The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The cut in Arianne’s red silk dress fell away to expose her curvy thigh, a tease of olive skin exposed over the top of her black silk garters. She’d gone with the high heeled Italian boots – classic black leather, outrageously expensive, and with just a hint of wanton slut. She hoped Mistress Rebecca liked them.

Her driver’s radio hissed.

“Her car is pulling down the street, Ma’am,” said Gibbs.

Arianne squeaked. Gibbs didn’t need her to give the word. The limousine pulled out of its hiding place in the carefully selected side alley and pulled around the corner onto Legion Street. It rolled past several shops and an Irish pub before stopping in front of “Secret Provocante,” Infinity City’s leading high fashion fetish boutique.

“Tip the spotter well, Gibbs.” Arianne hopped out of the car. Left alone as the limousine made off, Arianne pushed her hand through her mass of curly black hair and took a deep breath. She could see Mistress Rebecca coming up the street now.

Their first public date, well, more accurately, their first time in public together – Mistress Rebecca insisted she did not date. She did, however, covet the contents of “Secret Provocante,” and Arianne knew it. Mistress has grown up in this neighborhood and had spent quite a lot of her youth with a nose pressed against the shop window, and now, Arianne Gogol aka Voltira The Electric Girl, leading young socialite and real estate heiress, superheroine for fun, could get Mistress in the door. Mistress just needed to actually be seen out with Arianne to do it. Mwahahahaha. Arianne thought she might get an extra spanking for it. Goody.

Lead Detective Rebecca McCandliss of the Infinity City Special Investigations Unit regarded Voltira sourly. One moment you meet a young superheroine who is very cute and wants to be spanked by a tall dominant redhead, and then, before you know it, she’s trying to get coupley. Ugh. But she couldn’t miss out on an opportunity to see the kind of fetish gear she’d only dreamed of dressing her first subby high school girlfriend in, and Voltira did look edible this afternoon. Mmm, sexy boots.

“Mis . . . Rebecca!” Arianne fluttered her hands up the sides of Rebecca’s professional-looking black suit. She attempted an air-kiss, continental style, up on her tip-toes. Rebecca regarded her stonily; although, Voltira really looked ravishing. She softened for a second and surprised herself by squeezing Voltira’s hand. She let it go quick.

“Let’s go inside, shall we?” Rebecca thought she saw Sister Heloise, her third grade teacher, coming down the other side of the street. She didn’t need an encounter with that awful dragon.

Rebecca tugged on the door, but it refused to move. She frowned and pulled it open wide, sending a girl sprawling out into the street. The girl, her fingers and overalls covered in grease, seemed terribly out of place at the high class store.

“Hey! What the hell!?” she struggled to get up while grumbling at the much taller woman. “You could at least be more gentle!”

Rebecca looked at the girl with her best stink eye. “What are you doing fiddling with the lock at this time of day?”

“My job, what’s it look like?”

“Do a better job then.” Irritated, Rebecca held the door open for Voltira who glowed at her as she walked into the boutique.

Inside, a handsome middle-aged woman with her hair done up in a severe bun waited for them. “Ah, Miss Gogol, I am Mrs. Gencarelli, we have been expecting you.” She frowned at Rebecca. “Rebecca McCandliss? The girl who played basketball at St. Joan’s High?”

Rebecca grit her teeth. “No, never played it. You must have me mixed up with somebody else.”

Mrs. Gencarelli sniffed. She turned to speak to Arianne. “It’s nice to see you again, Arianne. You always buy the best, and I am guessing it’s all for her?” Mrs. Gencarelli smiled. “Would you like to see everything new that we have received since your last visit, or will you manage on your own today?” Staff assisted clients to search racks of fetish wear, all organized by fetishes, starting with the most casual stuff and becoming more avant-garde.

Arianne looked at Rebecca. “Your choice, slut,” said Rebecca. She thoroughly enjoyed the look on Mrs. Gencarelli’s face.

Arianne bobbed ever-so slightly at Rebecca, grinning ecstatically. “I heard you may have some clothes by,” Arianne leaned in confidentially to Mrs. Gencarelli, “Dama?”

Mrs. Gencarelli, recovering her poise, leaned in herself. “Strictly a limited supply for our most valued customers. I shall call our assistant.” She reached across the mahogany shop counter and rang a tiny golden bell.

A small, gentle woman walked into view from behind one of the racks of clothes. Mrs. Gencarelli did a double take and rose her eyebrows. While most of the workers were dressed in leathers or skimpy clothing, Claire had on a long, frilly, black dress and platform heels.

“Hello, my name is Claire, and I will be helping you out today.” She gestured behind her. “The Dama collection is just this way.” She led the other two women to the back of the shop into a new room, stocked with relatively few fetish outfits for how spacious the room was.

Rebecca’s eyes instantly fastened on a doll wearing a red, latex corset with black ruffles across the top. Delicate silver chains ran up the front and back, imprisoning the mannequin. The doll wore high cut shiny red panties and garter belt edged with the same black ruffles. Again, delicate silver chains connected the garter belt to shiny red thigh highs.

Arianne took one look at the expression on Rebecca’s face. “I’ll try this one. Uh, I think I’ll need some help getting it on.”

“Of course, please wait in the dressing room while I get your size.” Claire smiled as she left the room.

“They don’t have to ask for it? They know you that well?” Rebecca asked.

Arianne smiled back at her mistress as she stepped into the dressing room and waited. The wait didn’t take long as Claire entered just a minute later, cradling the outfit to her chest.

“Strip down, we can’t very well put this on you while you’re fully dressed,” Claire said.

Arianne nodded. “Oh, of course.” She thought about the look on Mistress Rebecca’s face. She suddenly felt very hot. And wet. “Could you get the zipper?”

Claire unzipped the back of the red silk dress.

Arianne frowned. Did Claire’s hands linger just a little too long? She pushed the thought to one side. Just imagination, surely. She stood before the changing mirror in her red thong and slightly slutty Italian leather boots. She noticed her dark brown nipples had stiffened and licked her lips.

She stepped out of her boots and whipped off the thong. “Ready,” she said.

Claire chuckled as she grabbed the stockings first. “Sit down. This outfit has to be put on a certain way.”

Arianne did as she was told, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit amazed as Claire knelt down with ease in her platform heels. She grabbed a stocking and coaxed Arianne’s foot into it. Arianne swore that Claire was lingering as she slid the stockings up with all the care in the world.

“Now wiggle your toes,” Claire yanked up on the stockings, “. . . and there.” She smiled up at Arianne, at least outwardly seeming like a professional. “Now for the second one.” She repeated her motions with the second stocking, only pausing to ask one question, “Any wild ideas for tonight?”

Arianne blinked. She’d been staring into space, mouth open. The stockings clung to her curvy thighs now, binding them deliciously. She could feel the heat of Claire’s fingers on her skin, just above the top of the stockings. So close to her . . . Claire waiting for a response. “I, um, uh.” Wild ideas of being spanked by in her new slutty slave girl clothes jolted her mind. Claire watching her being punished. So hot. Claire’s hands on her thighs, parting them, listening to her beg. “Um, I’m going to . . . a party with Mistress.”

Claire smiled. “How sweet.” She tugged the stocking up, putting it in place before she grabbed the red panties. “Your mistress must have good taste, dressing you up like this,” she said as she lifted both of Arianne’s legs, slowly drawing the panties up to her thighs, pausing for a moment to look at the woman. Her eyes seemed focused and domineering – it was obvious she enjoyed this part of her job. Arianne raised her ass. Claire moved the panties the rest of the way up, giving them an extra tug to make sure they were tight against Arianne’s crotch.

Arianne gasped. Her pussy slicked as Claire jerked the panties into place. She lingered this time. She kept pulling upward, her fingers pressed against Arianne’s sides. Images flooded her mind. The sensation that had been arousing her magnified. She looked down at Claire, eyes wide as she realized who she was.

Being dressed by Mistress made her feel so soft. So obedient. Nothing more than a slutty slave girl wearing the clothes the Mistress selected for her. She looked at Claire, waited to see what Claire would select next. A slutty slave girl didn’t ask. A slut just waited expectantly for whatever Mistress chose for her. Arianne’s hands rose. She couldn’t resist, she twisted her hard nipples. She flushed in embarrassment, enjoying showing how hot it made her, playing with herself in front of her Mistress. She waited to see what Mistress would select for her next. Cunt melting. Mistress had such good taste.

“How delightful.” Mistress couldn’t hide her own excitement. She reached over to the garter belt snapped it into place around Arianne’s waist. She attached the silver chain to the stockings and slowly ran her fingers down her slut’s legs. Her eyes changed color as she looked up at her slut, yellow and shiver-inducing as she took in the sight, showing her approval with a grin.

Arianne’s legs splayed, opening for Mistress. The smell of her excitement filling the dressing room. She arched her back, cupping and squeezing her big tits. She needed to let Mistress know just how hot being dressed made her. She ran her tongue across her lips, shut her eyes and brought forth her sparks. Little electric lightning spikes crackled over her olive skin. The delicious pain on her nipples made her quiver. Voltira The Electric Girl, slutty slave girl, dressed and owned by Mistress. She lowered one hand to her sopping cunt. She showed Mistress just how she liked to tease herself with her powers. She stared into those yellow eyes and moaned her submission.

Claire grinned and nodded as she reached for the final piece of the outfit. “Yes, you’re such a good slave, aren’t you Voltira? But stop playing with yourself, just for a moment, I’m going to finish your outfit and take you some place where I can enjoy you more privately.” She stood up with the corset in her hands. “I’ve been watching you, and knowing you shop here just convinced me that it would be an easy and fun little romp. You don’t disappoint.”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Voltira, her voice husky with desire. She shuddered at the thought of Mistress taking her somewhere special. She stood facing the changing mirror. Her eyes glazed. Abject. It made her flush with heat. “Please, Mistress.”

Mistress chuckled and shook her head. “You really are exceeding expectations, Voltira.” Voltira held out her arms for Mistress to fit the corset around her. It resisted, squeezing Voltira’s breasts tightly as Mistress pulled down on it. It didn’t want to fit – at first. Voltira felt the corset vibrate slightly against her skin, and Mistress pulled it down over her body with ease. The silver chains imprisoned her, symbols of her submission. She looked at herself in the mirror. A slave girl, shiny red and chained in silver, sheened with her lust. Mistress looking over her shoulder, her yellow eyes sparkling.

“Come, slave,” said Mistress. Mistress didn’t bother to check that her slut followed. She knew that she would. Her long dress closed in around her, and the platform heels started to shrink, though Mistress somehow ended up taller than before. Her dress altered itself completely, becoming more fit for a gala as some spare material rose up to her face, turning into a gala mask with a feather headdress to accompany it. Her face and body type changed, becoming slender, yet sultry. Her hips wagged with every step in her newly formed stiletto heels.

Rebecca gaped. A girl in a long, frilly, black dress and platform heels went in with Arianne and now . . . the hell? A different woman entirely walks out with a feather headdress and a mask on. She sucked in her breath as she saw Arianne. Her eyes locked on the back of the masked woman’s head, soft and submissive.

Rebecca unbuttoned her suit, unsnapped the top off her holster and drew her police weapon. Rebecca didn’t work traffic. She lead an elite team co-operating with super-humans to hunt supervillains, supernatural predators and mind controllers. That’s how she’d met Voltira. She looked down the muzzle of her gun at the masked woman. “Freeze, I’m Detective Rebecca McCandliss of Infinity City PD Special Investigations. I have reason to believe that you are engaged in a violation of the Mann Act. Lie down on the floor. Now!”

Mistress turned around to look at Voltira. “Oh? And dating a detective too? You really do have good taste, slut.” She turned back and focused on Rebecca, her eyes now glowing as she walked toward her. “But really, to pull a gun on me? That’s just unforgivable.” Mistress casually held a hand out toward Rebecca. The gesture seemed like the most natural thing she could do, and it carried absolutely no hesitation.

Rebecca looked at the masked woman’s outstretched hand. Her face expressionless. She could feel it, lurking within her, her darkness. Most of the time she could suppress it. Only a very few individuals suspected it even existed. It called to her now. She took a deep breath.

Pulled the trigger.

Nothing. Her weapon didn’t respond. The masked woman’s smile like ice.

“And that is it, you have lost.” The woman tugged at Rebecca’s sleeve. She could feel every article on her body collectively shiver as they moved around her. Her pants merged into one leg and hardened, her sleeves covered her arms and forced them behind her, and she felt her panties crawl up her body and into her mouth. The rest of her clothes acted as pillars of support, gently lowering her to the floor.

The door opened and the girl who was repairing the lock walked in with a triumphant grin on her face. “Oh, it seems your gun isn’t firing. Maybe you should tell it to do a better job, but I doubt it’ll listen. If you talked to it, you’d know it doesn’t like to shoot beautiful women.” She walked over to stand in front of the masked woman. The woman traced her shoulders, and the girl’s clothes changed from greasy overalls to a fetish nerdy schoolgirl outfit, complete with a short skirt, stockings, and glasses. “And Ms. Seamstress is the most beautiful woman. I just had to tell it to not fire, and it didn’t!”

Rebecca flexed against her restraints. No dice. She stopped trying, no point in wasting energy if it wouldn’t help her or Voltira. The sexy nerd girl answered to the masked woman, apparently, so what did the masked woman do? She changed Rebecca’s clothes into bondage. Hot bondage. Rebecca’s brow furrowed. Not the time for that. Thinking about how wet it made her – Rebecca bit her lip. Mind control through clothes or something like that. Unfortunately, it didn’t halt her increasing arousal. The masked woman touched the panties stuffed in Rebecca’s mouth. Shit.

“Oh, excited are you? Such silly women, both of you. Normally I have to do a bit of work, but you are just making it easy. What would you enjoy? Being left here while I make your clothes vibrate inside your pussy and ass?” Seamstress frowned. “No, that just is not good enough for someone like you. Maybe make you a bondage slave?” She tilted her head as she thought about it. “Oh, no, I have a great idea.” She looked over to a nearby mannequin that was dressed in leather bondage gear. “I will turn you into a mannequin. The store should love the increased business if I put you on display in the front window, and while you’re dealing with the crowd staring at you outside, you’ll have the ringing in your ears of your lover and my favorite student Zen fucking like bunnies. Zen, fetch me some clothes.”

Zen just nodded as she grabbed one of the mannequins and stood it right next to Seamstress. “You might think it’s a little tight, but that will end soon enough.” Seamstress touched the clothes on the mannequin and laid her palm on Rebecca’s abs. “Oh, firm,” she laughed. Rebecca panicked, but it was over in a flash. She had on a new outfit. She could feel her breasts held up, her nipples exposed to the air through little holes in an impossibly tight corset. She could feel a thong wedged in her ass and against her pussy, but she knew it was at least covered. Every movement of her body seemed to ripple through the impossibly tight leather, exposing the outlines of her crotch. The only part of her body not covered was her face and nipples. Belts hung around her legs, letting her move just a little, and a similar set surrounded her arms. She twisted in her confines, frustrated as she felt a small pool of her own juices lathering her pussy.

Seamstress pressed down again, and Rebecca felt her pussy being invaded by the cold leather, conforming to the insides of her and swirling around tauntingly. Seamstress groped her, smiling at the woman as she traced her body and made sure the outfit wouldn’t burst. “Yes. Some leather and a few belts, but it’s all a simple mannequin like you deserves.” She pressed down harder, light emitting from her palm. She kept it there for a solid minute as thoughts poured into Rebecca’s head. Though it had a high volume, it was just silence, turning her into a mannequin, just something to be displayed. She was pushed out of her own head and forced to take a backseat position. All she could do was experience her body obeying to another mind, or rather, the lack of a mind.

Rebecca watched herself walk out of the exhibit room on the tips of her toes into the main boutique. She cringed as she saw Mrs. Gencarelli bearing down on her. The middle-aged woman’s eyes shone. “Well, well, Miss McCandliss.” Mrs. Gencarelli shushed. “Oh, please, don’t deny it, you used to spend enough time looking in those windows, never mind the basketball. I always wondered if St. Joan’s knew what a horny little slut you were. What would the nuns say now?”

Rebecca died a little inside.

Mrs. Gencarelli ran her hands over the leather, stroking. “Mmm, I knew you had to be the sub. Did Ms. Gogol send you out here for us to play with?” She squeezed the mannequin’s tits, digging her long nails in, making the mannequin’s hips shift in response. The mannequin pushed past her and continued through the shop towards the window. “What!?” It climbed into the window and struggled to stand up before taking a position in front of another doll dressed in an antebellum fetish ballgown. “Get out of there this instant! . . . Why is the phone not working? . . . Who locked the doors!? Help! Police!”

Seamstress grabbed Mrs. Gencarelli around the waist and pulled her back. “You treat your employees terribly,” she said, looking down at the woman. “Making them all dress up in fetish wear, but you don’t wear any yourself? I really can’t let that happen.”

Mrs. Gencarelli’s clothes melted as they changed consistency. She didn’t have time to struggle as all her clothes turned into a latex body suit, covering her from head to toe in tight, black material. The only holes were for her nose, mouth, breasts, pussy, and ass. Seamstress lowered her to the floor and approached one of the panicking workers, who was wearing a fetish nurse outfit. She touched her bare hand, and the fetish nurse’s panties found their way to Seamstress’s hand. She walked back over to the gasping Mrs. Gencarelli and stuffed them in her mouth.

The muffled sounds of a woman screaming reached the mannequin’s ears as it struck a pose in the window of the boutique. The sound held no meaning. It arched and twisted its back, thrusting out its tightly bound tits, their thick pink nipples brushing lightly against the window glass. The leather twisting deep inside its cunt and ass held it at the edge of cumming, its juices making the leathers hot and wet. The long red hair braid fell down and swayed gently across its chest as it breathed. Its green eyes rolled up in its head, only the whites remained. It stood there empty and dumb.

Rebecca looked down on herself as if from far above, screaming as she watched the crowd starting to form. Gawking at the red-haired live mannequin posing in the shop window.

“I believe we have a promise to fulfill Zen,” Seamstress said. She stepped over to her underling, tracing her fingers on the student’s outfit. The fetish nerd transformed, heels jutting out from under her as a corset wrapped around her and a hairband with bunny ears protruded from her hair. Aside from those three items, she was completely nude. The rest of her clothes turned into a whip in her hand. “Go get her, bunny.”

Zen grinned as she took a step toward Voltira the Electric Slave. She wrapped the whip around her and pulled her close. “Kneel, slut, and worship my cunny.”

Rebecca heard the sound floating around the mannequin’s ears. Zen gasped. “Mmm, yes, just like that, slut. Move that tongue. Now suck.”

She heard a sharp smack. A whip on flesh. Voltira moaning in response. Zen’s voice once more. “Don’t stop eating, slut! Oh, Ms. Seamstress, you’re so good with a whip. Ah! God! That’s right slut! Oh, Ms. Seamstress, please whip her again!”

Rebecca screamed. The darkness inside welled up. They didn’t let ordinary cops join Special Investigations, but even by those standards Rebecca stood out. A pale white flame licked across the leather mannequin, the buckles on the arms popping open. The crowd ooh’ed in appreciation. A live fetish show and special effects!

“Of course Zen, don’t you remember how I used it on you?” Seamstress’s laughter echoed around the mannequin’s ears. Her cruelty didn’t stop at just taunts. “I can tell from your faces that some of you recognize this girl. Why not have a little fun, hm?” The stepping of a few sets of heels bounced off the floor. Seamstress’s laughter continued. “Yes, that face! It matches your outfit perfectly, slut. I had better get a picture of this.”

The darkness filled Rebecca, the well-spring of her psychic power. She’d lived with it her whole life. It whispered to her now. It asked her to listen to the sound of Voltira servicing the boutique’s patrons and staff. The sound of Voltira begging to be used more. The darkness could reach out and end it all this moment. If only Rebecca would cede it control. She bit her lip and forced it away. She started scrabbling with the buckles on her legs. A faint cheer could be heard through the window as she began stripping.

She managed to undo the belt buckles and struggling and wiggling she forced the leather pants down. Somebody started banging on the window in appreciation. She pulled off the leather top over her head. Her big breasts swinging naked in front of the watching eyes. She looked up. Sister Heloise, the dragon of the third grade, watched her with a hand over her mouth, appalled. Rebecca wanted the ground to swallow her up as she watched the nun flee.

She couldn’t stand the prying eyes any more and turned her back to the crowd. Hooking her thumbs into the thong and pushing it down her long legs, sopping them with the cloth that had soaked her up from the inside. Her ass high in the air, her neatly trimmed pussy open to all. The crowd went wild.

But worse, Seamstress was looking right at her with a dangerous smirk on her face.

“Oh ho. Who knew? A twofer.” Seamstress grinned ear to ear as the bottom of her dress unraveled. She stepped closer to Rebecca, and strips of cloth wrapped around the agent’s legs and pinned her arms to her sides. “To think, I went easy on you when you have some unknown power! Terrible of me.”

Seamstress walked behind her and closed the curtains, saving Rebecca from the onlookers. It was only a temporary respite, as she struggled to maintain balance before falling to her knees. “And I know just what I’ll do to you.”

Rebecca could almost feel Seamstress’s eyes gleaming. She shuddered as Seamstress stroked the antebellum fetish ballgown on the doll next to Rebecca’s abject form.

“Why ah do declare! Duh-teck-tuv,” drawled Seamstress, “ah believe this is thuh yay-uh our blue ribbon Becky is gonna win thuh county fay-uh!” The ballgown slid off the doll to wrap around Seamstress. Her yellow eyes sparkling as an enormous ribboned pink hat emerged over her big blonde hair. She reached down and stroked the cloth binding Rebecca. “Ah believe ya name were Rebecca ‘cording ta tha’ badge, but ah do believe ah shall call y’all Becky.” The clothes started to change. “Only proper for a naughtly little cow don’t you think, detective?”

Seamstress forced Rebecca onto her hands and knees. “First we have to make sure you are going to crawl.” One of her hands touched the cloth that had wrapped around Rebecca’s legs, separating it to each individual leg. The material circled around her, settling at her hands, feet, and squirming around in her hair. A headband with spotted cow ears formed tightly hugging her head. The cloth at her hands and feet shifted, becoming hard, trapping her extremities in hooves. There was cloth left over, and it made its way to Rebecca’s ass.

“And we can’t forget a tail, heavens no.” The cloth dived into Rebecca’s ass, hardening into a plug. She could feel something soft hanging from her backside, touching one of her cheeks limply. Seamstress smacked her ass, and the cow tail went rigid. She groped Rebecca’s ass, ready to hear this cow moo. “That’s a good girl, but we don’t have your spots quite yet, do we?”

Rebecca shut her eyes. The feeling of the buttplug tight in her ass. The soft hands squeezing, making her pussy melt. She blinked down at her hooves. No, hands. Hooves. Her vision swam. She heard a voice whispering in her ear. “Now Becky, ah jes’ know y’all can do some yummy tricks foh’ tha judgery.” Rebecca leaned into the voice. “Oh, yes-suh, ah know ya’ want to be a good gal an’ win this heah fay-uh.” A finger ran down her spine. She quivered. Becky nodded her head. The voice so soft and husky now in her ear. “Let me see those spots, now, c’mon y’all, ah know tha’ ya’ can.” The pale flame licked across Becky’s skin. The black spots patterning now across it. “Oh, tha’ judgery is jus’ gon’ go why-uld ovuh ya’.”

Becky pursed her lips in response. “Moo.”

Seamstress laughed and slapped Becky’s ass again, signaling her to go forward. “Everyone, let the slut go. I think it’s time we saw how a slut milks a cow.”

Becky watched as the crowd dispersed around a girl who was frantically panting while on her back, legs splayed, dripping with sweat, and laying in a puddle of her own juices. She sniffed the air.

“Moo.”

“Ah, tha’s right Becky, jus’ ya wait.” Seamstress stepped in front of Becky and put her hand on the slut’s stomach. “I see you have enjoyed yourself, slut. You fell so willingly into it, it was beautiful, but what you are about to do will be so much better.” The slut’s stockings changed into assless, crotchless bluejeans and cowgirl boots, and her corset turned into a vest that left her breasts exposed. Her garter belt hung worthlessly from her waist, and her sopping pussy shouted to the room that she had just gotten fucked.

Zen got Seamstress’s hint and brought over some belts with buckles on them. Seamstress touched several of them for a few seconds before altering them into a makeshift bucket. She pushed the bucket to the slut. “Now ah ‘spect ya ta fill it up, slut.”

The slut simpered at Mistress as she took the bucket. She knelt down on the floor beside Becky, folding her legs beneath her. Making sure to give Mistress and Miss Zen an optimal view of her round asscheeks as she bent forward.

“Now hold still, Becky,” she whispered to the cow, “let’s show the judgery just what you can do.” She placed the bucket under Becky’s big left tit, light freckles running over it. She started to lift and squeeze it rhythmically with her hands, stroking it down. Becky lowed. “That’s it Becky. Big tits getting so heavy and full now.” Voltira started tugging slowly up and down on Becky’s big hard nipple with her left hand, while her right hand kept squeezing and pulling the porcelain tit’s flesh. “So full of milk. So ready to let it go.” Becky started to shiver lightly. “That’s it.” Voltira squeezed hard with her right hand. Her left hand stroked down and jerked hard on the nipple, sparking it with tiny electricity spikes.

There was a tinkling sound in the bucket. The slut repeated the action, sparking the nipple again. The sound of splashing came strong and sustained. Becky arched her back, thrusting her tit forward, eyes shut, mooing.

“I’m hearing some police chatter on the radio. We probably only have five more minutes until they get here,” Zen said while adjusting something in her ear, unable to take her eyes off the two girls in front of her. Small giggles spilled out of her mouth occasionally, not really believing that Becky was actually getting milked. The other women in the store were trying to stifle their laughter.

“Go prepare the bike. I’ll leave them a little gift before we have to make our escape.” Seamstress smiled down at the two heroines. She was proud of her work, and she’d learned just how vulnerable these two in particular were.

Seamstress reached out a pair of long fingernails to Becky’s shapely asscheeks. Big black spots rocked back and forth as Becky rolled her head gently from side-to-side as the slut milked her. The slut kept her head down, biting her tongue as she concentrated. She had to keep working Becky’s tit to fill the bucket and impress the judgery. But the judgery had other ideas. The long fingernails dug sharply into Becky’s right asscheek, pinching cruelly.

Becky reared, squealing. A hoof ricocheted off the bucket, the milk spilling in a fresh white puddle across the tiled floor. The slut sat back, aghast. She looked at the judgery her eyes moistening.

“Ah shoh ahm migh-tay sorr’ Miss Vawl-tara,” drawled the judgery, “but tha’ cow is a mos’ undisciplined beast.” Yellow eyes glinted. “Y’all oughta punish it, hard.” The judgery swept out of the room, laughing.

The slut glared down at Becky and grabbed the cow roughly. She knew of only one way to punish something that wasn’t obeying. Her hand came down hard against Becky’s ass, who mooed out in pain. They could hear a bike starting somewhere outside the building, but it was just background noise to the loud smacks and the mooing. Sirens went off in the distance, but they both just ignored them, playing their parts with pure dedication. Even as the first officers busted down the door and stared at them, the slut’s hand made contact with Becky’s ass, and Becky mooed out in ashamed pain for tipping over the bucket of her own milk.

Seated in the back of a Special Investigations police van, Rebecca sipped her cup of black coffee with Voltira snuggled in the crook of her arm. Both women wore voluminous police issue rain protectors. Callaghan, her partner, sat opposite them. He’d been the first in the boutique door. Rebecca knew he’d be making her life a misery about it for, well, ever.

Turned out Sister Heloise had been the one who called the cops. An angel, not a dragon after all. She’d recognized her former pupil in the window. Getting the news, Rebecca’s Special Investigations team had hauled uptown to the boutique at breakneck speed. Of course, that meant they’d all . . .

Gah.

She’d find Seamstress. Oh, yes. The sexy nerd girl too. Zen. And when she did she’d . . .

“They just reported that they found the girl Seamstress pretended to be on her bed wearing some bondage getup. Apparently, she was having fun.” Callaghan assumed an expression of great solemnity. “So. About the cow spots, McCandliss? Our health insurance does cover necessary instances of cosmetic surgery.”

Rebecca extended a finger at him. “I’ll deal with it.” In about a week, she thought. When the darkness pressing hard inside her mind had receded enough to make it safe to do so.

Callaghan shrugged. He knew McCandliss had her secrets. He looked at Voltira The Electric Girl aka Arianne Gogol, socialite and real estate heiress, cuddling under his partner’s arm. “You two are together now, huh?”

Arianne tensed.

Rebecca ran her tongue over her teeth. Nodded very slightly.

“We’re . . . dating.” She glanced at Arianne. “Just. Dating.”

Arianne smiled. Extra spankings, for sure. Goody.