The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Just one more thing,” the client said.

Jonathan closed his eyes, briefly, and waited for the inevitable. Every client felt the same, stupid need to justify the paid transformation and bimboization of someone they knew.

“She’s not my real daughter,” the client insisted. He had patrician white hair, swept back behind his ears, and a nearly magenta faux-tan. “I mean, biologically. She’s my STEP-daughter. Just so you know.”

“Of course, sir,” Jonathan said, blandly.

“And I don’t want her to be TOO dumb,” the client specified, as if they hadn’t spent a half-hour dickering on reduced intelligence. “She needs to be able to talk to my customers.”

“Just not about multi-variable calculus,” Jonathan said. “I understand, sir. A little slutty, a little dumb, a little bit of a bimbo.”

The client brightened, and stuck his hand out. Jonathan shook it. The client had a perfect, practiced handshake. Very trustworthy. He smiled at Jonathan. “Exactly! Ex-act-ly! I’m glad we understand each other,” he said.“This is just business! A business decision!”

Jonathan presented the Contract for the client’s signature. He signed in tiny letters, as if it would hide his name.

“Okay,” Jonathan said, putting the Contract away. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You are going to drop Brenna off at the Eastside Mall at exactly three p.m. You’ll pick her up at our signal, probably around five. Okay? Keep your cell phone on. ”

“Perfect,” the client said, still smiling. “Just perfect.”

Michael’s Jaguar pulled away from the curb. It nearly side-swiped a black escalade with a Mom inside. Brenna watched her step-father swerve, veering between lanes and cutting off drivers. She flipped him off, mechanically, and clutched the box he had given her to return.

“It’s a quick favor,” Michael had pleaded. “Look, take my credit card with you. Get yourself something nice. This would be a big help for me.”

The credit card aspect had been too tempting to pass up, even with a big Presentation looming tomorrow. She could use a wardrobe refresh before college. And then, since it was Michael’s money, why not a huge swan made out of crystals, or the complete works of Thomas Kinkade?

Step-dad had dropped her at the completely wrong end of the mall, too. Snorting, pissed, Brenna stomped inside.

Jonathan sat on a bench on the third floor of the mall with a good view of most of the ground level. Once upon a time a man talking into a headset and tapping on a laptop attracted notice and comment, but these days, he could handle Dispatch without any second glances.

“Target is inside,” Jonathan said, into his mic. “I’m switching the mall audio now.”

He hit a macro on his computer, and overrode the mall audio system. The usual canned, blase music stuttered to a halt, and there was a second of white noise. Then Jonathan’s tailored design of soothing tones and uplifting melodies came over the loudspeakers. Too low to think about, high enough to infiltrate. At high volume it could trance off the casual listener. At low volume, it just made everyone in earshot feel relaxed... positive... and randy. Even him.

“Target is getting her cup of coffee. ”

“Relax, Brenna,” she told herself, and rolled her shoulders back. Usually she found the mall to be a tinderbox of stressed-out salesmen and over-sugared teeny-boppers. But she started to relax, anyways, softening under a soothing murmur in her ears.

The brunette had worn her baggiest jeans with a loose tan belt. On top of that, a demure green sweater-jacket with little buttons. Sort of cute and fashionable, while also keeping her figure safe from Michael’s eyes.

“Coffee will help me chill out,” she told herself, and giggled at the itty-bitty joke. Something about the mall was starting to relax her too-tight muscles, make her saunter in her sneakers.

The coffee guy—a new one, obviously—gave her an admiring, open glance. Brenna usually responded to boy-looks by hunching over and crossing her arms. Instead she tossed her hair back, pulled out Michael’s charge card, and fixed him with a smug smile.

“Can I have something expensive?” she asked him. She noticed his nametag. “...Darren? ”

“Darren, go ahead,” Jonathan said.

He had selected Darren for Point Position in part because of his composure and grace under pressure. Also in part because he had an honest, trusting face, only slightly marred by a sleazy soul-patch beard. But mostly, he had hired Darren because the boy naturally dripped with pheromones. Darren exuded a panty-loosening, arousal-boosting mist, and he did it all the time. Jonathan had found him several years ago, presiding over a harem in his fraternity, and recruited him immediately.

The young man dripped with attraction, desire, and mystery. Girls soaked in him, let their outer walls fall down before his hormone-enhanced smile.

“Something expensive?” Darren said. Brenna couldn’t help but notice thick, muscled arms, and calm, half-hooded brown eyes. “I could give you the Special. If you can handle it.”

“What’s in it?” Brenna said, leaning a little closer. Her friends had made flirting with cute barristas nearly into a high art. She was starting to understand the allure. Bits of Darren started to creep inside her brain, messing with her senses. She leaned closer.

“Can’t tell you the ingredients,” Darren confided. He looked around his tiny coffee cubicle, in the center of a busy mall, as if it was the heart of a kingdom. “I can’t even tell you the price. But you’ll like it.”

“I think I can handle it,” Brenna told him. “I’m a big girl.”

“You think you can handle it?” Darren said. He shocked her with a bold, up-and-down visual sweep over her body. It seemed to even penetrate her jean/sweater fortress, and made Brenna feel abruptly aware of her skin. “That was... forward,” she thought, and crossed her arms. She shook her head, knocking loose the chemicals just starting to prod at her libido.

“Too much, Darren, she’s not ready,” Jonathan radioed, watching the target’s body language. “Just give her the coffee, move her along. ”

He turned up the mall audio a notch. By now, the more susceptible girls would be wondering just why it was their boobs felt so darn warm today.

The barrista busied himself with the espresso machine, two separate sources of coffee, and a half-pot of whole milk. Brenna even heard the whisk of a bottle of whipped cream, but when Darren presented the cup, the surface was a smooth sea of nearly pure brown. He capped it with a plastic lid, and pushed it across the counter.

Brenna suddenly missed the attention. Why had she pushed him away? She was trying to relax, after all.

“That will be seven dollars,” he said, bowing slightly, a little goofy. Brenna felt in a forgiving mood, and smiled at him. “Really?” she whispered, “I heard twenty.” She handed over Michael’s credit card and winked. Encouraged, Darren risked another glance down at her slender body. This time she just let him stare, tittering to herself. It was sort of fun to relax and let things happen, even if it meant an eyeballing.

Brenna picked up the milk-based concoction. It smelled divine, and not that hot, so she tilted it to her lips for a first sip.

It was enchanting. Like a coffee milkshake, and there even seemed to be a hint of heat, like a spiced cinnamon.

Encouraged, she tilted her head back, and the lid fell right off the cup. A pint of coffee sloshed down her face, and right onto her nice green sweater.

Her shriek lit up the mall.

Jonathan tensed. This was a crisis point. She could stomp right out of the mall. Darren had to play it just right...

“Oh, holy shit!” the man blurted. She shot him a waspy glare. Only now did she notice how stupid that little soul-patch made him look. “I am so completely sorry!”

He bounded out of his dumb little outpost, and handed her a half-roll of paper towels. It was clearly a waste of time. The sweater was ruined, destroyed, gone. The white blouse underneath was a complete loss. She patted at the brown blotch and grumbled.

“Here, let me make it up to you,” Darren said. He was standing very close to her.“I have a friend at that boutique, just next door. She can set you up, my treat.”

Brenna shook her head, violently. Flecks of coffee landed on Darren’s face. “No, no,” she insisted. “I.. ”

Just then, her cell phone rang. Brenna hissed, put the bag down, and fished it out of her purse.

She put her ear to the receiver.

“Darren, I’m going to hit her with a suggestion. Stand by.”

The suggestion needed to be brief, unoffensive, and specific. All Brenna had in her was a medley of slightly hypnotic tunes, a few gulps of drug-laced coffee, and a whiff of Darren. A cell-suggestion could do real damage, if it tried to override her personality.

“Buy a cute new sweater,” Jonathan whispered, into his end of the phone.

“Hello? Hello?” Brenna said. There was no one there... right?

She hung up. Darren still stood next to her, steeped in a hang-dog expression. Brenna felt an unexpected surge of compassion. His scent was working its magic, again, making her feel safer, more comfortable.

“I’ll pay for a new sweater myself,” she said contritely, and held up Michael’s charge card. “I was meaning to give this a workout. It’s my fault for being such a ditz, anyways.”

Darren looked enormously gratified. It gave Brenna a few pleasant tingles, even in the naughtier areas. The reward for a good deed, she figured. It didn’t hurt that he was more than a little cute. The kind of guy who bought flowers and liked to snuggle.

“Why don’t you hold on to this for me, Darren?” Brenna cooed, and let him take Michael’s return box. She turned around. After a few moments, she risked a peek over her shoulder. Darren was definitely staring at her butt. Well. Nothing wrong with that. She wriggled it into the store.

“Nice work, we’re clear,” Jonathan said. “Catherine, you are up.”

The salesgirl met her at the entrance. “Oh, honey, what just happened to you?” she said, sympathetic.

“Huh?” Brenna looked down. Titillated by Darren’s once-over, she had nearly forgotten that her sweater was wet and bedraggled. She looked like a survivor from a coffee flood. “Oh! Yeah, I need....”

“You need to get right out of those wet clothes,” the woman said. “I’m Catherine.”

Catherine was lush, and austere clothes couldn’t hide it. She had dark-rimmed glasses, and her hair was pinned back with a black barrette. But there was no hiding a generous pair of tits, poking at a sheer cotton sweater. And her pencil skirt was both business-friendly and hip-revealing.

The saleslady ushered her through a maze of expensive fabrics. The store was nearly empty, excepting a dozing second salesgirl behind the cash register. Catherine led her back to the dressing room, and pushed her inside. Brenna was confronted with three Brennas—one each mirror.

“Wet clothes off,” she commanded, and Brenna started to strip, automatically.

It was a good idea to let the target sit and stew in a waiting room, half-naked. Let her get used to bare skin, let her stare at her own surprisingly sultry reflection in the mirror, turn herself on. Catherine picked out a few stretchy sweaters and dawdled in the storefront. Jonathan made a phone call.

“What? Jonathan? What is it? Is something wrong?” the client said, panicked.

It was also a good idea to let the client sit and stew.

“Oh, everything is just fine, sir. Just fine. It’s just... ”

“What? God, what?”

“How do you want Brenna dressed? When you pick her up?”

“Oh, “the client said, relieved. “Clothes. I didn’t really think about it.” Liar. He probably already had a dozen filthy outfits in mind.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Jonathan ventured. “A nice, tight sweater, low-scooped in the front, bright shiny colors. Then, I think, a very close pair of shorts, keeps her nice and distracted when she walks. Three... no, for you, four inch heels. You’ll have to help her walk in them, of course.”

The client’s hot breath rasped against Jonathan’s ear.

“And for underwear.... pink,” Jonathan added.

“Okay,” the client said, weakly. “That would be... perfect.”

“Time for upsell,” Jonathan thought. The client’s base cost barely covered chemicals, personal labor, surveillance, and paying the Team. Bimboizing was expensive work. “Of course, there will be a slight fee...”

Brenna studied her looks in the mirror. She had dried her skin with the un-coffee’d parts of her shirt.

She was vaguely aware that boys liked what they saw. She had thin, arched eyebrows that gave her a quizzical expression, and lips that pouted without. Her boobs had just recently come into their own, and filled out a cotton bra.

“I think you’ll like this,” the salesgirl said, slinging a small bit of fabric over the top of the door. Brenna obliglingly struggled into it, forcing it over her head. She was starting to feel very agreeable again, under the force of Catherine’s forceful, feminine tone. It was sort of nice to be taken care of. And she HAD meant to get a wardrobe update. Although she had been thinking more “Professional” then “Girly-sexy.” Oh well, it was fun.

“Oh my,” she breathed, looking back. The sweater was far too tight, and how was it so shiny? Microthreads treated with something plastic shone in the light. It had a lifting and demonstrative effect on her boobs, too. It wasn’t all that easy to breathe, and when she did, her tits heaved.

“I can’t wear this,” she said, forcing it off. As cute as it was, she’d be a beacon for every boy in the mall. There’d be accidents. She tingled nicely all over her body.

“No?” Catherine said. She paused. “I’m coming in,” she announced.

Brenna didn’t think to protest. She reached for her coffee cup. Where had it gone? Oh, right... all over her. Too bad.

Catherine’s boobs preceded her into the dressing room. She examined Brenna’s bare torso. “What are you trying to hide?” she said, bluntly.

“Oh, umm, nothing!” Brenna protested.

“You don’t like your body?”

“No!” Brenna had never given it much thought. She was thin, and dressed reasonably fashionably. Her mind was...“I mean, I do like it!”

“You should try this on,” Catherine decided, and produced another thin sweater. With her in the narrow dressing room, there was an awful lot of... girl... to go around. Catherine wore some sort of dark, mysterious perfume. It had a hint of licorice in it.

Brenna found her way into the new sweater.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Catherine gushed. “Look at that. Dramatic. The boys will paw at you. You’ll wreck their pants.”

It WAS dramatic. And ridiculously sensual, almost... erotic. The material was a spun yellow, either a bright yellow sunshine or a deep gold, depending on which way Brenna turned. Her head seemed swallowed in a heavy turtleneck. And even though it technically was less revealing, as the material was thicker, it seemed almost ridiculously plush. Like she was a toy on display.

“I can’t wear this,” Brenna whispered. She moved back and forth, trying to find an angle where the sweater didn’t highlight and make prominent.

“Oh, but it’s perfect on a figure like yours, with such a nice trim waist,” Catherine purred. Her lips were so close to Brenna’s ear. “You look... pricey.”

Pricey? Brenna’s breath came short, and she stared at the mirror.

“How pricey?” she said.

“Very.”

Jonathan listened to the conversation, tapping a pencil against his laptop. A thought struck him.

“Catherine? Tell her that it costs a lot of money. A huge amount of money.”

“If you can afford it,” Catherine said smoothly. “Everything is off-sale this week. We’re charging double.”

Brenna put her hands on her hips. The sweater had settled on her form. It made her feel very pleasantly warm. There were more tingles. And if it would put a dent in her borrowed charge card... Catherine’s breath was sweet in her ear.

“I’ll take it,” she squeaked.

There was the scent of perfume in the air, sweet and cloying. Was it Catherine’s? It was so intoxicating, so candy-rich. Brenna felt helpless, just breathing it in.

“How about some heels with that?” Catherine suggested.

Brenna bounced out of the store, feeling more chipper and light since... well, since as long as she could remember. Shopping was much more fun then she recalled. It was an instant upper, a mood-elevant, automatically cheering. The sweater rubbed all over her body, and the tingles were super-fun.

The heels were also super-cute, and she couldn’t believe she had come to the mall in boring, basic black shoes. She had left them and a too-thick pair of socks in the store. Now she ambled in a heavy pair of white heels, at least an inch more then she was used to. Wheeling back and forth made her feel dizzy, almost intoxicated and inebriated. “Whee!” she said, a little breathless, and managed to stumble forwards.

Now, all she had to do was...

Her brow wrinkled.

Was... return... something...?

“Brenna?” A boy’s voice said.

“Jason, stand by, stand by!” Jonathan said, standing up, concerned. He grabbed his laptop just before it clattered to the floor, and his headset snagged on a stray mic wire. “She’s spotted a friend!”

Jason, obedient to training, walked right by the twosome. Jonathan examined the target. She was already fidgeting and skittish, which was good, at least.

“Friend is a boy. Stand by.” Guy friends were far less dangerous. Usually they were content to admire, and could actually help the target enjoy herself. But they were always a risk.

“Patrick!” Brenna squealed, overjoyed. She walked up and gave him a big hug. Her boobs rubbed against his chest, and she gave him an extra squeeze, for luck.

They had grown up together, Patrick and Brenna. Same math class in Middle School. Same set of English and History classes in High School. Never before on a hugging basis... but it was never too early to start, right?

“Uh, hi, Brenna,” he stammered. He worked at a kiosk, selling mini buddhist sand bars, or something like that. With miniature rakes and tiny rocks. He wore khakis, a white t-shirt with a spotted collar, and an embarrassed look. “What’s up?”

What was up? Brenna dismissed the question as un-fun. “Do you like my new sweater?” she sang, showing it off. She soaked in his appreciative gaze. Her boobs were smoking today, absolutely.

“Uh, yeah?” he said, wringing his hands. Brenna tilted her head back, just a little, to make them even more visible. “...But don’t you have a presentation tomorrow?”

Brenna blinked. The world outside of the mall started to plunk at her thoughts. She stopped flirting, stood straight. “Presentation...” she said, slowly.

“Tomorrow? Class? History? Andrew Jackson?” Patrick said. She looked downright confused. “You’re giving it?”

“Yeah... I have to...” how could she have forgotten her Presentation? It was like a third of her grade! “okay, oh my gosh, thanks, Patrick!”

She stumbled backwards, towards the mall exit. Without even so much as a goodbye.

Patrick had developed a serious case of boner just looking at her. Had her ass always been that fantastic? And he could still feel her boobs on his chest. Wow.

“Jason!” Jonathan hissed. “Move in! Slam her! Do it now!”

Jason fell back into step behind the target. She was confused, now. Vulnerable. Clearly uninterested in doing some boring Project, but committed by duty and custom to finish it, good times be damned.

Unless Jason could Push her.

He was fat, and scuttled when he walked. Despite Jonathan’s lectures he still wore attention-getting long black coats, and had a lackadaiscal sense of personal hygiene. He was also mildly psychic. Just capable of implanting a tendril of sex-stained thoughts and motivations into an unguarded mind. Within limits, of course.

It came at a cost. At least a month of celibacy pre-Push, to work up the sexual frustration and steam necessary to Push into someone else’s head. Jason was very highly paid.

“Do it!” Jonathan urged.

“Stupid heels,” Brenna muttured. What had she been thinking? Sure, they were cute, but they were the creation of the devil to walk in, and she didn’t have time to push her hips around.

She had to... she had to keep shopping.

Brenna shook the thought away. No, she needed to... Presentation, right? She stopped, looked around. Everyone else was having so much fun. The mall had picked up a very positive vibe. Couples walked, arm-in-arm, free with where their hands lingered. One sexy duo of girls in blue and yellow dresses had their hands casually placed on each other’s butts, and looked very excited. There was some fat kid, nearby, staring at her. He put his eyes down as she looked back. One group of high schoolers passed by in bright clothes, primary blues and reds, cheerfully half-naked. Give them a year, they’d probably be even more developed.

“No, wait...” Brenna said, looking around. Why had she thought about that? Development?

Patrick didn’t think she was cute.

“What?” Brenna thought. She examined the intruding thought. Patrick had dismissed her, summarily. Didn’t even take a look at her butt, or flirt just a tiny bit, or give her the longing look Darren had. Basically he had sent her home to do her homework. That was what he considered her—a boring, un-fun homework machine. It had shocked him that she wasn’t grade-grubbing at the house, that she was out having fun.

It was probably because of her jeans. They were boring. She had great legs. She should show them off, let boys enjoy them, let them sizzle in bare skin. No, in stockings! That would show Patrick.

Well, she could fix that. Brenna reversed course, and made straight for the first boutique she saw.

“That... took a lot out of me..” Jason gasped. He sat down hard, on the nearest bench.

“You did good, Jason,” Jonathan said. Second crisis averted. He had half-dialed her cellphone, burnout risk be damned.

Instead, he dialed the client.

“What is it this time?” the client said. He sounded exhausted. “What?”

“A few more items,” Jonathan said. He kept one eye on the target. She had once again picked up a bubbly good nature, and was stepping in between the shortest, skimpiest skirts in a store. Brenna had acquired that happy, pleased smile that Jonathan liked to see in targets. A drowsy, peaceful look.

“How do you feel about fertility?” Jonathan asked.

“What??”

“Do you want her to get knocked up?” Jonathan translated. A fairly rare but not unheard of fetish. Jonathan always checked first, because pregnancy-lovers would pay everything they owned at the simple thought of a fertile, plump girl.

“No! Lord!”

Pity. “Piercings?” Jonathan said, working down his list. He took the silence as encouragement. “We can do tongue, nose, breasts, clit... or something more exotic.”

“No! Look, Jonathan, stop with..”

“Bigger tits?” Jonathan said, innocently.

“...What?”

The girls at the boutique had struggled to keep up with Brenna. But now she was inspired, really enjoying herself, imagining herself in every slippery piece of fabric they had. Her body was getting hot from all the attention, from getting dressed up and shown off in exotic outfits. Girly, fun outfits, with nothing more important to them then being silly.

Brenna was giggling a lot. She felt a vague urge to stop it, but it was more fun to just keep tittering, bouncing on her heels. The girls at the store seemed to share her infectious good mood. A lot of them already wore classy, sexy outfits, with short shorts that showcased excellent legs, or adorable pencil skirts that demonstrated wide hips.

But Brenna had something else in mind. The idea shone in her mind, and the shopgirls scrambled to help. One tossed a white pair of pantyhose over the top of the dressing room wall, and another found a light pink skirt. She would shine in the night with pink and gold, but Brenna was past caring. This was soooo much fun!

She noticed a new wetness between her thighs when she stripped off her boring jeans. A touch down there brought an unexpected surge of sensation. It was nice. She’d have to do something about that, at some point. When she was done with her shopping trip.

The pantyhose went almost all the way up her legs, and the silky fabric felt divine. Her whole body was grasped by material, now, rubbing one way or the other against skin. The shopgirls lit up when she bounced out, in her new outfit, and happily rang her up at at the counter. She told them to burn her old jeans.

Boys turned and stared when she emerged, her charge card still clasped in one hand. She grinned at them.

Jonathan groaned. “Jason, you anime’d her. Didn’t I tell you the client ordered shorts? She’s doing the pink and white thing again, like that housewife last week. If I want schoolgirl, I’ll tell you!”

Jason’s voice was a nasal drone. “I read manga to keep my heat up, you know that,” he whined. “There’s some feedback. It’s not a science. Besides, do you think the client is going to complain?”

Brenna started to promenade, already comfortable on her heels. Boys, primed by the horny-inducing music, openly stared at her ass. She was even starting to prop her body up and out, for display.

“Maybe not,” Jonathan conceded. He opened up his cell phone.

All the looks were starting to get Brenna wet.

That was okay. She was having a good time. In fact, everyone was having fun. The boys she saw had obvious erections. And the girls were lazing about with half-open eyes and great big smiles. One executive, wearing a suit, had her feet up on a chair and was rubbing very discretely between her thighs. As if she had an itch. Brenna knew how she felt. Those girls who had shown up in pants or jackets looked uncomfortable.

Her cell rang, again. She opened it. “Hiii,” she sang, ready for everyone. Maybe it was Patrick, about to apologize for failing to treat her as a hot piece of lady.

But no, it was more of the steady drone of nothing. Except for a sense—nothing more—of a single voice from a great distance. And then it was gone.

She hung up, exasperated. Just one more thing to deal with, a busted cell phone. One more thing...

The brunette caught sight of herself in a storefront mirror. The reflection was hazy, but she was so glowing with color it barely mattered. Bright gold sweater... pink skirt... white nylons...

And her hair. That was it. She had one more thing to take care of. Her hair.

Fortunately, there was a salon right next door.

“Cathy, how are you holding up?” Jonathan asked, gently.

“Ummm... I’m starting to get pretty horny, and my hair is turning blonde already,” Cathy said. “I’m gonna get pretty stupid pretty soon... and I might start playing with myself.” Her voice was turning pink and bubbly.

Catherine was a very special employee. A former target. The client then had been her business partner, an older man with a knack for taking care of two problems at once. Remove a chafing junior partner and gain a sexy, silly, blonde secretary. Her transformation had been textbook, done with spa treatments. Catherine had gone in, Kit-Kat had come out.

Then the client had suffered a heart attack the first time Kit-Kat had lowered her pussy on him. Jonathan still wondered if a part of the dripping bimbo had known about his weak constitution, and taken revenge. She had become company property, used for relaxation purposes during downtime, cleaning up otherwise. Destined, apparently, to spend her life sucking and fucking.

But Kit-Kat hadn’t wanted that.

There was only one girl in the salon. She looked... familiar...

“Catherine?” Brenna asked, uncertain. But no, this girl had dirty blonde hair, curlier then Catherine’s. And her tits were even bigger, if that was possible. But most of all, Catherine had been sexy but composed, professionally arrayed in dark clothes. This girl was close to trashy, with a cheap-looking denim skirt and two glittering-diamond heels. Her scoop top was low enough to show off a shelf of wobbling tit.

“Can I do stuff for you?” The stylist asked, putting down a fashion magazine. “I’m Cathy!”

“My hair...” Brenna said, embarrassed. She primped it. It just fell down her back, boring and straight, mostly just out of her eyes. There was no spark, no life, no FUN in it.

Cathy nodded, understanding. Her lips were dipped in something pinkish, and she had long, lacquered nails. “I know, for real. We totally have to get you taken care of. Come on, honey! Have a sit!”

The ash-blonde bubbled as Brenna lowered herself into the chair. She cautiously crossed her legs, half-admiring the way the stockings rode high. She had to tug the skirt down to keep it decent, and her heels hung off her feet.

“Mmm, what should we do here...” Cathy said, getting close. Now Brenna knew it wasn’t Catherine. Catherine had a musky, romantic perfume on. This girl wore something flowery and girly, like a trip through a field of daisies. Her boobs bobbled very close to Brenna’s face. “How about... swept over the face?”

“Something fun,” Brenna repeated, as water started to sluice through her hair. She started to get comfortable. The water drizzled away. It sounded.. sleepy... “Something really cute and fun. A bit shorter, I guess.”

“Well, that’s not fun at all,” Cathy said, giggling. She brightened, and her rack jiggled. “I’ve got the perfect idea. You’re going to love it. Oh, you’re gonna be the cutest little fuck toy.”

“Huh?” Brenna said, dreamily. Wow, this water was tired. She yawned, and let her legs uncross. Just girls here, anyways. What had Cathy said?

“Pigtails,” Cathy said.

“I’m not fourteen,” Brenna protested, mildly. But yeah, pigtails. That was fun. Very loose and feminine, and easy to take care of. Maybe she could suck on a lollipop, too, that would be cool, boys liked that. Okay, not a confident, college-bound look... but sort of sexy- co-ed. And pretty damn hot, to boot. “I don’t know... pigtails?”

“Oh, definitely,” Cathy breathed. “You’ll be so hot with them. Guys love a girl who knows how to be relaxed and fun, not trying to be all intelligent and adult.” She started to massage Brenna’s scalp, working in a special sort of shampoo. Up above, Jonathan turned up the volume in the salon. It was pumping fuck-noise, now. Girls just walking by felt an urge to touch themselves. “Definitely, definitely pigtails.”

“But I’m not... stupid..” Brenna said, and closed her eyes. “I’m not...”

She was even cuter, Cathy decided, when she was snoring.

“Hi Jon!” Cathy chirped, once the target was under. “I’ve got the shampoo-stuff in. She’s already a blondie.”

Jonathan nodded. He was starting to feel the effects of his own music, and it was making him sweat. He fought back an urge to order Cathy upstairs for a quickie.

He checked the list of addons. After clients gave way to a boob job, other additions usually came fast and quick. The seal had been metaphorically broken. “You’ve got about fifteen minutes before she comes to. Twist her pigtails in, then paint her nails pink, and rub the solution onto her boobs. 50% strength. Repeat that back to me, Cathy.” It was good to check once her intelligence started to wane.

She did, obediently. “We’re going to do her clit, but not until a little later. Get the vibrator ready, and go get changed, okay?”

“Oh, yay, the vibrator!” Cathy sang. Although she was really more Kit-Kat now. “Fun!”