The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

QUESTIONING

“So, why are we doing this?” Stacey asked her two coworkers who had accompanied her into the waiting room of Love For Women Inc.

Gwen was busy flipping through the magazines on the table next to her chair.

“I told you already. The settlement deal.” Sandra replied, turning her head to look Stacey in the eye. She spoke with an air of frustration, as if tired of repeating herself. With her age and years of experience she tended to be most outspoken of the three, always with the answers, and she often took it upon herself to tell it like it was, whether she was correct or not. Stacey rolled her eyes; of course she knew about the settlement. That hadn’t been what she meant when she asked the question, but evidently Sandra hadn’t picked up on that. Stacey secretly felt the old hag was past her prime, but she couldn’t find the will to argue with her.

Two days ago when Gwen had been near-raped by one of the male office workers, the three of them—the sole female workers among a staff fifty strong—confronted the boss about a sexual harassment suit. Their work conditions had been steadily deteriorating, so when one of the accountants cornered Gwen in the printer room, getting as far as a hand on her breast before she got out... well, that had been the last straw. Cops were called.

They’d had the company by the balls.

Which begged the question of why the three women had suddenly decided to drop the suit. Stacey wondered about that constantly. They hadn’t wanted to settle in the first place.

Somehow they had all overlooked that fact at the time, too bedazzled by the Love For Women legal representative they had hired to serve the boss his papers. They had been led to believe that Love For Women was a legal agency on the side of women facing workplace harassment.

It had turned out to be something different entirely.

Gwen had been ready to take the whole company to court with Stacey and Sandra as backing when Love For Women Inc. strolled into the office and ‘diffused’ the situation. Just when Stacey believed victory would be theirs for the taking, LFW changed things up, showed the girls a ten minute movie and walked out with a check.

LFW was supposed to have served the papers taking the company to court.

LFW was supposed to have torn the boss a new one on their behalf.

In a way they did make the boss come around, Stacey supposed. After all, once LFW had marched into the office at the girl’s beckoning and shown their little ten minute video, the boss accepted the settlement deal without complaint. Eagerly, in fact.

So had the they, Stacey’s disagreeable half interjected.

“Why did we sign the settlement?” Stacey wondered out loud. Why had they felt obligated to settle at all? Hadn’t they been the plaintiffs?

“Because that’s what a compromise is.” Sandra replied flatly. “Everybody works for the common good.”

That sounded like bullshit to Stacey. Contrived in the worst way.

Although the women did get a few things out of the deal, she couldn’t argue with that.

Per the agreement, the company would be offering them better working conditions, a salary increase and additional ‘benefits’. Love For Women ‘therapy’ had been one of those benefits.

So here Stacey was, ‘reporting’ at Love For Women Inc., as per the agreement, waiting to receive the dubious ‘benefits’ she and her coworkers had been promised.

But why? This question kept repeating itself in Stacey’s mind. Wouldn’t the benefits have been greater if they’d sued, and won?

“You did read it, right?” Sandra stated, eyeing Stacey critically. “You can’t have forgotten after only two days.”

“I haven’t,” Stacey said, searching her mind, “but why did we do it? We could have taken them to court and destroyed them. It was an airtight case.”

“You need to be more forgiving.” Sandra countered, rolling her eyes. She crossed her arms. “Look, the boss extended an olive branch and we took it. It’s what good girls do, forgive and forget.”

“Nothing here but Cosmos and teen mags.” Gwen complained. “Shit, I need a cigarette.” she added, bouncing her knees and fidgeting with her fingers.

“Would you just chill?” Sandra asked, turning away from Stacey and placing a hand on Gwen’s knee. “What’s wrong with you today?”

“I don’t know!” Gwen cried, flailing her hands. Evidently too rattled to say more, she fell into silence.

“Today?” Stacey blurted, “She’s been that way for two days now.”

Come to think of it, she had also been squirrelly since LFW showed their quaint little video. Things had changed too fast, too abruptly to have been natural. Nothing had turned out the way they expected.

The whole thing smelled of a set up.

Two days ago they’d been set to fleece the company in court, then suddenly Sandra becomes a true believer in the settlement just because she was wowed by some movie. She signed immediately after, and hadn’t shut up since about how much better off she would be with a new body.

For Stacey’s part, she’d gone along with it but had her doubts. After all, it had seemed reasonable at the time, and despite her misgivings about what was happening she could not gather herself to point out a real problem with the agreement. It had seemed logical enough.

Was it not true that Gwen was the prettiest of the three? Was it not true that if they all agreed to receive ‘cosmetic enhancements’ and adopt new, skimpy dress codes that it would help take the heat off just one of them? Was it not true that if they didn’t resist, even wanted the attention, it wouldn’t be sexual harassment anymore?

All so utterly reasonable, or so it had sounded. It just hadn’t been Stacey’s idea of what a proper resolution to the problem should have looked like, and she supposed that there were many perspectives in the world and many points of view. Who was to say what was best? Stacey couldn’t argue with that.

So she’d signed.

But why?

Why were they the ones who had to change their behaviour? Shouldn’t the assholes grabbing Gwen’s tits have been made to shape up? Somehow, making the women change their behaviour just seemed to imply that they were at fault.

Then there was Gwen. Whereas Sandra had fallen completely in line and Stacey had lost the strength to disagree, Gwen had become silent and fearful, always consenting but always tense, as if internally she was fighting her acquiescence, and losing.

She knew, Stacey began thinking. Gwen knew what was going on. Gwen just couldn’t say.

“Gwen Turner, please.” said a male orderly as he entered from the door to the ‘Therapy Room’.

Gwen shot up in her seat, eyes wide. Stacey felt the hairs on her own neck stand on end, her heart skipping a beat. This must be what Gwen is feeling; she was picking up on Gwen’s hesitation.

Gwen looked at the two of them nervously. Her lips parted—she wanted to say a word. “H—Hel—H—H.” was all she could muster.

“Get in there.” Sandra insisted, pushing Gwen towards the door. “We haven’t all day. Some of us are waiting.”

Waiting for what? Stacey wondered. Their ‘benefits’? Big tits, big lips and big butts?

But why? Since when were those thing ‘benefits’?

Sandra seemed to want them badly. She was getting older. Perhaps it all depended on one’s perspective. If, say, your hair was greying and your breasts sagging, big new boobs and a butt lift sounded good to you. Maybe they were benefits after all and Stacey wasn’t just seeing things correctly.

There it was again. Her scumbag brain kept coming up with excuses not to argue.

Gwen stood up from her chair, trembling. She looked at Stacey with imploring eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Stacey mouthed silently as Gwen left them and walked over to the door. Stacey looked her up and down as she departed, her slim figure neatly wrapped in a fitted blouse and pencil skirt. Young, slim, vital and possessed of a beautiful toothy smile and long flowing blond hair... Yet the boss had seen fit to improve on it with cosmetic enhancements.

But why? True, it was part of the deal they had all agreed to: they should all look pretty at all times in order to lessen the attention focused solely on Gwen. But then why improve on Gwen?

The orderly took Gwen by the arm and led her away through the door to the bowels of Love For Women Inc. She looked back over her shoulder just before the door closed, her eyes making contact with Stacey’s.

Fear, Stacey realized.

But why?

Why was Gwen afraid?

“Did you see the look she gave me?” Stacey said to Sandra.

“I saw.” Sandra remarked, passively. She also didn’t understand Gwen’s fearful twist in temperament, but whereas that lack of understanding made Stacey question everything, Sandra just seemed to dismiss the things that made no sense. She questioned nothing.

“How are big tits and big lips supposed to benefit us?” Stacey urged. Oh, this is going to be gold, she thought, expecting Sandra’s answer.

“Because Gwen is prettier than us, and we all need to look our best.” Sandra explained.

“Okay fine. You and I get big tits and big lips, then. But if the whole issue is that Gwen is too pretty, how will getting prettier help her? It makes no sense.”

Sandra sighed. “Because if we all get a big make-over, we’ll all look the same. It draws attention away from her. It’s part of the deal... and I’m tired of saying this but I’ll say it again. You signed too.” She punctuated her final statement with a finger in Stacey’s shoulder.

Well, Stacey thought, can’t argue with that. She’d signed, so she must obey. But then... Sandra was easily in her fifties. She was no spring rose. Grey hairs had already begun to streak her hair, there were bags under her eyes and what good would big breasts be if they sagged the way hers were already beginning to? She was no match for Gwen, cosmetically enhanced or au natural. So the whole idea that they’d all be equally as pretty at the end of this sounded like a wash.

“It doesn’t bother you to say that? Just say that Gwen is prettier than us, like it’s nothing?”

“You’re just insecure because you’re fat.” Sandra remarked bluntly.

Ouch, Stacey thought, turning away. Spurred by the reminder, she prodded her belly flab.

Well, she couldn’t argue with that. She was fat. Almost thirty pounds so, she thought depressingly. Saddened, she felt the craving for a brownie. A cocktail might be nice, too.

And then another question came to mind.

“Alright, think about this.” Stacey insisted, pulling on Sandra’s arm, “Why would we decide to take one extra dollar a year, stop wearing underwear and get big tits in exchange for not suing?”

“Because, silly,” Sandra giggled, putting her arm around Stacey, “it will help take the heat off Gwen. The boys will have three fuckable girls around, rather than just one. You see?”

“What the fuck?” Stacey replied, wondering if Sandra had an original thought in her head. “We could have taken those fuckers to court, Sandra. We could have taken huge amounts of cash from them, taken their jobs even. We could have gotten revenge!”

“But why would we do that?” Sandra pouted, “We owe it to our jobs to stay.”

Stacey could understand that. She didn’t want to stay, of course. She wanted to leave, but she signed so she must obey. Everyone knew that having a job meant there were certain things you had to do.

But why? Why did any one of them have to do anything? They were the plaintiffs! Had been the plaintiffs.

“For fucks sake!” Stacey blew up, “You were the vice president! Now they’re going to have you fetching coffee, taking dictation at meetings and answering the phone!”

Sandra leaned away in her chair, shocked. “I’m not going to talk to you if you’re going to be like this.”

“Okay, okay...” Stacey conceded, “but think about it. Why would you agree to step down from being Vice President if this whole settlement thing is supposed to benefit us? That doesn’t seem like a benefit to me.”

“Well...” Sandra pondered searchingly, eyes scanning from side to side as she conjured up an answer. “You know, VP was such a high stress position. I think I’ll be much better off in a less demanding secretary job. Besides, I won’t just be any secretary, I’ll be the president’s. I’ll still be working ‘under’ him.”

Stacey was sure that Sandra had thought up that explanation on the spot, then promptly forgot that she’d just conjured it from thin air while accepting it as a long standing opinion.

Still, she couldn’t argue with it. It seemed reasonable, she guessed. It was still Sandra’s opinion.

But...

“What does that mean? ‘Under’ him.”

“It means I’ll be giving him blow jobs and letting him fuck me in the ass.” Sandra shrugged, picking up a tabloid magazine. “Ooh, Justin Bieber!” she cooed.

“How do you know that you’ll be doing those... things for him?”

“It was in the video. You know, the one Love For Women brought in.”

“It was?” Stacey pouted. She didn’t remember the video, actually. She knew she had seen it, but those ten minutes had gone by in an instant. There was a hole in her memory where the video was supposed to be.

“You’re okay with that arrangement, being his plaything?”

“Sure, I’ve been attracted to him for a while. But as VP it wouldn’t have been appropriate. Secretary is a better position for me, I think.”

Stacey doubted if that was true, but if Sandra wasn’t complaining who was she to argue?

But why? Why would a former VP think that way?

“And what about you?” Sandra asked, prying her eyes away from her tabloid. “Talk about scoring a good position! You know how many hunks you’ll get to meet down there in the printing room? You’re going to be surrounded by hot men all day, everyday.

“Think about it.”

The printing room.

Stacey had accepted a new position in the printing room. Bumped down from accounting. That would put her smack dab in the middle of the office with all those guys. On top of that, she’d be sequestered in that private room all day, exposed to every Dick and Harry who needed a job done. She would be on her own.

What was the rationale behind that?

Stacey sighed and sank back into her chair. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd,” she sighed, nearing her wit’s end, “that we went to the president demanding an end to the harassment or we’d take him to court, and we ended up accepting a deal that doesn’t stop the harassment?”

“No.” Sandra said flatly, “and you know why? Because we scared them. We scared them and they felt compelled to buy us off. And come on, what girl could refuse a free makeover and big tits? Things are better now.”

“How?” Stacey challenged.

“They’re just better.” Sandra asserted.

“HOW?”

“Well, I...” Sandra fumbled for an answer, but already Stacey knew that she was building one in her mind out of nothing. And as much bullshit as it would be, she already knew that she would find absolutely nothing unreasonable about whatever Sandra was going to say to justify the situation.

Sandra just wasn’t complaining, and she could hardly argue with that.

“Nevermind.” Stacey huffed. They sat in silence from then on, Stacey staring at the ceiling, Sandra engrossed in her tabloid. They did not move until the door to the clinic opened.

They both stood up as the orderly emerged, towing a naked and confused Gwen behind him. He deposited her in the waiting room and called for the next ‘client’.

“Sandra MacIntyre.” he said, checking his clipboard.

“Present.” Sandra replied, raising her hand. She stood up—eagerly, it seemed—and without a second thought disappeared through the door.

The orderly left, leaving Stacey alone with Gwen...

...who had become sex on heels: long, toned legs balanced atop towering high-heeled pumps, flaring hips, bubble ass, tapered waist and a rack to match. Her natural facial beauty had been ‘improved’ by a set of bee-stung lips, her nose slimmed, lashes lengthened, long platinum hair down to her knees. She struggled to keep her eyes clear of it, and when not doing that she tested and prodded the flesh of her new globe-like breasts with long nailed fingers.

“Are you okay?” Stacey asked, rising from her chair. She took Gwen by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.

Her vacant, glazed eyes.

“How big did they make you?” Stacey asked, her eyes falling into Gwen’s endless cleavage. Her coworker’s new chest was beyond belief. Most sports balls weren’t even as big as she was.

“Um... like, I don’t know.” Gwen said. She jiggled, as if stifling a sneeze. “Excuse me.”

“You don’t know? What do you mean, they didn’t let you choose?”

“No. They, like, didn’t ask. They just made them this big.” was Gwen’s answer.

But why? Stacey wondered. What kind of ‘therapy’ didn’t include the needs of the client?

Gwen was still not talkative. She had begun to tremble, her face contorting.

“Don’t be afraid.” Stacey soothed, rubbing her friend’s arms.

“I’m not, like, scared...” Gwen trailed off.

Then she exploded with giggles. A fit of tittering laughter several seconds long burst out of her.

“Actually, I think I’m, like, happy?” Gwen tittered, before giggling again, this time longer. She doubled over, the laughter forcing it’s way out. She stamped the floor with her feet, her platform heeled pumps clopping like hooves.

But why?

“Why are you laughing?” Stacey asked.

Gwen looked up at her, a single eye visible between the sheets of platinum hair that had fallen over her face, and held up a cigarette. “You gotta light?” she grinned.

Then she laughed. Wild, unrestrained howling laughter, her body glowing red with the strain, gleaming with sweat. She backed away and tripped backwards into a chair, bumping her head on the wall behind her.

“Whoopsie!” she cackled, kicking her legs in the air. It took her a bit to settle down, but after her fit had passed she tucked her hair behind her ears and looked Stacey in the eye. Hers were glazed with happiness.

“Must be the gas they gave me.” she explained, suppressing a rising titter. “But, like, seriously. You gotta light?” She held up her cigarette again.

How could Gwen think of a cigarette at a time like this?

Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY?

Why was this happening? The question had jammed itself in Stacey’s brain as she lifted her hands to her head, ready to pull out her hair. That damn question: Why? Whenever she asked it she could not find a answer, only swallow the excuses that everyone gave her!

And now Gwen had become utterly fucking useless, Stacey realized as she looked on. Her coworker had spread her legs and was knuckle deep in her pussy, finger-fucking herself to orgasm. She cried out blissfully, absorbed in her own bubble.

“Stop that!” Stacey snapped, pointing. “You can’t do that here.”

“Why?” came the reply.

Stacey screamed, hands tugging at her hair. That damn question again! She pivoted around, grabbed the nearest chair and tossed it across the room. She knew there was something bad going on but she didn’t know what it was or why it was happening.

Throwing a chair just seemed like the best thing to do.

The door to the clinic opened and the orderly re-emerged. Stacey jumped. Had someone heard? Was she in trouble?

The orderly stepped to the side and held the door. The new Sandra emerged strutting confidently on her new heels. As she returned she spiralled to show off her new physique. Stacey was astonished. The years had melted away. Body-wise Sandra now possessed a figure on par with Gwen’s; her large bosom was just as firm and bouncy as their younger coworker’s. The hair that had been grey was now a shimmering platinum blonde falling in thick sheets down her back.

“What do you think? Sandra beamed, blowing a kiss with her inflated lips. A dopey grin appeared on her face. She hefted one of her breasts, brought a nipple to her mouth and began sucking.

“WHY? WHY IS THIS GOOD?” Stacey snapped, flailing her arms.

“Why don’t you just leave, then? Leave us to enjoy it in peace.” Sandra sneered, erect nipple popping out of her mouth.

“I can’t! I signed a contract!” Stacey declared with exasperation.

“Stacey Wilson.” the orderly called.

“What?”

“The doctor is ready for you.” the orderly said, crossing his arms.

Stacey balled her fists and sputtered. “Fuck! Shit! Damnit!”

“Oh, don’t be such a child.” Sandra scolded, slinking up behind Stacey and grasping her by the shoulders. “Get in there and let’s get this over with.” Sandra heaved her expanded bosom against Stacey’s back and propelled her into the orderly’s grasp, who took her by the arm and pulled her into the room beyond.

As she was leaving she heard Sandra and Gwen chatting.

“Isn’t your new cunny, like, so smooth now?” Gwen giggled, sharing her experiences of bodily exploration with her coworker.

“I know. It’s, like, so totally nice, isn’t it?” Sandra giggled, taking the chair next to her, still fondling her expanded tits.

Well, Stacey granted—thinking of how she’d been bald for years as was her preference—she certainly couldn’t argue with that.

* * *

THREE DAYS LATER

Sometimes it wasn’t so bad being stuck in here, Stacey thought. She had taken her perch on the counter in the printing room, rubbing a file along the tips of her french nails. Nobody fucked with her, she was relatively independent and when nobody needed a job done she could do, well, whatever she wanted.

That whole big tits and lips package had turned out pretty well, too. It wasn’t until she had walked back out of the therapy room, forty pounds having been melted away, that she saw just how much of a benefit being a fuckable big-titted slut would be for her. She certainly felt better now than as the fat cow she had once been. It wasn’t hard to see how some silly boys could have lost control being around cute little Gwen for so long. Three times this morning Stacey had almost tripped while walking on her new towering shoes. Luckily some of the hunky men were nearby each time, ready to put their arms around her to keep her from falling. And while doing so, each of them had taken a quick feel of her boobies or bum.

She couldn’t blame them, she supposed. She was so hot now. She couldn’t argue with that.

But the kicker was that she knew how to deal with that kind of thing, now that she’d received her therapy. Instead of getting angry or shouting or fighting it, she’d learned to beat the men at their own game. When they touched her, she touched them back. When they put their hands up her shirt, she turned the tables by unzipping their pants and giving them more than they bargained for: a lengthy blowjob, in which she kept them on the edge for as long as possible, until the stress made them crazy and they had to grab her by the hair and do it themselves, gushing into her mouth.

Stacey let out a sigh of relief. She was no longer a victim.

Also, lowly as it may be, the printing room was her room now. It might not be Accounts Management or some other higher position, but it was hers and she treated it accordingly. The counter was stocked full of her beauty products and the walls were covered with posters of famous sex symbols and amateur shots she’d taken with her smart phone. This was Stacey’s space. She’d spent all morning getting it that way, and the three days—the three, erotic, wonderful days spent with Gwen and Sandra—since her trip to Love For Women had been spent buying creams, moisturizers and outfits for her new body.

Courtesy of the company card, of course. After all it was for work that she was doing all of this for. She had to look her best on the job, like any good girl had to.

Look her best she did. Her new outfit consisted of pink platform heels, an insanely tight navy micro-mini and a white blouse, always tied under her tits, never buttoned. All were within the restrictions of her new dress code; the blouse was not too opaque and didn’t cover too much, the skirt wasn’t too long and the heels not too short.

The blouse did more to decorate her breasts than contain them. It practically bared all, her constantly hard nipples forming the majority of the support for a top that constantly slipped from her shoulders. Without the hardened knobs of her teats to hang on it would surely malfunction and allow her immense mammaries to pop out, exposing her to the office—though expose might be too strong a word since the material itself was near-transparent. Half of her substantially widened areolas were visible over the plunging—no, precipitous—neck line that framed her naked chest in a V from her shoulders down to where the blouse had been tied above her belly button. Where the blouse actually covered her nipples, they were still visible as darkened shadows. It was slutty as fuck, if a bit cold in the air conditioned office.

Though it was good for hard nipples, she supposed. She couldn’t argue with that.

She liked the new dress code... for the most part.

But why? Why no panties?

Stacey felt she could do with some panties. The micro-mini was too cold, and was always hiking up unexpectedly. Would it kill them to command her to wear a g-string or thong? The new dress code was supposed to be sexy, but didn’t these guys know that killer panties could be sexy as well?

Stacey thought so. But she wasn’t supposed to think, it gave her stress.

“Just let it slide, Sugartits.” she told herself. “Accept and obey. Accept and obey.” She exhaled deeply, banishing the wants and desires that caused her suffering.

If you’re always told what to do, you never have to think for yourself, she chanted, mentally reciting a line that Love For Women taught her as part of their stress reduction therapy. Stacey had to admit, along with the sexy-as-fuck new body, the therapy and new clothes, the boss was heaping a load of benefits on the girls since they’d threatened to bring their harassment case to court. He must really want to make amends.

It was working.

Stacey had been sceptical at first, but LFW had convinced her. The therapy had done her a wealth of good, and she had learned many new things about herself. Most importantly that the whole issue with harrassment had actually been HER fault, not the mens. All of the problems had come from her constantly refusing and putting up a fight—if she had just learned to enjoy and take it, she could have spared herself a lot of worry. It had been hard to accept when the Love For Women therapist had driven that point home, but after several repetitions it had finally gotten through. Stacey smiled, remembering how happy she had felt when she finally realized how she should be acting around men, how her previously stubborn behaviour would destroy her if left unchecked, and how she could save herself by submitting to therapy. Being independent had been such a chore, she realized, such a heavy weight on her shoulders. Not nearly as fun as new titties.

Now the stress and conflict was gone. Now she got on with the men swimmingly. Harmonious workplace restored.

Since she had walked in that morning with her new bod and outfit, it had taken a lot of pressure off Gwen, too. She couldn’t argue with that. Not being the sole focus of attention, Gwen hadn’t felt as though she’d been sexually harassed once since returning to work, though she’d spotted the girl fucking at least three different men before lunch. Full on fucking. Gwen, for her part, was doing her best to please them.

Gwen had been helped.

It wasn’t harassment if you don’t refuse, Stacey told herself, remembering one of the lines Love for Women had taught her. She smiled, pride swelling within her at the knowledge that she and her friends had finally defeated the spectre of unwanted sexual harassment in their workplace, her face and chest blushing as she recalled the sensation of the doorman’s cock sliding between the cheeks of her ass that very morning. Now how could such a wonderful meeting between coworkers have been possible under the old system?

Things were obviously better now.

She spread her legs and stroked her puss, retreating into the fantasies of her mind. She brought three fingers to her opening and pushed them inside.

The door opened, startling her.

Stacey hopped down from the counter and stood at attention, the counter catching her skirt and pulling it above her ass.

That darned skirt, she thought to herself.

Why?

Why no panties? There must be a reason! She was sure of it.

She faced her visitor.

“Oh, hiya Fletch. Can I help you?” she asked sultrily, running her tongue along her fattened lips.

“I need to copy these earnings reports.” Fletch said. He had been the one to replace her in the accounting department.

“Like, sure thing, Stud.” she smiled sweetly. She took the stack of reports from him and put them into the machine.

She concentrated on the panel... sometimes she was so forgetful and it was hard to read the words on the screen. Double siding, collation... yadda yadda. She began punching in the settings.

Since it was taking her a while to get the machine ready she started chatting. “Like, how do you like your new job?” she asked, without looking. She needed to keep her eyes on the machine—it was so complicated!

“So far so good.” he replied cheerfully from somewhere behind her. “You left all your old work behind when you transferred down here, so it was easy to pick things up where you left off. You must have been a fantastic accountant.”

“Oh!” she blushed, humbly shaking her head, “I wasn’t really.” Okay, so she needed to make copies for each of the departments. “Anyway, there’s, like, seven departments right. They all need copies?”

“Of course. Two each.”

“Two and seven. So, like, nine copies then. Cool.”

“Ummmm... Fourteen, actually”

“Oh right. Fourteen!” she tittered. “You’re so smart! I can see why they hired you.”

“Right...” he replied. “Maybe you should just concentrate on the machine?”

“Ya ya... you’re so right. Okay so... toner, double-siding... what? No paper!” Stacey swatted her own head. She was so forgetful. She turned around and giggled, nervously. “Sorry, It’ll just be a moment more.” she said to Fletch as he hung his pants on the hook by the door.

“No apology needed.” he smiled widely. “You do your thing, don’t mind me.”

Where was the paper? Oh yes, that’s right, it was on the shelf behind the printer. She bent over the printer to reach for a new box of paper, rising to the toes of her heels. Her skirt, already pushed up by the counter, revealed the full swell of her bare ass as she bent. She blushed and quickly pulled it back down over her bum, trying to be nonchalant about it though it still only covered half her rear at best. She didn’t want to be a tease!

Her immense chest settled onto the printer, preventing her from fully bending over.

Why?

Why did her boobies have to be so big at a time like this? She loved them, but they so often got in the way. Her hand was almost there, just another inch. Just another—!

Fletch placed his hands on the cheeks of her ass and pushed up her skirt, his cock sliding into her, inching its way into her tight cunny. Stacey’s eyes rolled in their sockets, her mouth fell open, a yelp swallowed by a gasp. As he thrust himself into her fully she bucked forward from the impact, her hand bridging that last inch between her fingers and the box of fresh paper.

Oh!!

“Gotcha!” she cheered, her face red as she blushed and felt Fletch’s hands move up her back, his fingers digging into her back muscles, massaging her, as they travelled up her spine. He grasped her knee-length ponytail by its base and yanked her head back.

“Ughn!” she groaned. The tension caused by the pulling of her hair mixed with the pleasure radiating from her pussy and sent her over a cliff.

As he thrust rapidly into her, she came.

So that’s why she wasn’t supposed to wear panties.

Stacey smiled and came again. Finally a satisfying answer.