The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Okay, who are you and what did you do with Jessica!”

Genevieve was still staring at her friend as they walked through the mall. She looked kinda like Jessica and talked kinda like Jessica, but was really more like Jessica Lite, though she had no real inclination to find out if she was less filling and tasted great. She figured she’d leave that one to the boys. Still...she punched her in the shoulder just to make sure.

“It’s still me, dumbass.” Jessica returned Gen’s punch.

“Well, not all of you, obviously,” Gen said, moving that troublesome tuft of hair back behind her ear. “I’d say you were missing twenty pounds.”

“And I’d say you were right,” smiled Jess, trying hard to suppress a giggle. She never giggled. Ever. Even as a kid. And she hated it when all the dumbasses at school did it. So it really would be retarded if she did it. No, it wouldn’t be ‘retarded,’ just inappropriate for her. She never used the word ‘retarded.’ It was crude and offensive to retarded people. She hated the word when Gen used it. Why was she even thinking about it? The whole thing was retarded. She giggled at the irony.

Genevieve stopped at the big fountain in the middle of the mall and sat down on a bench. “I’m not going to move one more foot until you tell me what happened to you back there. What’s with the whole ‘magic corset’ thing? And how’d you pay for it?”

Jess looked at the nearby mall cart that was selling video snapshots and pretended not to hear her. Actually, she was trying to check herself out on one of the cart’s monitors. She moved slightly to her left and peered intently to see if she was in the shot.

“I mean, even your clothes are smaller,” Gen waved at Jess’s blouse and trousers. “Well, except for your bra, obviously,” she added. “Really, how much more do you need up there?”

The man operating the video cart noticed Jess and, salesman to the last, adjusted the camera so it focused on her. She smiled and waved.

“Aaarrgh!” Gen stood up and, just out of general habit, made a show of pushing the tuft of hair back over her ear. “You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?”

“Oh, were you saying something?”

Genevieve crossed her arms. “You know what, ‘Missus Twenty Pounds Lighter,’ you can just walk home!”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Good!”

“Good!”

“Keep your stupid car, I bet I can find any guy around here to give me a ride home.”

“Oh, you think?!” Gen fished her keys out of her purse and waved them in front of Jessica’s face.

“Listen, just because you can’t get within five feet of a cute guy without choking...”

“Oooooh,” Gen fumed and turned her back. “That’s it, Jess, it’s ON!”

“Speaking of cute guys...” Jess laughed and waved towards two teens walking out of the food court. “There’s Preston and Pat.”

Genevieve didn’t move. “Oh, you’re so retarded if you think that’s gonna work.”

“No, seriously. Looks like Preston’s been totally working out over the summer, too. Must really want the starting quarterback job.”

One the other side of the fountain plaza at the entrance to the food court, Preston was running a comb through his hair. He and Pat were seniors and, despite the fact they had almost nothing in common, had been best friends since elementary school. Pat was into anime, comics and his idea of fun was arguing with other nerds over whether or not “The Howling” was better than “An American Werewolf in London.” Preston was the back-up QB on the football team, a starting pitcher on the baseball team, and still couldn’t tell a werewolf from a vampire, despite seeing all the “Underworld” pics in the local theater. Twice. To be fair, he’d scored blow jobs or hand jobs from his dates during all but one of them, so he wasn’t really looking at the screen a whole lot...

“You think Calvin’s seriously doing this?” Pat asked softly, shifting the package of mini-dv tapes from one hand to the other as the two of them walked past the fountain on their way towards the Mervyns at the other end of the mall. “He could get in big trouble if he gets caught.”

Preston stuck the comb back in the back pocket of his jeans and quickened his pace because it simply wouldn’t look good if anyone important saw his geeky friend walking a step ahead of him. “Eh, that guy lives for trouble. If it gets his name in the paper, it’s all good.”

“I dunno, this time he might end up in the crime section,” Pat replied as he slowed down to let his buddy pass him without being too obvious about it. He was a nerd, but he knew the rules of the road as well as any.

Preston thought about it for a moment, searching his mind for a snappy comeback, but the mental gears were interrupted as he caught Jessica waving at him out of the corner of his eye. At least he thought it looked kind of like Jessica. He tapped Pat on the shoulder as he passed him, then stopped and turned back towards the fountain. “Hey, is that Jessica?”

Pat stopped and wheeled around. “Hmm, looks like her,” he chuckled and added, “back in Junior High. Maybe she has a sister I don’t know about.” Pat had known Jess for a couple of years. In Freshman English, she sat just right of him which gave him a great view on those days when she forgot to button a button or two on her blouse. Or, better yet, when she bent over to pick up a pencil or pen. Back then, he’d tore through many a Kleenex while reliving those moments. For the past two years, they’d been on the debate club together, but due to her whole weight gain thing, his vivid imagination found other outlets. Still, she was on the righteous side of the great “Howling vs American Werewolf” argument, so that counted for something...

“Maybe she had that gastric surgery thing,” Preston mused, as he turned and walked towards Mervyns. “I hear it works wonders.”

“Uh, yeah...maybe.” Pat hesitated to get one last look before turning to follow. “But I don’t think they can magically move the fat upstairs. Jessica’s big, but not THAT big, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.”

On the other side of the fountain, Jessica stopped waving and stewed as she watched them hurry away towards the other end of the mall. “I can’t believe they didn’t see me.”

“Duh, Earth to Jess, hello!” Genevieve punched her friend on the shoulder yet again. “Big ass boobs. Less fat. They probably didn’t even think it was you.”

Jess took as deep a breath as possible under the circumstances and started down the mall after them. “Pat should fucking know better, the four-eyed little shit.” Genevieve started to follow, then stopped and stared when she realized Jess was cursing. “And to think I used to leave two buttons open in English class just for him.”

“Whoah, there!” Gen ran behind her and struggled to catch up. “You did the two buttons thing for Pat Hawthorne?!”

“Low bra, too.”

“Two open buttons AND a low bra?”

“Yeah.”

“For Pat Hawthorne?”

“Yeah.”

“And why am I just hearing about this now?”

“I don’t know, dumbass, I shouldn’t have told you at all; it just slipped out, okay?” Jessica stopped to catch her breath. She found she was slowly getting used to the constriction aspect of the ‘I Can’t Believe It’s a Corset,’ but couldn’t understand some of the other stuff. Like why she suddenly felt like she was in a ‘Charmed/Seinfeld’ mashup. Or why she seemed so upset about a geeky guy she gave up on two years ago. Or why she was telling Gen about the two button thing and Pat Hawthorne—with Gen’s self-control, it’d be all over school by the time the second period bell rang. Or why she was feeling wet. Down there. In the middle of the fucking mall, for fuck’s sake. Or why she just thought about the word ‘fuck.’ She never thought about the word ‘fuck,’ much less said it out loud. But there she thought about it again.

Fuck.

Several mall storefronts ahead of them, they saw Preston and Pat walk into Mervyns. Gen smiled. “What a coincidence. Your dad gave you his Mervyns card, right?”

Jess opened her purse and looked through her wallet. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“Cool,” Genevieve said, grabbing her friend by the elbow and pointed to the big Back-to-School Sale Sign. “What could go wrong?”

Preston hurried to the sporting goods section with Pat two steps behind, both of them scanning the floor for Calvin Jones.

Now Calvin was a character you remember. The starting tight end on the football team, he was one of those rare guys you can spend only ten minutes with and know with little doubt he was headed for superstardom or prison, depending on lady luck and the sympathies of the jury—a white boy from the suburbs who spent his childhood lifting gangsta rap CDs from the WalMart in a desperate and utterly useless attempt to be black. His grand scheme this week was to install a secret camera in a back room of the Mervyns where he worked and have his current girlfriend, who happened to be a supervisor in the ladies section, tell certain women that it was okay to use the room for a changing area when the changing rooms were full. And being that it just happened to be the week before the start of school as well as the week of a huge sale on women’s clothing, the room figured to get a lot of use. Unfortunately for him, Calvin wasn’t exactly a chess champ and forgot to buy enough tapes.

“You got em?” Calvin’s voice boomed from behind a clothing dummy decked out in hunting gear, sending Pat a couple of inches into the air.

“Fuck, man, don’t fucking DO that,” Preston said, grabbing the bag of tapes from Pat. “We got ‘em, but you owe us.”

“No sweat, dog, check it out. Heather’s got two tapes full already. When I got with her at lunch, she slipped me one. I get off in two hours and got another camera in the van. If you hang ‘till then, we can go see what we got.” He took the bag from Preston and peeked inside just to make sure the tapes were the right kind.

“Man, you sure about all this?” Pat got up the courage to speak his mind.

Calvin squinted his eyes and stared at him. “What’s up with that, dog? I got a friend with a program to black out all the faces so no one knows who’s who. Then I got a guy in Atlanta that knows a web site that’ll pay really good for this stuff. You want out, you just hop on back home to momma, if you know what I’m sayin’. Otherwise, they’ll be enough copies for everyone and maybe even some extra money to go around.”

Pat backed up slightly and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “No, no...I’m cool.” Well, halfway cool, but hell if he was going to admit it. “It’s just that I had to use my dad’s credit card for the tapes...”

“What, man, you want a fucking receipt?” Calvin laughed and crumpled the top end of the plastic bag noisily. “Fuuuuck. I swear, I’m like a great white in a tank of fucking guppies or some shit.” He reached for his wallet and pulled out a couple of bills. “Here.”

Preston pretended to stand guard like it was an exchange of guns in a spy movie, and was really getting into it all. “Heather’s okay with this?” he asked with a smile.

“You kidding?” Calvin laughed. “She spends all damn day getting dissed by fucking princesses with daddy’s Visa card. She really gets into this shit. If it were up to her, she prolly wouldn’t even black out the face and email the fuckers to the daddies to wank to or whatever.”

Preston forced a laugh. “I guess she hasn’t changed a whole lot since...” He abruptly cut himself off and Pat covered his mouth to stop from blurting out something he’d surely regret.

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Calvin straightened up and smiled. “It’s all good, dog—just remember who to throw to on third down and short.” Then he patted Preston on the back and shot off down the aisle. “I need to get these to her quick.”

“Oh, that was really swift,” Pat laughed as he stuck Calvin’s money in his pocket. “What were you thinking?”

“Oh, mainly about whether or not she still uses that hot pink lipstick that takes a fucking hour to wash off your dick,” Preston replied, and they both broke down in a shared fit of high school hysterics.

Meanwhile, in the women’s section, Jessica was busy handing outfits to Genevieve, who suddenly forgot all about Preston and Pat and crazy old wizard ladies with creepy mannequins as soon as she passed the first rack of angora sweaters. She was funny that way.

“I want to try this one. And this one. And this one. And...”

“I’ve only got two arms, Jess and they’re not THAT long.”

“Could you be a friend and find a cart then.”

“Jess, this isn’t Target. They don’t have carts. I could drive up to my uncle’s farm and borrow a couple of freakin’ wheelbarrows.”

“Very funny, Gen.”

“Seriously, you’ve got six sizes worth of stuff here already. I know you’re all jazzed about the whole ‘new you’ thing, but half of this junk is just NOT going to happen.”

“Let me worry about that.”

Behind her back, Gen was making a face. “Let me worry about that,” she repeated mockingly in her very best nasal voice. Then, her hands being full, she made a halfway decent attempt at blowing the troublesome tuft of hair out of her face. “Oh. My. Gawd. It’s Heather F. Ferguson.”

“Where?”

Gen ducked behind a rack of pantsuits. “Over there by the handbags. I didn’t know she worked here.”

“Me neither.” Jess turned her head to look. No one cared what Heather’s middle name actually was, but most all of the girls at school referred to her as “Heather F. Ferguson.” Behind her back, of course. I don’t think I need to explain what the “F” stood for. It used to be “BJ” back in Junior High, but she moved up in the world.

“I guess she wasn’t making enough money at The Wild Zebra,” Gen whispered. “Maybe the guys stopped paying for it when they learned they could get it for free.”

“Actually, she finally got busted last month for being underage,” Jessica said, and returned to browsing through the racks. She knew it was a mistake the moment she blurted it out. WTF? Not like her at all. And there was that ‘F’ thought again.

“Damn, girlfriend, you’re just full of surprises today.” Genevieve stood back up as soon as Heather turned and walked out of sight. “Dish.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” It wasn’t something Jessica was terribly proud of, but the truth was she had more than a little to do with it. One of her friends on the debate team, Sarah Jenkins, had a boyfriend that snuck into the strip club on a regular basis and the girl was insanely jealous. And she didn’t want to make the anonymous call to the police by herself.

Gen huffed and started piling the clothes she was carrying on top of a nearby rack. “Fine, be that way!”

“Seriously, I really don’t want to talk about it.” She’d heard that when the cops raided the place looking for the under-eighteen crowd, they busted more than a couple of high school kids she knew were working there. Even a couple she knew fairly well. She couldn’t imagine them twirling around poles wearing nothing but thongs. Grinding against strange men. Rubbing them through their pants. Nibbling them on the neck. Letting strange men run their hands all over their naked bodies. Over all the various parts of their bodies, both exposed and hidden. Or, rather, she couldn’t imagine it before today...

“Hello, Earth to Jess. Earth calling Jess. Hello, is anyone there?!” Jessica seemed to be in a daze, running her fingers roughly across the fabric of a denim skirt. Gen thought about punching her in the shoulder again, but settled for waving her arms around instead.

“You’re being EXTREMELY retarded today!” Genevieve huffed, finally, and once again swept her hair back behind her ear. “I’m gonna go look for Preston. If you need someone to carry all this crap, you can just go get Heather F. Ferguson to help.” And, with that, she darted off past the handbags towards the escalator.

It wasn’t until almost five minutes later when Jessica went to hand her another outfit that she even noticed she was gone.

“If you’re not going to buy those, I’d appreciate it if you hung them back up where they belong.”

Jess looked up and forced a smile at Heather, who was pointing to the pile of clothes Gen had been kind enough to dump on top of a nearby rack before she left. “Oh, I’m going to try them on.”

Heather couldn’t suppress her urge to snort. “You’re looking...slimmer. I didn’t know your father’s insurance covered gastric bypass and bad boob jobs.”

“Nice to see you too, Heather.” Jessica kept the smile plastered on as she went back to fingering through the clothes on the rack. Ordinarily, she’d keep it bottled up, but today was anything but ordinary. “Must be hard making up the difference between the money here and your last job. You do lap dances in the break room?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Heather picked up one of the outfits Jess had selected and looked it over. “Are you really going to try and squeeze into this? Because you know that if you rip it, you have to buy it.”

Jessica grabbed another ensemble from the rack. “No worries,” she grinned. “Just point me in the direction of the changing room.”

“Sure thing,” Heather laughed, picked up the various outfits Jess had picked out, and headed off down between the racks with a huge smile on her face. Sarah Jenkins had a big mouth and her boyfriend just loved him some Heather Ferguson blow jobs. It didn’t take her long to figure out who ratted her out. She didn’t care what she had to do to Calvin; some of this footage was going to end up on a bunch of local computers. And some faces weren’t going to be blacked out...

“Our changing rooms are being renovated and you have a lot of things picked out,” Heather said as she led Jessica through the women’s section to the employee’s entrance to the stock room, “but we’ve set up a changing area back here.” She glanced at the size tag of one of the blouses and snickered. “I tell you what; if you can fit in this one, I’ll even let you use my employee’s discount.”

Jessica laughed as she grabbed the blouse out of Heather’s hand and walked into the back room. “In that case, you’d better grab a calculator and start punching the numbers.”

Back in Sporting Goods, Pat was staring at a female clothing dummy in a yellow jogging outfit. He motioned over to Preston, who was looking at tennis rackets. “Hey, you know what this needs?”

“What?” Preston grabbed a racket and imagined he was serving to Roger Federer.

“She needs some red paint. You think they have a hardware section here?”

“Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“No, seriously, we splash some red paint on her and put a sword in her hand and she’s totally Uma from ‘Kill Bill.’”

Preston interrupted his rush to the net to return Roger’s volley and looked over at his friend. “Huh?”

“You know, where she’s running all through the nightclub and cutting up all the guys in the cheesy masks?” Pat grabbed the racket out of Preston’s hand, put in the hand of the dummy and held it there. “See?”

“All I see is some geek who watches too many crappy movies.” He wrestled the racket back.

Pat shook his head and took a deep breath. “It’s a fucking cool movie, you dumbass. I wonder if she’s for sale. I could totally see her standing in the corner of my room with the killer sword ready to whack my stupid sister or anyone else who comes in.”

“Dude, that’s just so wrong in so many ways.” Preston walked back to the other aisle to return the racket. “Your room already looks like Quentin Tarantino’s dumpster. You really need a plastic dummy to whack to?”

Knowing exactly where this was going, Pat closed his eyes and mouthed the words as Preston continued...

“What you need is a fucking girlfriend.”

He’d heard it so often; he even knew where the emphasis was going to be. On the ‘fucking.’ Even being the second banana on the debate team couldn’t help him answer that one, he’d run out of snappy retorts years ago. It was the one sentence that pretty much guaranteed Preston the last word on pretty much any conversation and both of them knew it. So it was just was well for Pat that Genevieve showed up in the tennis aisle right about then.

“Hey, Preston, whatchadoooin?”

“Oh, hey Gen. I was just trying to get Pat laid so he wouldn’t have to whack to department store dummies. Got any desperate girlfriends?

Genevieve turned away to stare at the cans of tennis balls for a few seconds while trying to figure out if he was really talking about her. Once she got past that, she wheeled around and grinned. “None THAT desperate.”

An aisle away, Pat suddenly decided there was some writing on a camping lantern box on the bottom shelf that he just HAD to sit down on the floor to read.

Gen lifted her head up to look around the section. “He’s around here somewhere, isn’t he? We saw you coming out of the food court earlier.”

“Yeah, I guess he ducked out to the bathroom or something. Was that Jessica Garcia waving at us?”

Gen nodded, throwing her hair back down around her nose. “Yeah.”

“What’s up with her?” Preston smiled at the way her hand automatically went up to push her hair back behind her ear. “Gastric bypass?”

It was Gen’s turn to laugh. “Not exactly. You want to hear something really bizarre?”

“Bizarre?”

“No, really, really, REALLY bizarre.”

He looked at his watch. “Sure.”

“Okay, check it out. Jess’ dad gives her his credit cards to come do some back-to-school shopping, right? So it’s pretty busy, so we have to park down by the entrance by where the movie theater used to be when they still had movies in the mall. And where the pay phones and old bathrooms were, there’s this new store with a paper sign in peach crayon, but it’s really not open yet and it’s run by this crazy old witch lady in a white bathrobe. And suddenly this crazy retarded mannequin that smiles and winks and stuff is wearing this red girdle that makes you lose weight like crazy. And Jess is like, out of her mind crazy over this thing—did you know she got a new tattoo? - don’t ask me how I know ‘cause I’m not going to tell you. And I’m like, this woman is a crazy nuts retard, let’s get the hell out of here while we still can and suddenly there’s this puff of peachy smoke and they end up in this changing room place with a locked door and when they come out, Jess is, like wearing this girdle from hell thing and twenty-five pounds lighter and acting ALL retarded.”

“Cool.” Preston checked his watch again and tried his best to look bored. “So, what’s up with you?”

Gen closed one eye and peered at him for a few moments until he finally lost it.

“Psych!” He laughed. “What the hell was all that?”

She gave a half-hearted swipe at his shoulder. “It’s all true, you retard. She’s over in the women’s section with two wheelbarrow’s worth of outfits that’ll take her five hours to try on before she finally figures out none of them fit.”

Preston started to say something equally stupid in response, then stopped as the last part of her sentence sunk in. “In Heather’s section?”

“Uh, I guess. Unless there’s another ladies section in this place.”

The senior put a hand over his face and tried to rub it down over his mouth, but it was too late. “Bwhahahahaha!”

“Okay, retard, what’s so funny?”

“Oh...hahahaha...nothing...” He stumbled off to try and find Pat. “Just remembered something I had to do. Hahaha...”

Gen stood there staring after him as he searched in vain for his missing friend. “Boys,” she huffed, and the tuft of hair fell down around her nose yet again.

Heather was confused. Conflicted, but confused. She didn’t know whether or not she was more confused about being conflicted or conflicted about being confused, and after staring at the clock on the wall above the employee’s entrance to the stockroom for going on fifteen minutes, she wasn’t sure if there was really was a difference anymore. Or that she cared there was a difference if, indeed, there was one.

The camera was working, so that wasn’t it. She just changed the film, so that wasn’t it. She told her employees she was taking inventory so they wouldn’t bother her as she stood guard over the “changing room,” so that wasn’t it. She was horny as hell, but since she generally got off on the thought of the abject humiliation of people she loathed, that wasn’t even it.

No, she finally decided as, once again, she forced herself to focus on the nonstop and amazingly annoying giggling coming from within the makeshift dressing room she’d set up for Calvin and his voyeuristic vision of venture capitalism, it was the fact that Jessica Garcia had spent the last twenty minutes trying on outfits and had, not once, NOT ONCE, let out a curse word or even an audible sigh or any other telltale sign that she was anything other than incredibly happy, or incredibly drunk. It was just...unnatural, especially in the wonderful world of women’s fashion.

“Hey, everything okay in there?” she asked through the black door to the changing room.

“Oh, everything is...positively...emphatically, copasetic. You find that calculator to figure the discount yet?”

‘Copasetic?’ Heather kicked the sheetrock wall next to the door. “It’s all figured on the register, sweetie,” she said in her best saleswoman’s voice. “But pardon me if I don’t take your word for it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it...dearie.”

Heather ground her molars together and moved over to the hidden camera yet again to make certain it was working. Not for the first time, she desperately wished there was an easy way for her to check the footage without disturbing the arrangement. She was starting to regret her off-the-cuff offer to cut the cost of the clothes using her employee discount; she’d let her teenaged libido overwhelm her brain on numerous occasions before, but damn, she was crazy hot over this whole hidden camera, revenge thing. Fuck, if Calvin were here at this moment...

Fortunately for her, she got her priorities in order and managed to zip back in front of the door when Jessica burst through it just seconds later.

“Ta-da!”

Heather resisted the urge to kick the sheetrock yet again. Jessica Garcia had no business whatsofuckingwhatever in that damn low-cut dark blue blouse and skirt ensemble. None. How the hell did she keep from popping out of the top OR the sides? Magic? The woman standing in front of her was easily five inches smaller in the waist than the one who went in that room twenty minutes earlier. Even after months at Mervyns, Heather knew some things were simply not possible. Yet...

“My, that’s...just...”

“Amazing?” Jess turned her back and raised her hands. “Astounding?” She turned to her left and bent down slightly, her ample breasts pushing full against the craft of the designer. “Incredible?” She turned back around to Heather and winked. “Incomparable?” She giggled.

Heather closed her eyes for a moment and thought of Calvin. Was he worth this? And, with that, the newfound thought that the mystery would all by solved when she studied the camera film. After a lot of vodka.

“Anything you want me to put back?” She forced a smile and pointed into the makeshift changing room. “Anything at all?”

“Nope!” Jess chirped, and turned back towards the room. “All that’s left is the chocolate strapless ruffle!”

“Uh, yeah,” Heather sneered. “Right.” She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about that one. Should make for some pretty good laughs from across the state. Country. Or the world. “Lots of luck with that.”

“You just worry about the discount, honey,” Jess smiled as she waltzed back into the changing room and tapped the door shut with her foot.

Once safely inside the room, she collapsed on the small deck chair someone had thoughtfully placed in one corner—and tried her best to breathe as deeply as she could without making a sound. Damned if she was gonna let Heather F. Ferguson hear it. She quickly unbuttoned the blouse and reached behind her to turn the knob on the back of the corset, letting out a silent moan of relief as she felt the garment grant back a couple of inches of lung.

Leaning back in the chair, she took a number of labored breaths and looked around the room while contemplating exactly how long she’d let Heather stew. In addition to the light in the ceiling above, whomever had set up the room had also thrown one of those portable workman’s lights on an extension cord through a hole about eight feet off the ground in order to keep the room exceedingly well lit. The tallish mirror on one wall had obviously recently been hauled in and set on the floor, without being fastened to the wall or floor in any way. It looked a bit unsafe, but for Jessica’s purposes that wouldn’t matter.

Getting back up, Jess shrugged off the blouse and laughed loudly. Then let out a squeal of joy, just for emphasis. Then put an ear to the door and listened for the thump of a heel against sheetrock.

Heather had been a bitch to most of the girls all through school, but she’d hardly been alone in that. Sherry O’Neil. Michelle Franks. Tina. Mercedes. Jess looked over at the strapless ruffle and wondered if it came in a red plaid. The traditional Saturday night ‘Cruise down McMullen Avenue’ was calling and Genevieve’s little red convertible would SO be a match...

Jess stood in front of the mirror and stepped out of the blue skirt, and marveled at the way her boobs seemed to mold themselves into the top of the corset—with a slight bit of poking and prodding, mixed with an occasional fist pound. The crazy old lady had somehow managed to make her bra grow to fit them perfectly when she left the shop, but that was easily ten knob twists (both right and left) ago. Now, she just found it easier to go without—so long as she managed to get the puppies to stay in their cages, of course. It’s not like she had a whole lot of practice in that arena...

Her panties were another matter. Her butt seemed to shrink with her waist and thighs (the latter not even covered by the corset, so she had absolutely no idea what was up with that), but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that she’d never been so horny in her entire life.

And it wasn’t something that came and went—though every time she felt the pounds melt away the rush certainly was intense in more ways than one—but the moment she put the “red rooster” on it was like all the hormones in her body decided to gang up on her brain and together they’d decided the area between her pussy and ass was going to be the battleground. Her underwear had become the first casualty. They were lying on the floor. She’d almost convinced herself that they’d stay there because she didn’t want to mess up the new clothes.

Almost.

Fuck. There were those words again.

Pussy. Ass.

She closed her eyes and flipped through the thesaurus in her mind. When she was in elementary school, she used to thumb through her Roget’s and memorize the various nyms. Synonyms. Antonyms. Homonyms. Heh, she said “homo.” There had to be at least, what, ten terms for “pussy” and at least as many for “ass,” so why did those two come to mind? She started to go down the list, starting with “cunt,” then caught herself. Shook her head.

What the fuck was going on?

Heh, she thought “fuck” again. There had to be at least ten different words that would work, so why “fuck?” She tried to think of some, but they weren’t coming.

Heh, she thought ‘coming.’

Okay, she smiled, now it was becoming some kind of perverted game between her old and her new. And, yes, she thought “perverted.” She laughed. Loudly. That old witch lady knew about this. She had to. It wasn’t normal. Certainly not normal Jessica Garcia. She ran her hand over her tits again. ‘Tits?’ Poked her nipples back down behind the red fabric. It took two hands for each nipple, one to pull the corset top out and one to push the tits back in. They kept wanting to come up for air on their own. Not normal, she thought. Nothing about this day was normal.

She opened her eyes, turned to the one thing she hadn’t tried on yet. Focused on it. It was the only way she could stop thinking about...what exactly? Heather? From outside the room, she thought she could hear the girl talking to someone. She reached for the dress. Stepped into it and sat down on the chair and took a few really deep breaths. Then looked down at her hips and butt, giggled inanely, and finally threw the dress over her head and tried to wriggle into it...

She managed to get it over her boobs only to get hung up where they ALWAYS got hung up. She sat back down on the chair an took a breather, literally, thankfully knowing no one other than God would ever see her stuck in a cramped changing room with a dress halfway on and halfway off. Heather’s voice was louder now, and totally recognizable. She was laughing, almost certainly, Jess thought, about a stupid girl trying to fit into a dress that was obviously several sizes too small for her bloated self.

With a determined grimace on her face, Jessica reached back for the knob on the corset and twisted.

The next moments pretty much followed the same script—wriggle, breathe, twist, breathe, rest. Wonder if Natalie Portman went through this on Oscar night each year.

Think about Heather. Wriggle, breathe, twist, breathe, rest. Picture Sneeches with no stars upon thars.

Curse under breath about Heather. Wriggle, breathe, twist, breathe, rest. Look in mirror to see how much progress was being made.

Think about cruising down McMullen Ave with tits proudly sticking out. Wriggle, breathe, twist, breathe, rest. Wonder why you thought about cruising down McMullen Ave with tits proudly sticking out.

Finally, with the dress still kinda, sorta bunched up around her midsection and the oddest thoughts of all the worst kinds of synonyms for various body parts and ways to abuse them stumbling through her increasingly foggy cerebrum (or was it cerebellum?), she plopped down on the chair and took the deepest breath she could manage under the circumstances. Closing her eyes, she gave the knob one last twist...

And heard something go “pop.”

It wasn’t a loud pop as pops go, she thought, as she held that breath a looong time and waited for the pain, if any, to make it up to her brain. In fact, it was a fairly small pop. That couldn’t be TOO bad, could it? She emptied her lungs and slowly refilled them. So far, so good. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at the mirror. Somehow, that last twist had done the trick. Maybe that’s what the “pop” was about? She quickly pulled the remainder of the dress down over her butt, and found it felt just perfect. Glancing at the mirror, it even looked perfect.

She took a breath. It was a perfectly perfect breath. She leafed through that mental book thing with all the words in her head (what was it called again?) and searched for a better word, but none came to mind. Everything was just...perfect.

She giggled at the perfect girl smiling back at her in the mirror. Even her teeth were perfect.

She thought of McMullen Avenue at midnight. Perfect. Pulling down the top of her new dress, she laughed at the thought of the sight of those perfect tits as they popped out of the perfect top of the perfect corset, and just KNEW they were going to be the only thing the boys (and girls) would be talking about tomorrow.