The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Cary blinked and returned the stunning girl’s smile because he didn’t really know what else to do. Her perfect pink lips bent into a soundless, “Yes, I know you are checking me out. Would you like to see more?” as gorgeous blue eyes swept up his face and locked his gaze for a moment before flickering questioningly to his traveling companion.

He took the opportunity to drink in the rest of her. Her seemingly endless, blonde hair reminded him of Grandma’s place, a first because most things that reminded him indentured summer servitude on the Kansas/Nebraska border left him depressed, not giddy and the victim of a runaway heart. The gauzy dress she wore ended early enough to show off a pair of “Holy Jesus!” legs, and her loose shirt did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that she had a model’s hourglass waist. The curve of high, teardrop breasts peeked out through the low neck of her blouse, making it hard to focus on anything else in the room.

It was fortunate that the face sucked him back in, because staring stupidly at a woman’s boobs generally made a poor first impression. People could consider her nose a little sharp, but even that was debatable and rendered completely irrelevant in the face of the invitation in her gleaming eyes and glistening lips.

Cary didn’t believe in love at first sight, but those eyes…. Lust was pretty much a given and getting to know her better was a must. He ran through a mental list of greetings, finally settling on one neither cheesy nor too complex, in case the absolute beauty’s English was weak.

“Hello,” she said tentatively, her accent completing the destruction of his planned greeting. “I Nikki. Welcome to World Pieces Seminar.”

He knew that already, sort of. It was hard to miss the sticker, proclaiming the Russian delegate as Nakita, curving around the swell of a firm breast. He opened his mouth to do more than just gape, but never got the chance.

“Dianne,” said his fellow US delegate, offering her hand to be shaken. “The guy making a fool of himself is Cary.”

With her dark-red hair—tragically wound up into an oversized and evil looking bun, though some auburn curls asserted their independence—and what little else Cary could see of her under her severe suit and huge sunglasses, she was also good looking, but smiling seemed to be a concept foreign to Dianne. She’d been miserable since the airport, but it wasn’t much of a surprise. Rome in the summer was hardly a good time or place to be wearing so much clothing. Nikki had the right idea with her relatively light dusting of bright fabrics.

“Cary!” the Russian dream girl said, smiling even more brightly and nodding. “Dianne. Parl Ruskie? Czeska? Deutche?”

“Uh. No,” said Cary, finding his voice. “Just American.”

“American?” Nikki asked, her face pinching somewhat and the smile vanishing. “English.”

Dianne wagged her outstretched hand and said, “I can find my way through Spanish, French, and German.”

Nikki finally noticed Dianne’s friendship gesture and took her hand, shaking vigorously. “Pleased I am to be meeting you. We at same table for dinner this night. I will see you then.”

“Thank you,” said Dianne, grabbing Cary’s arm and physically hinting that a long walk, and maybe a cold shower, would be a good idea.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

He did, but so what? Nikki was a babe of the highest order. Porn stars didn’t even come that hot, stock. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem? You were so busy staring at her that you didn’t even notice her checking you out, right up until you called English American. If she was Canadian or British, she probably would have kicked you in the nuts. Get your brain in gear and stop insulting our country, OK?”

Cary chuckled. “Make a great start to a peace conference.”

“What would?” she snapped.

“American getting kicked in the nuts by a Russian.”

“Yeah. Fantastic,” Cary’s co-delegate sighed. “How did you get a seat anyway, if you only know English? Multilingual was huge on the selection criteria.”

“Yeah,” Cary said with a shrug. “I wrote some papers on global economics, politics, and their effects on cultural interaction, but I think it was my Master’s thesis that—”

“OK.” Her eyes rolled and her hands went up in surrender. “OK. Enough. You’re not a linguist, but you’re not some rich moron who bought his way in. Fine, but don’t waste your time on me. Stick to Nikki. She seems to like bulk.”

“Bulk?” Cary puffed out his cheeks and said in his best Cartman, “I’m not fat! I’m big-boned!”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dianne snapped. “If you want to make a good impression with a lady, you should think about looser…. Gah! Pervert.”

“The primary cause,” droned the keynote speaker, “is a lack of understanding.” He pointed to the projection on the main screen where two men, about to come to blows, were frozen by the pause button. “So, in all senses of the quote, ‘What we have here is a failure to communicate.’ The breakdown of relations between nations is similarly the result of the inability to appreciate cultural differences and ….”

“And he’s an idiot,” muttered Cary, slouching down in his seat and getting ready to take a nap.

“Shush,” snapped Dianne. “Dr. Mundi is a genius.”

“So what? He’s still wrong. Language and misunderstanding is always just an excuse for a money grab by one side or the other. Just you watch: Any moment now he’s going to trot out Esperanto.”

“Esperanto,” said the Doctor. “Esperanto is a neutral language based on well reasoned—”

“Told you,” said Cary, sinking lower in his chair and smiling smugly.

Dianne ignored him and continued listening, glad that her co-delegate had the sense not to pull his ball cap over his eyes and start snoring.

“There are alternatives, however,” said Dr. Mundi, methodically working his way through his formal greeting in a dull, slow lecturing style, “and I would like to demonstrate one at the end of the conference….”

“OK, so maybe he isn’t an idiot, but I’m reserving my judgment for his demonstration of ‘Universalic’,” Cary told his tablemates at dinner. “He says it’s easy to learn, but I call bullshit. I couldn’t even grasp high school Spanish. And even if it is easy, that still doesn’t make him any less wrong. Look, when we were touring after the opening ceremony we were all in a foreign city, right? None of us can speak Italian, but Dianne bought another pair of sunglasses, Nikki got a watch and purse, Carlos got a bottle of water bigger than his arm, we all got food, and I got a sunburn, all without having to kill anyone.”

Short dark and handsome, Carlos from Spain wasn’t Cary’s style, but he seemed to have caught Dianne’s attention. His partner, an equally generically-named Maria, sat quietly with her drink and looked half asleep. If anyone should have been jet-lagged and exhausted, it should have been the eight-hours-displaced Cary. But not during a debate. Never during a debate.

“That’s not the point,” groaned Dianne, looking much more comfortable in jeans and a tee shirt with her dark red hair out of its bun and in a ponytail to curtail the ringlet’s tendency toward expansion into a head-dominating, sexy fire. “Come on. Someone back me up here.”

“That is the point!” said Cary. “We were able to conduct fair economic transactions without knowing the language or the culture. So long as the economics are balanced—fair—there is no need for fighting. If we really want peace, all we need to do is to level the playing field. Eliminate the tariffs and subsidies—”

“Never going to happen,” said Carlos. “Far too much money to be made in unfairness.”

“We tried fair system,” said Nikki. “The closer to top you get, more fair you get. Is no such thing as fair. You tell him, Karol.”

“As much as I hate to credit him,” Nikki’s co-delegate, a bespeckled counter to the myth of Russian physical superiority replied, “Chairman Mao was correct; power does indeed grow out of the barrel of a gun. At the very least, that is what we found in Russia, and it is certainly at work in the United States of America’s recent foreign policy.”

“Oh great,” groaned Dianne. “Here it comes.”

“Here what comes?” asked Cary. “He’s right. Things are fair for us in the States because we spent a lot of time, money, and resources on making things fair for us. We put up the costs, we reap the rewards. I’m all for an even playing field, but I’m also a realist. It’s not going to happen without a lot of work by everybody. Remember what Dr. Mundi said earlier: We are the world’s future leaders, but only if we work for the privilege. If we don’t, then we’ll be no better than the yokels we would otherwise be leading.”

Cary took a long pull of his drink, grimaced, and added, “But I’ll miss all of it if someone doesn’t turn off that stupid Muzak. It makes me want to kill myself.”

The rest of the people at the table stopped to listen for a moment. Finally, Nikki shook her head.

“What is wrong?”

“I dunno. Something grating in the background like interference, but it’s not random. It’s driving me nuts.”

“I do not hear anything,” said Carlos, making eyes at Dianne.

She looked back at Carlos and winked. “It’s all just in your head, Cary. You probably took too many pucks to the facemask, Mr. Hockey Scholarship.”

Nikki lit back up, her smile brighter than ever. “Hockey?”

“Not much else to do for half of the year in Denver,” Cary said with a shrug. “I play goalie. You always put the fat kid in the net, and I just got good at it.”

“And less fat,” said Nikki, this time Cary wasn’t so dazed by her body to not see the appraising look. He didn’t like her body any less—far from it! He was easily ten times hornier than earlier, but he’d gotten somewhat comfortable around her sexual incandescence.

Possibly too comfortable for Karol’s tastes. He shot his countrywoman a volley of gibberish that Nikki returned with equal vehemence and greater speed.

“Men. Bigger breasts are, more they think they own you,” she translated. Karol spat more gabble, slapped the table with the palm of his hand, and stormed away.

“For good of the motherland,” Nikki continued, dripping sarcasm. “I must bear many strong Russian children. Communism fall, but some things never change.”

“I wonder where sex fits on Dr. Mundi’s chart of causes of misunderstandings,” Dianne asked Carlos, an inviting lilt in her voice.

At first he thought the voice was Dianne, but she didn’t have a room key, unless Carlos gave it to her. Unlikely considering they’d left together and Carlos hadn’t come back. Odds are the two of them were off enjoying the sights of Rome, but that was just fine since Cary had a presentation to finish for the morning—half a day earlier than scheduled. Unfortunately, he also had an erection that didn’t seem to want to go away or settle down, even after a fantastic Nikki-fueled fantasy. Soon taking another break would have been his only option, but now her melodic, accented voice had come to compound his interest.

“Cary? You are awake?”

“Ye-ahh,” was how he started, when he saw Nikki’s blonde head looking around the open door, but what made it out was, “Yeee-ipe!” as more of the Russian slipped into sight.

More being the operative term. Nikki had a lot more on display. Nikki in her tight jeans and tops was a typical—and very attractive—sight, but the baby blue camisole matched her eyes, right down to the way they both reflected a shimmering glint of light, while fitting better to a dazzling display of fitness than her street clothes could ever aspire. Nearly the whole upper half of her breasts were on display along with everything from a belly button Cary desperately needed to kiss sunk in her firm abdomen down to the slightly darker and shinier string-tied panties. Standing to tease in the light of the hallway, she looked impossibly beautiful, but clearly, she wasn’t. Impossible was a woman looking the way Nikki did standing in his doorway, smiling invitingly.

Clearly that wasn’t impossible, either.

Cary found himself staring and nearly speechless again. “Nikki? How?”

She shrugged, making her breasts bounce and sway beneath the cool blue, but very hot, lace. “Maria consoles poor Karol in room we share, so I leave, but first I try on few things from cabinet.”

She stretched, her legs and back arching slightly, pulling the blue silk and lace top even tighter, showing off a pair of perky nipples standing stiffly at attention in full dress uniform. “You like? Italian hotel very different from Russian hotel. There you just get towel, if lucky.”

“Yeah,” he stammered, his cock trying to burn its way out of his pants. “That was in your room?”

“Is nice, yes?”

He nodded, his eyes fixed on a lock of hair slowly being wrapped around her index finger. “Yeah,” he said again.

“I try find Dianne, but she and Carlos….” Nikki took a step, her long leg scissoring out, muscle flexing on her tanned and toned leg, the shifting and tensing continuing under her thigh-high stockings. Slowly she set down her blued high heel on the ball of her foot, careful not to snap the long, slender spike in back. She took another slow step as she continued her lyrical torment of his libido. “He give me key and make me promise not to bother while you work, but I am too…. What is word? ‘Horny?’”

She waited for Cary’s reply before giving up and prompting for one. “You say it as what when too excited by prospect of passionate lovemaking to relax?”

“Right,” he choked, trying to force his brain back into the thinking gear. “Horny. Right. Sorry.”

“Not time to be sorry,” she said, slowly closing the distance between them. “We have long, tiring day tomorrow, but I am too horny to sleep. Must relax. Reduce tension.”

She was playing with him, Cary had no problem seeing that, but it was not like he cared. Tomorrow’s speech mattered to little that it may as well have been planned for another hundred years hence.

Nikki sat on the small work desk and sliding herself over his notes to sit directly in front of him, her legs demurely crossed and running down his left side. “Time is now to be not worrying about presentation. You stop and enjoy. Morning come soon enough.”

Leaning forward, their lips brushed as one hand steadied her on his shoulder and the other began exploring downward. “Morning come too soon.” She attacked the buttons of his shirt, restraining herself somewhat on the first one before throwing all notions of moderation to the wind on the third.

Her lips crushed in to his and his hands, cautiously resting at the most slender part of her waist, tightened and then slid up under her top. Nikki moaned into his lips and her fingers clawed into the front of his shirt, gripping and getting ready to tear it open.

Saving the shirt from being torn to ribbons was a consideration secondary to getting it out of her way as quickly as possible, so he let go of Nikki and broke the ardent lip-lock barely long enough to pull the shirt up over his head. Bound together because he couldn’t get his hands past the still-buttoned cuffs, his arms wrapped around his panting partner.

“I tie you to bed later,” she gasped. “Want touch now. Want all of you. Not clothing.”

He pulled her off the table and onto his lap so he would have more room to work on his tangled shirt and hands, and she dropped onto him willingly, pressing into him groin to lips. Her body molded to his perfectly.

She pressed his head between the palms of her hands, her fingers winding into his hair, as she pulled, pushed, and turned his head this way and that to maintain a contact while grinding into him.

Morning and Cary both came too soon, but Cary first, by far. Excitement, combined with exultation of finally freeing one hand, and no small amount of friction on the stiff shaft in his pants, boiled over.

At his first moan and autonomous thrust, Nikki’s lips twisted into a smile again. She sat back in his lap and tried to look down between them.

“Oop,” she cooed.

“Sorry,” Cary mumbled in response, slouching in disgust at himself.

“Do not be. Is nice to be wanted.” The chair rolled backward as she pushed with arms and back against the table, lifting her breasts into perfect position.

Cary couldn’t resist the invitation, even if it was unintentional. He closed his lips down on a peaked nipple through the blue satin and sucked softly. Nikki’s body jolted, not quite as much as his had a minute earlier, but the movement and the sound she made was equally pleasing. As his arms—one still dragging a shirt—enfolded her, she leaned back pressing the soft roundness further into his face and once again cinched her hands onto his head.

In what felt like no time at all, his cock strained against his pants seeking another release. Nikki, now topless, took the hint and wriggled out of his grip, slipping down between his legs.

At first, ‘Blowjob?’ raced through his mind, but instead the fevered cavorting had spun the pair around and Nikki pulled him off the chair onto his bed—Carlos’s bed, not that he was likely to need or want it that night—on top of her. He lowered himself carefully, not wanting to break anything. He didn’t, even when the rolling around got heated and they ended up on the floor between the two beds.

After the fall, Nikki took advantage of both being on top and Cary lying too dazed to make out by unbuttoning, unzipping, and then tugging his pants down his legs. She stopped partway down to wake him with a specially placed kiss and then decided to linger for a while.

Cary played possum for a while and enjoyed her playful attention before he found himself compelled to play with the hair tickling his thighs.

“I knew you faking,” she said. “You stop moaning. Is OK?”

“Is awesome!” Cary replied. “Why’d you stop?”

Her eyes glinted. She slithered up his body, slowing for a few moments to drag out his enjoyment of the valley of her breasts surrounding his ready-to-ignite dick. Or maybe it was just to kiss her way up his chest. Their lips met briefly, and then she sat up on him, grinding the base of his cock into her pussy.

“Is now my turn.” She tugged the twin knots holding her panties up and the satin barrier dropped off to cover his balls. She rose, swept the damp underwear out of the way and squealed as Cary stood, picking her up and carrying her with him to his bed—all of two steps.

Ultimately the new day was ushered in by a rhythmic pressure on his hips and a smooth, sliding sensation gleefully exploiting his morning wood.

“Good morning, lover!” cooed Nikki when he moaned and his eyes fluttered open. “Ready to start again on long, hard road to world peace?”

She looked as though she’d gotten partway dressed to leave at some point, but had changed her mind. Her breasts swayed beneath the blue sexwear as her body rolled forward and lifted, allowing his straining cock to almost escape her warm confines, before pushing back and down as Cary’s legs and stomach tensed, driving himself deeper into the Russian delegate.

She sighed through the thrust, the look on her face matching his almost exactly. Wish we have time for more.” She circled her hips around and her thighs, one shrouded in blue stocking, went taut as she lifted again, repeating her slow fucking motion. “Breakfast, your speech, then tour of ruins. We skip tour? This much better than to take pictures of broken, old building.”

“Yeah,” he said, wondering why they couldn’t also skip breakfast and the presentations.

With Cary’s hands tracing a random pattern along her thighs, over her butt and up her back under the camisole before turning around and heading the other way, Nikki managed to maintain her slow-but-steady maximum enjoyment pace right up until the bitter end when she gasped loudly, quivered softly, and lay down on his chest. Body-heated silk and warm lips rubbed against him as she breathed.

Not yet finished, Cary carefully rolled them both over and began to thrust rapidly inside her, seeking his own climax, as the blonde vixen began to writhe, seemingly ready to climb to the next peak without fully dismounting the last. He groaned as the instigator of the best night of his life bucked and milked him, one powder blue stocking-clad and one tawny lifting leg lifting, wrapping, and tightening around his waist, pulling him in deeper, then relaxing so they could do it all over again. Her eyes shone as she laughed in glee and picked up the pace, driving him faster and faster.

“Nikki, Cary,” sighed Dianne, looking spectacular with her hair flowing over her diaphanous babydoll nightie in loose ringlets, from the wide-open doorway. “Come on you two! Jana and Nick locked me out of my room and I need something to wear, you’ll be late for breakfast, and I’m getting wet again watching you two. Jeeze. After last night, no way my pussy can take any more.”

Cary stiffened, almost losing it as shock nearly wasted the onrushing orgasm by replacing it with mere, unavoidable, ejaculation, but Nikki wouldn’t let him. She ignited, hammering the two together as she screamed and Cary began to spurt.

It was by far the calmest Cary had ever been while presenting, the only source of anxiety being the hungry gazes of the female half of the delegates. The male half looked equally distracted, but they were lost to ogling one or more of the female delegates. Some went beyond staring and into deeply, but politely quiet, appreciated digital manipulation. Once he had to pause as one of the South American delegates tore open her top and howled her way through a very physical climax, but for the most part things went smoothly.

As he spoke, his eyes drifted over the audience. There wasn’t a woman in the place that didn’t send his mind in the direction of dick-stiffening, naughty thoughts, but he pushed through and kept the bulk of his attention on his presentation. Most of the ladies were simply casually dressed in tight tee shirts and shorts or skirts, but some pulled out all of the stops. One in the second row, a Southeast Asian, had thrown a very low tube top over an ornate bra of some sort. Noticing Cary’s attention, she sat up a little higher and lifted her shirt to give him a better look. If he’d had glasses, they would have steamed up because the bra wasn’t the end of it.

Not wanting to be out done, the girl beside her sneered and stripped off her blouse. Beneath the common cotton, she’d hidden a black silk-and-lace number worthy of the cover of an erotic novel. She leaned back, snuggling deep into her seat to give him the best of all possible views to be had from the podium.

Cary stared for a moment, then cleared his voice, and refocused on his topic as the two girls looked at each other meaningfully and began to make out.

“And for one final conclusion,” Cary said to close off his speech a few minutes later, “I would love to do dinner with my esteemed colleagues from Brazil.” He winked at the smoldering, half-dressed Latino screamer with the skirt a belt around her waist and her tattered shirt showing off the remains of the creamy silk dream still dangling from her breasts.

She looked down at her state of dishabille, shrugged, and smiled back, casually removing and dropping the destroyed garments on the empty seat beside her.

As he left the stage, the annoying, scratchy sound from the PA system annoyed him, but not nearly as much as it had the day before.

Someone adjusted the dinner schedule in response to his voiced prayer, and after a large lunch and an afternoon of sightseeing, Cary first devoured dinner and then the exceptionally lusty Juana of Brazil, feeling her ecstatic motions and listening to her cries as she kicked her way into and through another of the violent fits that accompanied her sexual peak. She was such an amazing desert that he went for seconds.

“You must be good for more than just ‘American’ with that mouth,” panted Dianne as she casually rode Mr. Brazil. Her hair swayed with her slow, measured movements, the curly tips dancing atop a pink vest-like thing made predominantly of lace and held together with a small red bow just low enough to gather cleavage without reducing the view. Mr Brazil’s dark hands took advantage of the singular tie and worked beneath the filmy material to stroke a body every bit as well maintained as Dianne’s precise manner suggested.

Dianne shivered at a particularly well-aimed caress and cleared her throat to add, “I might just let you debate me later. But no politics, OK? We’d just start fighting again.”

Cary nodded in agreement and spread the semi conscious Juana on the dinner table. She squirmed and mumbled delighted phrases far beyond his understanding of Spanish—Portuguese he corrected himself—as he slowly worked her nearly transparent, liquid-stained panties down a pair of long, firm legs. “Don’t think I’ll have time tonight. One of the South African delegates wanted to have a chat. She’s actually read some of my papers.”

“Ohhhh. And she has such a sexy accent.” Dianne jolted and ground herself around in a circle, before asking, “Cary, I know you’re a guy and guys are always thinking about sex, but have you ever felt this horny before? I’m no slut, but I’m not a prude either, and I feel like I could fuck the whole world. I want to fuck the whole world. That’s how horny I am.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” babbled Juana, her accent suddenly gone as she drove her hips and her gripping thighs tried to force Cary’s probing cock in deep. “Fuck!”

Listening to her request—her demand—his need rose exponentially. All thought of relaxed enjoyment gave way to the need for raw satisfaction as quickly as possible. Bending over he began to give Juana what she wanted: A fast, thorough pounding.

“She learns quick,” quipped Dianne, her eyes glazing and her own gyrations accelerating. “Or that’s the only word of English that she can actually get right.”

With every harder, swifter, thrust of her hips, her breasts bounced higher, threatening to escape the flimsy-looking lace creation. The soft, pleasure-maximizing rhythm she and Mr. Brazil had set exploded into mindless rutting; her concern over her out of control desires receded into some rarely looked at part of her brain as her face slackened. “Ohhhh yeah,” she moaned. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

A plate dropped and shattered at a nearby table, followed by a loud moan and tearing of cloth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” screamed Miss Taiwan as she slammed herself down on Mr. Serbia, impaling herself on the erection jutting from his ripped pants.

“Ung, ung, ung, ung!” groaned the female delegate from France as her head bobbed quicker on the Argentinean’s cock. She spread her legs and pussy wider to tempt the passing Mr. Indonesia. His eyes glassy, he mindlessly unzipped his pants and took the invitation.

A chair toppled over in the distance, and the sound of frenzied carnal activity filled the dining hall as though a wave of undeniable lust radiated out from Juana, overwhelming all those who heard her cries.

As for the instigator, Juana sat up on her elbows, and then all the way up to get all of the way involved, kissing and humping madly against him as the table began to rock beneath her, threatening to tip as her movements became wilder. Cutlery hit the floor, a glass smashed, and Cary stopped feeling up her large breasts and tried to slow her. Failing that, he held on tight to her bucking ass in case the table collapsed. It didn’t, but when Juana began to scream and bounce as he came inside her, it was a very near thing.

As the Brazilian sunk back to the table, Cary pulled out, turned around, and kissed the server who had been pressing into him from behind and fondling his balls.

“Mmm hmmm! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” she said in flawless English as he tongued her ear and worked her blouse open.

Mindy (Not really Mindy, but the name sounded close enough.) the female half of the delegation from South Africa, held a slinky red dress in front of her naked body and asked, “How’s this?”

Unlike the rousing discussion that preceded her request for a “man’s input on a gown for tonight,” it had nothing to do with politics or economics, but Cary still had an opinion.

“Niiiice!”

She did a little spin that did nothing to show off the dress, but everything to show off a stellar set of legs and firm pair of buttocks that left Cary wondering about what the big deal with interracial relationships was. And not for the first time he pondered how many points physical attractiveness had been worth on the selection process. He could count the number of ugly girls at the conference on the fingers of one head.

Looking over her shoulder and wagging her ass, Mindy said, “You’re just saying that because I’m naked behind it.”

“From my point of view, you’re naked in front of it, and in five minutes you’ll be naked inside it. What’s the difference?”

“Naked?” she said with a laugh. “Not likely! Not with the matching pair of red panties that a tramp wouldn’t get caught dead in I found in the dresser. Whoever is keeping the rooms stocked has excellent, if slightly trashy, taste. It’s odd. Normally I wouldn’t be caught dead dressed anything like I do here, but….”

Out in the hallway, the PA system crackled an announcement—the Delegation Ball was about to start—and Cary rubbed his ears. Mindy moaned and dropped the gown.

“But now I can’t imagine living without lace. How about we dance later?” she said, her eyes lighting up. “The party won’t really be starting for another few hours anyway.”

She reached back into the closet and pulled out a virgin-white teddy that most certainly was not intended for virgins—not more than once, anyway.

Standing behind what little of it there was, she asked, “How about this?”

“You ever get the feeling that something is weird here?” Cary asked Mindy quite a while later, after the initial rush to climax had worn down. They had stopped to get dressed once and go to the dance, but hadn’t made it as far as opening the door and hearing the sounds of the party and the pulse of the music. Their clothes pooled on the floor and Cary had her pressed against the open door, plunging—heedless of her scandalous red panties—into her with a passion that could not be denied or quenched. Now they lay spooned on the bed, the room locked up once again and the ball long forgotten. “That ring means you’re engaged back home, right?”

“Uhhhm, yessss,” she moaned, squirming desperately against the fingers beneath her red panties, trying to drive them deeper into her. “What?”

“I asked if you have a boyfriend at home.”

“Husband,” she corrected, pulling his hand away and rolling over to face him. “Fingers not enough.”

“You’re married?”

“He is at home. You are here. Take me again.” She wriggled her way down her mattress to surround his sticky and overused cock with her dark breasts, and Cary tried to get up the will to resist. The rest of the girls were open game, but someone’s wife? That was too much for Cary to deal with—except for his swelling, thickening, and decision-making dick.

“I guess it would be unfair to leave you out of all the fun,” it justified.

“So glad we understand one another,” she said.

During the night, Mindy left to find someone still capable of getting it up, so Cary staggered back to his room and slept like the dead well past his alarm. Dressing quickly in the first thing he grabbed, he hurried to get food before breakfast ended. Already the feedback or whatever it was in the Muzak had his brain aching, but Dianne’s transformation pushed that aside the instant she arrived at the table. She’d gotten her hair dyed a brighter red and styled into a fiery mane that contrasted with her lacy and racy, almost transparent, light green bustier and emerald skirt.

“Those look a lot like Nikki’s heels in, uh, green,” he said, pointing at her feet. The good night’s sleep allowed him all the time his dick needed to recover and begin to stiffen at a mere glance over the previously businesslike babe. “And plastic.”

“Aren’t they too much?” she giggled. “Total stripper heels! Nikki and I were fooling around a little last night—not like that, pervert—and she had a few suggestions.” Dianne straightened up to give him a better look and flushed, seemingly heated by Cary’s response. She had much nicer legs than he’d suspected, and the stockings nearly set him off in his pants.

“And look at you! Wearing a suit to breakfast?” She licked her lips. “Looking good, stud! If you weren’t such an ass, I’d fuck you myself.”

Cary looked down at himself, blinked, and then scanned the dinning room. The other guys coming late to breakfast were dressed semi-formally and the gals looked dressed to incite some serious action, some more extreme than others, but mostly in revealing scraps of silk and lace and all expecting a good time to be had.

“It was the first clean thing I found,” he said. “Where are all of these clothes coming from, anyway?”

Dianne shrugged and sat, her skirt sliding up well past her knees to show a hint of garter straps. A brief mockery of a suit jacket hung draped over the back of the chair beside her. “Who cares?” She looked at him meaningfully and said, “I’m hungry.”

Cary stared as, moaning softly, she orally pleasured her cereal spoon.

“Give you any ideas?” she asked, snapping him out of his daze. “Go get some food so you’ll have energy for later.”

She paused, then glared at Cary. “For Nikki, you twit.”

When he came back with a plate heaped with fruits meats and cheeses, Nikki had joined them and Cary had no idea which girl to stare in mindless lust at as he dropped into his seat.

Nikki might as well have been wearing lingerie herself; her shorts truly short and covering next to nothing while her top hugged tightly enough to put every conceivable detail of her firm body, and the floral pattern of what she had beneath, on display. Her bra served no useful purpose in terms of support, but she wore it anyway. She wore it well.

Sitting in the spot reserved for the absent UK delegates, Nikki ran her foot up and down his leg as though masturbating a huge cock.

“Mindy from South Africa’s married,” Cary said, trying to start up conversation because the blatantly lust on the girl’s faces almost frightened him. “And she doesn’t care. Weird, huh?”

“She’s her own woman with her own desires,” replied Dianne, “so it’s her business. Me, I do feel a bit strange. At home, I have sex every now and then when I’ve got a boyfriend who lasts long enough, but here I’m all sex, sex, sex! I spent last night with…. I don’t know who—whom, sorry—I spent last night with, but I should be all fucked out and I’m not. I’m dead on my feet exhausted and I want to fuck. I look at Nikki here and I want to fuck. I know she has her foot in your groin, playing around, and rather than being disgusted, my pussy’s gushing. I’m actually saying things like fuck and pussy, so yeah, something’s up. I’m having so much fun that it’s hard to care, though.

“For the first time in my life I’m doing something worthwhile. Not that this convention’s going to change anything, but the people we’re meeting… I’m learning so much! I’m practically a new person inside. I don’t want to go home! The guys are so dull there, and I don’t get to dress up like this and party every day.”

Nikki nodded. “I also have friend back home, but I find friends here much more sexy. This is also not me, but I like the now me. Much better fun. Many new clothes must I buy when I return.”

“If you think I’m not enjoying myself, you’re crazy,” Cary added in, “but I want to know why beautiful women like you are dressing like that and putting out for a guy like me at the drop of a hat.”

“Why?” asked Dianne, her shoeless foot joining Nikki’s. “And remember, you’re the guy in the poor man’s tux.”

“So he can get pussy at home as well,” replied Nikki. “Is what I would do.”

Dianne gave that some thought. Her foot retracted, slid back into its high-heeled fuck-me shoe, and tapped the floor. Then she stood and put her jacket on. Buttoning it up made her breasts stand out all the more, the cleavage on display looking like it sought to climb out and cover the whole world in curvy half-darkness. “You know, that I wouldn’t mind, either. Let’s go find out. Where do you think we can borrow a Great Dane and a pot-head from on such short notice?”

“What?” asked Nikki.

“Never mind, Nikki,” said Cary. “That was Dianne trying to make a joke, but don’t worry. I think I know where I want to start”

“That’s about as likely as aphrodisiacs in the water, Cary,” said Dianne after he explained his Muzak theory. “If you don’t start taking this seriously, I’m not going to fuck you. Subliminal messages don’t work.”

“There has to be something behind all that static. It didn’t start until the second day here, and that’s when everyone started becoming sex maniacs. What do you think, Nikki?”

“What is ‘aphrodisiac?’” she asked, not answering.

“A chemical that makes people want sex,” Dianne provided.

“Not here,” said Nikki, her hair sparkling with captured light as she shook her head. “I use bottle water. Music more likely. Soviets use it all the time.”

“See?” said Cary.

“The Soviet Union collapsed, Cary,” Dianne sighed. “Subliminals don’t work.”

“Can we at least look?”

“Pfff. You just want to get the three of us somewhere alone so you can have your way with us.” Dianne rolled her eyes, then raised her hands in exasperated surrender.

“We’ll never get in,” she said. “The AV room will be locked up tighter than a drum.”

And she was right. The AV room was locked, but the room across the hall that originated all the wires running into the AV room wasn’t because the door, jammed by one of the thicker cables, couldn’t close.

“Well that’s the crappy music, all right, but what’s with all of the other tapes?” asked Dianne, turning off the main feed going into the mixer.

She stopped and listened carefully. “Whispers. Son of a bitch, Cary. Someone might have been trying your crazy idea out.”

“What are they saying?”

“We find out!” Nikki said. Spinning the dial on a random tape player, she turned the volume up and all became clear.

“Women: listen to my voice and obey!” ordered the internal speaker. “Obey! Obey! You are becoming more and more aroused. Fucking consumes your idle thoughts. You must have sex. You want sex all of the time. You need sex all of the time. Women: listen to my voice….”

“Holy cow!” blurted Cary.

“I obey, I obey,” droned Nikki and Dianne together. “I am becoming more and more aroused. Fucking consumes my idle thoughts….”

Cary stood stunned for a few moments as the girls chanted a personal version of the tape’s message, then he recovered enough to flip off the player.

“I must have sex,” continued the girls. “I want sex all of the time. I need sex all of the time. I obey, I obey. I need cock in me constantly. I will take it any way I can.”

They kept going, dredging up the messages burned into the backs of their minds, repeating the past several days’ worth of programming without the prompting of the tape.

“I obey, I obey. I love being sexy. I need silk and lace on my body. Ordinary underwear makes me look frumpy. I live to wear lingerie.”

“Dianne? Nikki? Wake up?”

“I obey, I obey,” said the girls, but they obviously weren’t obeying him. “My body is built for fucking. I will dress it accordingly, and I will acquiesce to its demands. In its service, I have no inhibitions, no fears. I will have sex. I want to fuck. I need to fuck. I must fuck.”

“Dianne? Snap out of it,” he ordered, grabbing her shoulders and shaking. Her head bounced around, then her eyes cleared and focused and Cary let go.

Dianne wavered on her feet for a moment, shaking her own head to clear it, then looked up at Cary. Her eyes glazed over again, but for an entirely different reason. She licked her lips and, with thoughtless effort, unclipped and dropped her skirt to the ground. Beneath the garter belt, her shiny silk panties were utterly drenched. She tore them in half and let them drop to the floor and join the slick pool building between her legs.

“Get those pants off and fuck me right now!” she demanded.

“Dianne, you don’t really want to do this,” Cary cautioned, backing away from the psychologically altered woman.

“I am a leader and must breed future leaders. I obey, I obey,” said Nikki, running her hands over her splendid body as she shook with lust. “I must have sex….”

Pinning him against a desk, Dianne tore at Cary’s suit, trying to free a cock that had gone erect despite his protestations.

“Dianne, stop! Whoever did this wants you to be a baby machine, not a real person. Stop!”

She did stop, but only long enough to say, “Our babies will lead the world to peace! We have to fuck, Cary, the world depends on us!”

“I must fuck the other delegates. The world depends on me,” droned Nikki.

This had to stop. Cary wanted—needed—her so very badly, but it wasn’t really him. Or her. It was the Muzak. He pushed Dianne back, but her grip on his undone pants took them down to his knees as she fell over. Grinning, she pulled them forward, causing his knees to buckle and drop him onto the desk.

Then she leapt up and pushed, forcing Cary into a sitting position before diving onto him and knocking his head against the wall. Stars flashed and the room spun as wet pussy surrounded his throbbing shaft. Then the lights went out.

When Cary awoke, Nikki and Dianne were cavorting passionately atop the broadcast equipment. His pants tangled his ankles and lipstick neatly coated his dick, balls, and the inside of his thighs—very likely from attempts at waking him before the girls got lost in the pleasures of one another. Careful not to alert the two barely clad women as they finger fucked one another and necked furiously, Cary sat up.

“What on earth…!”

He spun toward the voice and felt like his aching head was about to twist off.

Dr. Mundi stood in the doorway, staring in horror, his mouth wide with shock. Then he yelled, “You fools! You’ve ruined everything!”

“You!” said Cary. “What did you do to them? To us?”

“To you? Done?” barked Dr. Mundi. “What have you done? The final conditioning… ruined! You fools turned it off! What are they doing? This won’t produce any offspring!”

“They’re delegates,” Cary said with a pain-shortened laugh. “You made us need to fuck delegates.”

The doctor stiffened. “That’s ridiculous! That’s not what I meant—”

And that’s as far as he got before Dianne flew threw the air, knocking him back into the hall and pulling Dr. Mundi down.

“And you’re a delegate, too. Technically.” Cary started to follow and separate the two, hobbled by his pants, when Nikki grabbed his leg.

“Fuck me, Cary!” sobbed Nikki as Cary looked down at her. “Please fuck me! I’ll take it any way I can. I’m so horny! So empty! You must fuck me!”

Hearing her words, Cary felt an intense surge of desire beyond anything he’d ever felt. He needed to fuck Nikki every which way, and unlike the still-struggling doctor, he already had his pants off so it was easy. He was already plunging madly into Nikki’s hot, wet body when he realized, “Nikki! That was perfect English!”

“It’s not English,” screamed Dr. Mundi, clawing his way out from under Dianne and toward the elevator. “It’s Universalic—the root of all languages. Help me! Stop her! You’ve ruined everything, you meddling ki—”

“Cum in me, Doctor!” shouted Dianne, nearly insane with lust. “Cum all over me! Cum in my mouth, my pussy. Cum in my ass! I want you! I need your babies!”

Suddenly the doctor stopped struggling to get away and began fighting with his suit, tearing at is as frantically as Dianne, seemingly no longer able to separate his desires from those of the redheaded delegate.

Dr. Mundi’s researches into a common language for all humans had found what he called Universalic and Cary, Nikki, and Dianne took to calling the command language. It doesn’t really sound like anything recognizable as a language, but anyone, regardless of cultural background, can understand it perfectly. And, if it’s pitched correctly, compels the listener to do anything asked.

Unfortunately for the doctor, his monotonous speaking style prevented him from ever discovering this significant detail. As far as he knew, he’d simply discovered the perfect translation aid, and as far as he was concerned, that was more than enough to program the next generation of world leaders into thinking his way through a week of nearly continuous subliminal bombardment.

It wasn’t, not really, because his technique was too crude, but some passion did leak through his normally monotone voice and infuse the command language with the emotional drive it required to force obedience.

Mundi truly did want peace, he really did, but it had to be Mundi’s peace. His carefully practiced and planned message of subservience to his desired secret empire had been too important to leave to chance or allow interpretation errors. As a result, it had been polished too much. With it delivered as a lecture—scrubbed clean of all passion—the mind rejected the message.

However, some of his peripheral ideas, without an excess of rehearsal, had true strength behind them. And, as it turns out, the doctor was something of, to quote Dianne, “a hypnokinky pervert. Probably wanted his own harem.”

Despite the nobility of his end goal, the concept of Pax Mundi did not go over well with the current world leaders. The command language itself, the governments of the world would have traded their nuclear arsenals to control. Frankly, they would have loved the idea; at issue was merely Mundi’s self-directed goal. Given the chance, they would have used the technology properly.

Which is why Cary, Dianne, and Nikki used the command language—burned into their brains by the final programming the rest of the convention missed—to convince their deprogrammers and the investigators to destroy Dr. Mundi’s work.

Still, the trio may well fulfill the dream of world peace one day. Nikki, for example, is already well on her way to the presidency of Russia and a unified Europe, but the US has hit a snag.

Dianne’s a Democrat and Cary’s a Republican.