair framed a lightly made-up and pleasant, if unremarkable face. The wide mouth promised generous smiles when prompted and the intelligent hazel eyes which hid behind the oversized tortoise shells made you want to ask her questions. Her body was slim and tight. If she wasn’t very curvy in her conservative wool business suit, she did have a tomboyish appeal. Even her overbite, which produced a slight buck-toothed look, gave her a snuggly squirrel appeal.

“Good morning, Ms. Jeffreys. I’m so glad you came to see me.”

She smiled and Dent reconsidered his initial assessment. She might be prettier than he thought—her smile was cute in the extreme. “Thanks Doctor. You’ll probably think I’m a silly goose when I tell you why I’m here.”

“Not at all,” he responded, even though he was sure she was correct.

She crossed her long legs and began with an embarrassed grin. “Well, you’d think at twenty-six I’d be old enough to handle something like this on my own. But, well, it’s ridiculous, but...oh, hell—I’ve got a tremendous crush on this guy at work and I’m going crazy over it!” She smiled sheepishly.

“Go on—maybe I can help,” he offered. His sleepiness was gradually lifting now. This gamine was beginning to interest him. Not a beauty, but...cute. Like the way she was playing with her glasses now.

“Well, I work at Kollman, Webber & White—that’s the ad agency—anyway, I’m a media planner there. Greg Wilde is an account executive that I work with—the guy I have the crush on.”

Dent delved into Kristen’s mind and found him. Fairly ordinary, flashy dresser, something of a run-around, about thirty. Typical advertising executive.

“What’s the problem, then? Have you approached him?”

The wide mouth shut and she shook her head, eyes clouded with guilt. It came out at last. “No, you see Pam, my best friend, also has a crush on him and—”

With a gentle mental caress, he parted all the nonsense aside and found Pamela Reynolds occupying the key position. Pamela, an art director at the agency and a true friend for at least three years. He could see Kristen’s problem now—she lusted after Greg the account executive, but Pamela had confided her interest in him too. Now she was torn by the decision—should she pursue him and risk her friendship with Pamela or let her have the field? Men made such fools of women, especially those just becoming young adults like Missy Kristen here! Here was an interesting challenge, but he’d need to know more than he could get from Kristen’s mind. He would need to see Pamela in person to see where he could take this.

“Call her,” he commanded, pushing the phone toward her. Dumbly she obeyed. “Tell her to come here.”

Again she obeyed, as if he were asking her for the time of day. She held the phone to her pert chest, covering the receiver. “She says she’s too busy and can’t right now. She wants to know what’s wrong.”

Dent took the phone from her hand. “You’ll be here in less than ten minutes or you’ll have headaches that you’ll go mad from. Now get over here now!” He gave the address and slammed the phone down, irritated.

Ten minutes later Betsy led a disheveled brunette into the office and Dent knew, if Kristen did not, that she didn’t have a chance against this tasty morsel with her Greg. Pamela Jardin was a hot little handful and practically the opposite in looks from her friend Kristen. She was petite, buxom raven haired thing, with wide hips and an almost foreign look when compared to the more prosaic Kristen. Her almond eyes were catlike and her mouth a tiny kissable affair with bow-shaped lips. If Kristen was a tomboy, then Pamela was definitely a cheerleader type.

“Hi Kris! What’s wrong? I got here as soon as I could!” She sat down without asking permission and looked at Dent with real concern. “Is my friend all right Doctor?”

“Calm down, please! No need for alarm. I’m just trying to help Kristen sort out a problem and wanted you here to help. You’re part of the problem, you see.”

Kristen blushed and looked away from Pamela’s perplexed glance. “I don’t understand,” she admitted to Dent, when it was obvious Kristen wasn’t going to respond. Dent had put the brown-haired girl in a state of intense discomfort before her luscious friend had arrived. He wanted to concentrate on the newcomer for now.

“She’s embarrassed. You see she is crazy about your a man named Greg, a man she says you too are interested in.”

Pamela glared with annoyance at her friend. “I can’t believe this! I told you I liked him! God, what a bitch you are Kristen! Are you going to try to steal him even before I get him?!”

Kristen tried to make herself invisible, still unable to speak.

Dent analyzed the situation. If Greg was as shallow a man as he suspected him to be, Kristen didn’t have a chance. She was no where near as pretty as Pamela was, or half as sexy as the art director. It would be nice to teach the career gal a lesson, as well as taming the fiery little hell-cat Pamela. He thought of the old aphorism, that you shouldn’t ask what you wanted because you just might get it.

“Well Kristen, it would seem Pamela is a bit upset with you. Let’s see if we can’t come to a satisfactory arrangement for all concerned. Pamela,” he snapped his finger and the brunette focused immediately on him, “and Kristen,” he repeated the snap. Now both wenches hung on his every word.

“First, let us get something established from the outset. You are BOTH infatuated with Greg. In fact you can’t conceive of life without him. You’ll do ANYTHING to be near him, to BELONG to him like a little pet. You are constantly horny when he comes near you and ferociously jealous of any woman who he spends time with.”

He gauged them both as it was critical to set this belief in stone if the two were to do as he bid them. Pamela’s interest in Greg had flared to a high temperature, while Kristen had not been so in love with a boy since she had been sixteen. Good—he continued on with his prescription for their ‘problem.’

“Now, the problem you both have is how to get him to pick you over the other bitch. Because when it comes to a man, friendship between girls comes a far second.”

He liked the way the two women now snarled at one another. Good. Very good.

“Now, Pamela, you KNOW you are sexier than Kristen. But she might try ANYTHING to steal your man, perform any perverted act to arouse him. And Kristen—you know Pamela is prettier than you are and has a better body. How could you hope to attract Greg away from her?

The only solution is obvious. Rather than compete, you will cooperate.”

The incredulity on their faces was enchanting.

“Yes, cooperation is the ONLY way.” Now their faces registered compliance, acceptance of these new terms, Pamela’s flirty mouth cocked in a wily expression, while Kristen sat attentively, carefully drinking in the details.

“You’ll have to let Greg know that you are BOTH offering to be his girlfriends. That you know he’d be bored with just one of you so you’ll make it easy for him.”

The two young women considered each other slyly.

“It is the ONLY way to get Greg,” Dent repeated.

Kristen shrugged and offered up a tentative smile, which Pamela finally returned.

“But sharing isn’t enough, girls. You’ll have to do better than that. You’ll have to REALLY show Greg how much you want to please him. Greg is VERY kinky—did you know that? If you really wanted to get him hot for you two, you’d do things TOGETHER.”

The two women looked cautiously at one another. Neither was happy about this new wrinkle. Sharing was one thing, but—

Again Dent intoned their new commandment. “It is the ONLY way girls.” They bitterly drank this information in and now avoided each other’s eyes. That was good enough for Dent. If Greg was the kind of man he thought he was, he’d enjoy that the girls were doing things only for his pleasure and not for their own. He’d probably like that the two weren’t lesbians, that they hated it, but performed that way because HE enjoyed watching. Again, Dent thought how lucky this unknown bastard was! If only he knew...

“I think you should start tonight. Call him when we’re through—both of you. Tell him how much you want to be with him, that you’ve talked and decided that you both want to make dinner for him. Who has the bigger apartment?”

Kristen spoke. “Uh, I think I do.” Pamela nodded.

“Good. Then invite him there. Take the rest of the day off to get ready for him. There’s a lot to do!”

The two looked quizzically at him. Dent sighed. He had to tell his mind controlled slaves how to do practically everything!

“First, you Pamela—move in with Kristen today. That way Greg can enjoy you more comfortably in a familiar place. And give him a key of course.”

Kristen nodded uncertainly. “But my place isn’t that big! I only have one bedroom and—” she stopped suddenly.

“Greg would like that you both sleep together in the same bed every night, Kristen,” Dent reminded her gently.

“Oh.” She looked at her shoes in silence. Pamela did the same. Neither protested now. They knew it was the only way to satisfy their infatuation with Greg.

“If I know Greg at all from what you’ve told me about him, I think there are things you can do that will get him quite excited by both of you.” Two pairs of eyes lit up at that remark and waited for him to continue. “Every man likes variety—the blonde goddess and the brunette bimbo. The blonde is the ‘nice girl’ who is angelic. She is adored by her man, treated as a valuable adornment. She wears white lace and is a lady all the time.

Then there is the brunette. She’s the dirty girl, the ‘other woman’ that does all the nasty things he wants her to do. The slut, the whore that’s kept only for sex.”

Pamela was worried now. She was a brunette and didn’t like the sound of what she was hearing.

“Kristen, since you aren’t as pretty as Pamela, you will assume the role of the brunette bimbo for your man. Pamela—you will become the blonde goddess for him.”

Kristen’s jaw dropped. Pamela smiled, relieved.

“You should both get the same hair style—an exaggerated pageboy should be appropriate—today at a beauty salon. But you Pamela will have yours dyed a platinum blonde, you Kristen a midnight brunette. Don’t worry about your pubic hair—shave it off when you get back to Kristen’s. Greg doesn’t like pubic hair—you’ll have to shave everyday. Understand girls?”

They nodded dutifully, Kristen less enthusiastically than Pamela now.

“Good. Then I want you two to buy some lingerie to greet your man in. Pamela, as the angel in this relationship, you’ll buy the daintiest, prettiest, most expensive white lace bra, panty, high heels, garter belt and stocking combo you can buy—all so you’ll look pretty for your man tonight.

Kristen, as the slut in the relationship,” he liked how she winced, then pressed on, “you’ll buy another kind of outfit. For your man, you won’t wear romantic lace tonight like Pamela, you’ll wear black shiny form-fitting latex. Panties, bra and at least three inch spike patent leather heels—that’s it.”

Prim little Kristen hated it, but Dent knew her pussy would betray her into obeying. But he wanted insurance. “Kristen , if you don’t take the slutty role, you get no role at all.” That was enough. She forced a sad smile on her face and nodded.

“Good. Now you two need to do one more thing this afternoon. Go to a tattoo parlor,” he loved tattoos for humiliation purposes—so permanent, “and both of you get tattoos that read “Property of Greg Wilde” inside a heart. Have the artist do it right above your right ass cheeks, so if he wants you to display the tattoo, it can be seen easily.”

Now Pamela looked less than convinced this was necessary.

“This way, he’ll be certain that you really truly love him, heart and soul,” Dent explained. “And the girl who doesn’t do it will definitely lose out to the other one.”

They both vowed to get the tattoo immediately.

“Good.” Dent folded his hands, almost through with these two. “A few more things and you two may go. When you welcome Greg in your new undies, he’ll be a bit confused. You can make him feel right at home by serving him a drink... and then, on the floor at his feet, you two can give him the delicious sight of his two pretty new girlfriends slurping each other in a sexy sixty-nine—just so they can get each other hot, wet and ready for him. After that, I’d guess each of you gets what you need.

His cock inside you.”

Their cheeks burned with shame, but Dent knew from the slight whiff that their pussies betrayed the lust that had captured them both.

Dent tapped his finger on the desk absently. His head was pounding, but this was too good to let go of. “What else, what else?” he asked himself. But then the pain came back and looking at his desk clock, he realized he had spent enough time with this little drama and had some favorite patients coming in soon. “Ah, yes—I want you two to shower together for him. Each of you will do anything he asks of a sexual nature—you’re his new pets after all. His sex pets. Oh—and no penetration...with fingers or dildos or vibrators. Unless your boyfriend Greg is there to ask permission from, I suppose.”

The two nodded like obedient schoolgirls.

“Good—you two can go.” They did, ready to begin their new sexual odyssey. “One last thing though.”

They waited, a sliver of fear in each pair of eyes. So many things had changed for them today, so much to do...

“When Greg isn’t there to tell you little foxes how to play, then PAMELA is to be the one who speaks for him. Can you keep Kristen in line, Pamela?”

The petite woman snickered. “Oh yes Doctor! I KNOW I can.”

Kristen looked ill. From the way little Pamela had answered, Dent could be sure the flat, lanky tomboy would be thoroughly humbled by the slinky, petite martinet. As they left—Pamela in more of a rush than Kristen—he could only think how cruel a wish come true could really be!

“Doctor, I’m leaving. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Frantz barely acknowledged her departure. If he had, he might have asked why his assistant was leaving uncharacteristically with so many work files, especially in light of the long weekend. If he had checked her bag, he’d have discovered other interesting items, such as the airplane ticket to New York and the print-out of an address for a psychoanalyst named Harry Dent. Of even more interest to him might have been the syringe and needle and even the .32 caliber handgun.

But he didn’t have much curiosity about his drab, bookish young assistant and Nikki left with a calculating grin on her plain face.

“Ah, the Baxter ladies! Well, how wonderful to see you again! Sit down and make yourselves comfortable.”

Dent watched with barely suppressed glee as Cody delicately seated herself, her small hands straightening her short denim skirt underneath her thighs and then folding themselves in her lap. Today she didn’t wear a sweater, but instead a figure-forming white knit and surprisingly low-cut blouse, giving her blooming bosoms a bit of cleavage. Not much. The girl’s earlier insolent manner was gone. Her gray eyes avoided his and her mouth remained neutral and closed, lips sparkling with pink gloss. Idly he peeked in and felt the burning shameful concentration on behaving...of not giving Uncle Vito a reason to punish her any more than he already did. She must be respectful of the Doctor. If she displayed any hint of a poor attitude, her bitch of a mother would tell on her. Dent smiled. She hated her mother as much as she feared her Uncle Vito.

Janice seated her herself. She was different too. The conservative housewife attire was gone. Evidently Vito liked spandex, because that was what she was wearing from head to toe. The thin red and white striped top and black stretch pants looked more appropriate in a club than in a doctor’s office. Ditto on the red high heels, the teased auburn hair and the theatrical hoop earrings. Her face had that “just been fucked” look that he was sure she wore so often now. He poked around, reviewing her thoughts and Cody’s. A lot had happened since their last visit and Dent was pleased. Sort of.

Janice, instilled with her new-found need for Vito, had carried out the Doctor’s mental commands. She had begged him to move in and virtually take over her life—surprising him with a cashier’s check for her entire bank account and the deed to her home. Dent could see Vito’s barely suppressed glee, suspicious at first, then increasingly excited at his new-found wealth and power over the widowed wife. And her teasing young daughter.

Vito had moved in and gladly taken over administration of the household. He had especially enjoyed his new duties in disciplining Cody. He could feel Cody’s shame as Uncle Vito complimented her on her pretty panties. Then the shameful confessions over various little misdemeanors and eventually her naughty thoughts about boys. Uncle Vito demanded she give him more and more details about these thoughts. Dent could tell that the little minx desperately wanted to masturbate—she was at that age. But if she did, she would have to confess it to Uncle Vito. Even then she couldn’t avoid admitting that she thought about playing with herself. And Uncle Vito loved these confessions most of all.

At first the spankings had been with the panties on. Then he hand begun pulling them down and emboldened by Janice’s silence—who was certainly too scared to cross her man’s wishes in anything, let alone the punishment of Cody—he had begun to use his other hand to cup Cody’s little breast through her top, kneading the small hard cherry-tip. Janice pretended not to see this and Cody dared not complain, but all three knew just the same.

In any case, Vito had made it clear that any objections Janice had to the way he handled young Cody would be ignored and she herself punished for misbehavior. Vito was, he had told Janice, an old-fashioned man and very ready to take the housewife over his knee and institute a spanking time for HER as well as her daughter if necessary. The result was a perfectly submissive girlfriend who not only stood by idly while Vito fondled her teenage daughter while spanking her, but also spied on her own daughter to prove to her man what a good girl she herself was.

Emboldened, Uncle Vito had introduced new rules in HIS house. Apparently feeling secure in his position, he had begun to set things up the way he wanted them. Janice’s new wardrobe was just the beginning. Spandex during the day was complimented by lace and silk at night. He required her to go by her maiden name and that she should NEVER bring up the memory of her dead husband—that HE was her man from now own—even going so far as to make her toss out each and every photo ever taken of them, including their wedding portrait.

Dent pushed farther into Cody’s thoughts, finding an especially scary encounter just the other day with Uncle Vito. He had opened her door as she dressed for school, refusing to take his eyes off the half nude girl. She had continued to dress, trembling and trying to hide her body. Dent tasted the fear that swirled around her curiosity. Would he...was he going to...do something to her? Then relief as her “uncle” finally moved off.

Damn! The old adage was true—you really could lead a horse to water but not make him drink! He had put the little minx on a silver platter for him and Vito still hadn’t bit! This was getting downright boring. Maybe he had wasted his time trying to do this Vito a favor!

“So, how’s she doing in school, Mrs. Baxter?”

Janice shook her head violently. “I’m just Miss Janice Honnicut again—Vito prefers I go by my maiden name. Uh, well...Cody’s not doing great, but then Vito thinks school is a bit of a waste of time. He’s decided that Cody will be taking general courses, not college prep, so grades really aren’t important any more, Doctor.”

The teen couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her eyes. Poor thing—she had been a solid B student. Now she was pointed toward a life without college. Oh well.

“Cute shirt Cody.” It read BOYTOY across the chest. She mumbled an inarticulate thanks.

“Her Uncle Vito picked it out for her,” her mother chimed in.

Dent nodded, pleased. Maybe Vito just needed a push. “What a pretty young thing she is. Quite the Lolita. Got a boyfriend you wear that for, Cody?”

Janice shook her head. “Oh no Doctor! Vito doesn’t think Cody is old enough for a steady boyfriend.”

The Doctor smiled. He shut Janice off for the time being and she sat immobile. He turned to focus on Cody. “Oh, maybe she is at that. She’s what...fourteen? Bet you think about boys a lot. Have you had your first period? Got any pubic hair? I bet you have both, don’t you?”

“Yes Doctor,” she responded in the affirmative.

“Then it is time for the little teen boytoy to be played with. Janice,” she snapped her head up, alert again. “I think your daughter is a horny little thing—she needs to be broken in. And as the man of the house, I think Vito ought to have the honor of taking Cody’s virginity. I think you ought to offer up the little bitch tonight.”

Cody’s eyes widened and she heaved with tears. Dent permitted it—she ought to be scared of her worst nightmare come true. He continued speaking to the immobile, shocked face of the girl’s mother. “Vito’s too much of a gentleman to force himself on the naughty temptress there who is always teasing him with her tight body. But you know damn well that if you don’t offer her up, he may leave you for greener pastures. You do know that?”

Janice jerked in panic. Yes, oh yes, she knew!

“Then I suggest you make him feel quite comfortable in popping the minx there. This afternoon take her shopping—pick out something cute for her to wear and when he comes home...well, you know what to do.”

Janice did know and she pursed her lips in thought. “Yes, that’s the only way,” she declared, turning to the horrified Cody. “It is going to happen sooner or later...and it may as well be Uncle Vito, Cody. We’ll go buy a pretty something for you to wear for him tonight. And after tonight,” she promised cheerfully, “we’ll have something else in common! Uncle Vito!”

Well, that was all he could do. If Vito couldn’t take advantage of the situation, Dent didn’t know what he could do. When he arrived home, he’d find mother waiting to take him to daughter, who by that time would be waiting in the master bedroom in ‘something pretty.’ Janice begging him to use young Cody. Dent had faith in Vito—that the thug would fully assert his rights as Master of the House and cruelly use the teen daughter of his bimbo girlfriend. Hell, if he had any kind of imagination...Dent daydreamed of scenarios in the household—mother and daughter in matching lingerie ready to service him...both lapping at him...sharing his cum...playing together for him. Now he was getting excited!

“Uh, Janice. I think you ought to video tape the big event—and drop by with a copy of the tape with Betsy.”

The housewife nodded. “Of course Doctor. I’ll set up the video camera that Vito uses to film us with when we make love.”

“Good—now you two get out of here before I lose control.” He watched the two nervously skitter out, their minds already cleared of the conscious memory of the visit. For once he actually envied another man as he watched the daughter and mother’s firm hips swing out of his office.

Betsy rapped on the office door just as he was preparing to leave for the night. He was dead tired and had no other desire than to rest.

“What is it, Betsy?” he rasped.

“A walk-in, Doctor. Will you see her?”

He wanted to say no, but he reminded himself grimly of his personal oath. If he didn’t break this woman, some man would suffer. He had to remeber his duty to his gender. “Bring her in.”

Nikki Liston entered the office. She didn’t have long, so as soon as the blonde secretary left the office, she pulled out the gun—now equipped with silencer—and fired.

Dent’s face turned white. Looking down he saw the blood spurting from his arm. Hurt like hell, but he’d live. With a swipe he knocked the gun out of the woman’s hand, then lunged forward.

In the outer office, Dr. Liza Weston began to shake uncontrollably, Dent’s pain psychically radiating over her.

On Long Island, Allison Dillon stopped the lap dance she was performing for her husband and ripped the blonde wig off she had been wearing.

In an financial district office tower, Juliana Linders ended the blowjob she was giving and bit down hard on her new boss’es penis.

In a hotel room outside Detroit, Regina Dinelli screamed “Rape!’ at the top of her lungs as the man with her tried to spread her legs.

In Leguna Beach, Sharon Stone yanked her strap-on dildo out of Vanessa Williams’ ass in horror as the other woman began to weep.

In a Queens apartment, Kristen Jeffreys and Pamela Jardin looked up at their male visitor from their place at his feet, faces red, not with passion, but fury.

In an upstate country home, a mother and daughter stopped their nude embrace and began wailing, much to the confusion of the man in the bed with them.

Countless other women, all Dent’s ‘patients,’ felt the pain and rage as well. They also felt the refreshing freedom of will return. It allowed them to expunge the hate that had been building up for the men they had been submitting too.

“You bitch!” Dent focused on his attacker and began to assert mental control. Like a man clinging for dear life, he caught her mind and held it. Nikki stopped struggling. The situation was in hand again. He could—

The letter opener that Liza Weston plunged into his back wasn’t sharp enough to cut butter, but when directed with pent-up hate, it was as deadly as an ice pick. Dent slumped forward.

Nikki shook of the lingering effects of the mental possession and looked at her savior. Liza Weston was alternately sobbing and laughing hysterically.

“Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!” she screamed, over and over again.

Nikki didn’t have much time. With the syringe, she drew a tiny sample of Dent’s blood. Pushing Liza out of the office, she began lighting the files with the matches she had brought, careful to spray the lighter fluid generously around the room.

By the time the fire department arrived, the office and Dent had been consumed. Only a barely coherent woman found at the scene who was babbling about mind control was left to explain the carnage.

Nikki was long gone, sitting in a planeseat she no longer needed to pay for, headed back to see her boss. On her arm, there was a band-aid where she had given herself an injection. On her face was a smile that promised things would no longer be the way they had been between she had Dr. Frantz.