The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Big Bouncers”

by Cristina Prince

PART FOUR:

- Down to the Donkey Den, 11:28 p.m.

“They’re not going to be as weird about it as you think. It doesn’t take more than forty minutes to get past the first two dozen rooms. You still have those cards, right?” Shayla wasn’t so sure what cards this chick was talking about, or why she didn’t just tell this girl off for begging the idea of going to the nightclub all night. Especially considering the news that her new co-worker could now be an operative for Big Bouncers.

Looking down at her breasts, she couldn’t help but snicker. All this talk about the club felt like it was giving her.. roomier boobs. It felt like every time that name jackhammered into her brain, the more physical space she took up. She wished she hadn’t taken four hits of that fluffy stuff. Her new co-worker was being plenty generous with her weed. Shayla felt comfortable enough to let out a clipped chortle at Emmie’s newly short hair. There was something skanky about the fact that she was wearing a wig through the entire shift. Despite herself, she felt the intrigue warming her and easing any imperative need.

She continued to glow as Emmie prattled on, relentless. “Well, if you don’t know where you put your business cards, it doesn’t really matter. You can get to the Donkey Den tonight and see that guy you were juicing over. You just have to give a blowjob to every bouncer!” She let the words simmer into the air sweetly, like the most syrupy of love songs. Emmie had to be joking. There was no way she could suck twenty-four dicks in one night! In fact, it couldn’t even be called a full night, there were only two hours until last call! She reasoned she could handle four, maybe five dicks at the most. If she had to. Somewhere in her brain, a faint glimmer of reality was hanging on by a thread, pleading with her to take control. She just couldn’t remember she didn’t even really like giving head. A ghost of a dick tickled her parched throat.

“I’m going to need a few cosmos if I’m going to tackle that many,” Shayla affirmed. She felt the words coming out of her mouth but still felt like she was only listening to herself talk. Was she really that stoned that she would forget having that thought? Why did she want to impress Emmie so much? She feebly tried to pause and regroup from her “open for business” admission. She straightened her skirt. Whatever flamboyant plastic material it was made out of, when it snapped back around her bubbly ass, it only broke her out of any serious notions she harbored. Her voice went on without her. “Nobody wants to fuck a sandpaper-mouth!” Even though it was corny, it was true. Still, there was no reason to get so excited about it.

“No, you’re right. Here, take this,” Emmie sighed, stifling a throatful of bud smoke, handing Shayla a sweating cup of iced coffee. “A little lubrication before a sexy libation!” The short-haired vamp tilted her head back and let out a delighted guffaw. Shayla didn’t understand what was so funny but ripped the lid off and gulped half of it down. Was it just because she rhymed? It sort of reminded her of her a song, but she couldn’t place which one it was.

She opened her pocketbook to reach for her iPod, but instead she pulled out a glittery cassette player. There was a solid pink tape in it with the words “Suck and Pump” printed on it in white. Oh! Shayla warmed at the thought. That’s right, one of those limo guys clipped this onto my panties as I was dancing! Hazy wisps of cigar smoke and uselessly expensive cologne gently caressed her memories as she, without any sort of hesitation, clipped it onto the front of her Café Prosperosa tank top. It made the tight ribbed cotton material sag down. She wasn’t sure exactly when she had the capability of presenting a somewhat believable cleavage without squeezing her arms together, but she wasn’t ready to complain about the shimmering walkman making it happen. She closed her purse, nary a thought as to where her iPod ran off to.

Something was off about her headphones. First of all, they weren’t bright orange if she remembered right. And they weren’t fluffy like earmuffs! These were big studio, low noise cans, too, not anything like the plain white earbuds she was accustomed to. Before she could open her mouth in exasperation, she could hear the pounding Sabrina backing track milkily flow out of the speakers as Emmie placed them softly on her ears. As the backbeat filled her, Shayla caught herself kissing back as her co-worker lunged for her lips. It was so unexpected, she was so taken aback that the only thing that felt close to logic was telling her to slide her tongue in Emmie’s mouth. Emmie’s fingers gently slid the volume knob up while her other hand lingered on Shayla’s left boob. The feeling was so good. She had never been with another woman before, and surprised herself with how easily she dove in. She was a bit sad when Emmie broke off the kiss, hoping for a bit more, but preened when she turned the music up even higher as she did so.

The two girls started to skip down the street until their heels pulled them back down to the earth and threatned to make them topple over. Shayla was so thankful that Emmie had tagged along, and even moreso now that she knew she worked for Big Bouncers! She popped an ice cube in her mouth and chomped down, the ice cold taste of Ugandan Princess giving her smooth skin goosebumps and causing her irascible nipples to stand to attention. Her new favorite song, “Boys”, had just finished boinging, and a vaguely familiar DJ’s voice moved in. “You’re listening to WXXX, this is Your All Shayla All The Time Station. Tonight, Shayla will be appearing live onstage at Plush Hangers, our downstairs room. So get your cards ready, and come on down. She’s going on at 12:30, so get a move on it! She’ll be there promoting her new single, ‘Suck and Pump’... and here it is, folks!”

Shayla knew every word to the hot jam seeping into her cortex. Her brain perked up momentarily and she remembered how she practiced it in the limousine with those men, using their cocks as play microphones. The chorus was easy enough: “Suck and pump / suck and pump / don’t you like the way I hump / grind me now, we buck and bump”. The beat was insistent. All the repetition in the lyrics subliminally eased their way into her natural action, and she was imagining the man with the soulpatch choking her with his cum as a cool burst of iced coffee flooded up the straw to her throat. She would have no problem singing this song now that the radio asked her to. It was kind of unnerving that there was a radio station devoted to her, but she figured it was about time someone paid her some respect. She had a tough day flirting at work. She couldn’t help it if everyone wanted her. It actually made her happy. Emmie’s hand snaking underneath her miniskirt and grasping her ass reinforced that fact. The two amorous co-workers rounded the corner to Big Bouncers with the dizziest of smiles on their faces.

- Do I Look Like a Slut?, 2:18 a.m.

Driving over the Schuylkill River and into West Philly, the two girls remained virtually silent in the aftermath of Shayla’s misjudgement. Plus, her mouth was too sore to just begin jawing anyway. It was getting late, too. Emmie took a left onto 42nd Street as Shayla pondered the likelihood of her performance making it to the website anytime soon. It didn’t seem too likely, but then again, the mystery dicks in the Gloryhole Garage did end up cumming in her mouth, didn’t they? That had to count for something. The rush of anticipation was enough to make her soak her panties again, despite herself.

This enthusiasm was short-lived, however, as they pulled up to her staid 60s apartment house. She looked up, expecting to see her left-on soft blue light instead replaced by angry flames. There was not an ambulance or fire truck in sight. “What.. the.. fuck,” she barely let out. She was stunned. Her record collection. Her kombucha culture. Half-done papers, photographs from her entire life. Her new bed—all gone! Her clothes—would they fit her now, anyway? She imagined pulling on that summer dress she bought two weeks prior. It would be hard to move, but she’d sure look—Hey, wait a second! Her eyes seemed to be grappling with her libido. My apartment is on fire!

Her limp wrist instinctively went for the cell phone in her shiny, candy apple red pocketbook. But before her silky digits could touch down on it, Emmie batted them away. “I’ll call the cops, don’t worry about it.” The flippant way she was handling the treatment of a burning apartment that belonged to someone she just met was troubling to Shayla. For some reason. But before she could even get a word in edgewise, the short-haired devil was yapping away rascally and flirtatious with some boy in blue. At least she hoped she was going to get a boy in blue. She decided maybe, just maybe it could turn into something hot.

“Alright, Officer Melkin,” Emmie placated. “Yeah, we’ll be there. Okay, Officer Melkin,” she teased. Her fingers lightly stroked her crotch. “I’m sorry—Officer Rocco Melkin.” She rolled the r and snapped her phone shut. She looked over to Shayla and put her hand on her face, slowly petting the girl’s cheek. “It’s going to be okay. You can’t go home right now, so my friend Rocky is going to help us unwind while I show you around your new room in my penthouse.” When Shayla opened her mouth and her tongue fumbled to speak, trying to pull some kind of firm rebuttal from her vocab, or ask why her new co-worker was talking to her like she was a second grader, Emmie placed a couple chocolate-covered espresso beans on her tongue like the Eucharist. She couldn’t remember what made her heart just rush right then. It probably had something to do with needing some coffee. That stuff was good.

The streetlights glazed the windshield as Emmie bounded past all of them. The sporty lavender hybrid raced to Rittenhouse Square as Radio Shayla consumed the car. The deejay, Dickie Dong, had just informed the listening audience that the past block of booming club bangers were all recorded by Lil Suzy in 1994. “If you were in the Donkey Den tonight,” he went on, “you might have seen the goddess Shayla go down on a few lucky guys. We wanted to see her rub those new little titties against some of them hungry poles, but maybe next time she won’t be as much of a goody-goody.” Shayla pouted at the dig. “Her next appearance is slated to happen at Emmie’s place in about five minutes, so stay tuned.” She couldn’t wait to perform for the helpful policeman!

“Do you think I’ll like him?” Shayla asked, expectant and bubbly. She self-consciously applied a fresh coat of lip gloss and puckered her plump lips together, fairly unsuccessful at stifling a tiny tide of drool moistening her hot tongue. A drip of saliva made its way from her warm wet lips, down her slight swan neck and finally landing somewhere on the dusky line of cleavage between her belling breasts. Emmie just tittered and popped a gum bubble.

“Sweetie,” she half-reprimanded, “it doesn’t matter if you like him. You’d better just answer all his questions.” She continued smacking her bubblegum. “And remember, serving the public makes a good man weary.” Her eyes narrowed into something playfully sinister. “Now it’ll be your turn to serve!” While Shayla certainly couldn’t deny how excited she was getting, she had to wonder what it had to with her burning apartment.

Now too distracted and overwhelmed to adequately contest the lingering lunacy of the situation, she was relieved when Emmie pulled into an empty parking spot in front of a towering apartment complex right in the middle of downtown. “Come on,” her new best friend and guide beckoned. “Let’s not make the guy wait. You’re good, but not that good.” Shayla blushed at the apt appraisal. The girl was right. All those dicks and she hadn’t fucked a single one! All she did was suck, suck, suck. I’ll show her, she thought. I’m gonna give Officer.. Stud..rickson the best civil servitude he’s ever had!

She hurriedly clacked her heels on the steps behind Emmie, eyes briefly lodged in the hazy cushion of the girl’s undulating ass. She was more than confident her own booty was even nicer, but she had to admit she still trailed behind her in the bust department. She was also getting used to the feel of hers, how obnoxiosuly snug her work tank was becoming. She felt really embarassed when she realized a cop was staring at her tugging at it, from down the hall.

“Freeze!” He shouted, sprinting over to the girls. If Shayla wasn’t so lazily lost in the policeman’s rugged jawline, she might have noticed Emmie masking a snicker. “Hands and feet against the wall, now!” Shayla instantly complied and jiggled her way into position, not wanting to disappoint him any further. She wagged her butt out as far as it could go without plucking her glommed-on boobies off the wall.

The officer unsheathed an intringuingly thick black nightstick, revealing the tip to be an impressive fake dick. He ran it along the underside of her knees and up her smooth, thick thighs to just below her pooching asscheeks. She could smell his refined, honed manliness as he let a couple bawdy breaths tickle her cute elfin ears. These suggestions soon became a burly bleat.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you choose to say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” He forcefully shucked the singer’s undies down around her ankles and brought the nightstick tantalizingly close to her labia, alternating between teasing and swatting the rod gingerly across her rump. Her panties lay at her feet, dripping onto her plastic orange pumps.

At this point, it would have been the deepest kind of ridiculous to show curiosity, but she felt obligated to inquire. “Aren’t you supposed to help me with my apartment?” She cocked her head to face him. It seemed too important to forget. Shayla emphasized the lost question by lowering two shady eyelids and clenching her teeth together. Rocky the cop shoved the long phallus in her, causing her knees to buckle and her throat to squeal.

“Oh, you mean the one you torched?” She held position as he pistoned the thing harder and faster into and out of her snatch. “Arson is a felony, ma’am. I could take you down to the station right now.” Visions of her getting stuffed by five or six policemen in a small dark holding cell shoved themselves into her mind’s eye. There was no making sense of this. With each pounding, her priorities dwindled. Shayla had trouble recalling when or how she could have even started the blaze, but she sure was sorry. She was thrilled when he told her he wasn’t going to throw her in jail.

He removed the sexy nightstick from her, and all too soon. Shayla’s face had easted into a cartoonish sort of disappointment. Officer Rocky motioned to Emmie’s apartment. The light was on and the door was ajar. “Come with me, miss.” She battled the urge to jump onto his strong shoulders. “I just need to ask you and your roommate some followup questions.” Shayla felt a toppling thrill at being a bad girl. She wanted some more of that good kind of punishment, and eagerly tagged behind, her point of view and pelvis in rapt attention on the policeman’s pinchable butt. Her panties fell off her feet and into the hallway.

They found Emmie in an ornate pink and gold bedroom, a different blond wig on, reminscent of classic Hollywood. She was wearing only a faded denim strip, really more of a belt than a skirt, and puffed greedily on a spliff. The apartment had the distinct musk of Ugandan Princess even though it was tailored to an American sort of fairytale. There were afterthoughts of pineapple and papaya. Shayla felt trapped by her senses, but couldn’t help herself and plucked the joint from her friend’s fingers, joining her on her fluffy mattress. The cop retrieved a pad and pen from his belt and stood above the sprawled girls. They were writhing in desire, rubbing each other’s feet together. Shayla rested her head on Emmie’s tummy.

“Okay,” Rocky huffed, tapping his pen. “How old are you?” She had to think. Why did this question make her feel weird? Prom was coming up in a couple of months, and her birthday was..

“She’s eighteen,” Emmie tossed the age aside, clearly older. More experienced than her. A true professor on the ways of the world. “She’s legal.” She put out the spliff and exhaled a last cloud of smoke.

“And what’s your cup size?” He asked, without a glint of pleasure or eagerness in his eye. Shayla struggled to get with it as she felt her body glow, super stoned and ready for amazement. Still, her breasts were always a point of disgrace to her, and she couldn’t figure out why he would want to ask that if he was, minutes earlier, chastising for setting fire to her own apartment.

“My.. cup size?” she gurgled and sat up. “What does this have to do wi—mmph—” The policeman disposed with the rest of that sentence by sliding the cock end of the nightstick down her throat. At first she was dismayed, a bit taken aback by how warm it was, but soon started suckling on it with total relieved abandon. It tasted like coffee. Emmie hefted one of Shayla’s boobs and began reaching around in a drawer full of lacy undergarments. She pulled out a red bra and threw it at the girl.

Shayla looked at it curiously while still fellating the pacifying dildo. The tag said 36C. She didn’t usually wear bras, but that didn’t seem like it would fit her at all. The cop took out the slobbered-on nighstick from her mouth and lightly flicked it against her bottom. “Come on, Shayla,” he said, the way he uttered her name sending all sorts of pastel butterflies through her. “Put it on!” Before he could even finish the command, she had, and it fit perfectly. She marvelled at the fact that she was now equal to Emmie, if not better than her. No. There was no way she could possibly be better. We’re so sisterly!

“I’m a 36C!” she beamed, her wet smile a tart promise.

“Not too bad, I guess. How many dicks would you say you’ve sucked tonight?” Shayla had to think. It was so stupid to have to think. “Um..” She counted on her fingers a half dozen times. “Um...”

“She sucked eight different gentlemen off at the club, sir,” Emmie interrupted. “But she didn’t fuck anyone!” It was true. She just hadn’t made a good impression. She wanted to show some restraint, but was really regretting not servicing all of her needs after singing her heart out. She had heard of all-night parties happening there, but had been kicked out when it was last call and she still didn’t climb aboard a cock.

“Well there you go, little lady!” Officer Rocky chuckled, licking two fingers and sliding them up her pussy. “Big Bouncers isn’t gonna call the cops unless there’s a problem.” He played with her clit. “And that,” he said, now seated behind her, licking the back of her neck, “is one huge problem. You gotta learn how to fuck with your fanny and not with your mouth.” Shayla, contrite, pulled up her skirt all the way over her head, and silently began to grind on the policeman, unzipping him and putting him in, her muscles locking and unlocking in fluid joy.

Emmie looked on, dejected, sadly playing with her upturned nipples. Rocky looked at her out of the corner of his eye and felt a startled bit of empathy for once. Shayla was really hopping fast now and he’d be damned if he stopped her bouncing, but he had an idea. With one hand clutching her feeding ass and the other free, he dipped into his pocket and flipped open a phone.

“I need backup!” He paused while the other end laughed. “Hey, who else do we have on tonight for acquisitions management, we got.. Officer Ramrod or Zahedi?” He humped with similar intent to that of his face. “No, no.. Father O’Riordan is a bit much for tonight..” His eyes suddenly widened. “Unless..”

- Makes Me Wanna Pray, 11:42 a.m.

Shayla foggily yanked her head up from the pillow. It felt like she had been sleeping for months. She looked at her wrist but her watch was gone. She did notice some cute nail work, though. She slowly pulled her upper body up against her soft pink headboard. The sun was glistening on the gold cross hung around her neck. It rested just above her pendulous breasts, heavy with a night of rough sex with a cop and a priest. She just had to laugh.

They had made her agree to begin to perform pseudo-religious material alongside her raunchier hits, and at first she resisted, but once she had eaten a couple coffee-flavored communion wafers, soon realized that whatever religion this priest was practicing did not deviate from worshipping her body or bodies like hers. That made her feel special. She could be looked at as a prophet by just singing and gyrating. She pulled the discarded red bra on from the night before. Her titties were making it too tight to wear.

She got up to see what she could put on when Emmie walked in, carrying a glittering cell. “It’s your sister, Carmen,” she said, and handed it to her.

“Hey, girl!” Shayla said, rifling through skimpier and skimpier underthings. Finally she just opted to wear some green hotpants and a yellow halter. “You got fired?!” She didn’t need a bra anyway, who was she kidding? She looked astounding. She clipped a golden hoop earring on one ear, and almost dropped the other. “No, I’ve never heard of Big Bouncers,” she lied. “But you know what, I was talking to my pastor last night and he told me that there’s a place down south that pays a pretty penny for their journalists,” she continued lying. “It’s about two hours from the city, it’s a new development.” She paused and smiled. “It’s called Cherub Cove.”

THE END