The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Mom, did you hear me? I said I prefer the emerald ballgown with the sequins.”

Candice looked up from her phone with a guilty start to look at her daughter Madeline whose head was poking through the changing room curtain.

“Are you sure, Sweety? It has a lot of fabric you know...” She protested weakly as the young woman frowned unhappily back at her.

Well it was true, the over-elaborate gown did have a lot of fabric. A lot of very costly fabric at that.

Candice was sitting on a small padded stool in Madam Sentani’s; a high-end bridal and evening wear boutique crowded in on all sides by racks and hangers overflowing with dresses, slips and gowns. They came in every hue, style and cut conceivable. All in shining silk, soft satin and sheerest chiffon trimmed in delicate lace, elegantly embroidered or beaded with glittering rhinestones.

The deceptively small tags hanging from sleeves and backs held devastating prices. Each garment was hideously expensive as though to counterbalance with how extravagantly glamorous it promised to make the lucky buyer appear. Candice was sitting upright and tense, trying not to touch anything on the off chance she might have to pay for it.

“Well, let me see how you look before we come to a final verdict.” She gave Madeline a weak smile and gestured her over.

Madeline harrumphed her way out of the stall and struck a pose—one of her pageant poses—with limited success. The gown was luxurious in soft crimson tulle, the fitted satin bodice showcased a sweetheart neckline and beaded lace straps. It, like everything else in the store, was gorgeous and had the added appeal of being one of the only affordable pieces on display.

Quite unlike the sequined emerald ballgown with its rolling acres of lavish silks and exorbitant crystal ornamentation.

“Oh Madeline, I think you look lovely...”

“Lovely isn’t going to impress the Judges, Mom.” Madeline groused, “I need to look stunning to score well in the evening-wear round. I need the emerald ballgown.“

What Candice needed was some fresh air. The shop felt stuffy with lady’s perfume, the closeness of all the cloth and the crushing metaphysical weight of retail extortion. She stood up trying to maintain the increasingly fragile smile.

“How about you get changed, Sweety. Mommy just needs to step outside for a minute to make a phone call.”

It was a lie but a harmless one. A small price to pay to settle her troubled mind and one she suspected would be the smallest price she would be shelling out for today if Madeline got her way. Her daughter gave her a suspicious glare.

“You’re not going to smoke are you? You said you quit.”

“Just a phone call, I promise. I’ll be right back.” Candice assured as she pushed through the crowded racks for the front door.

Candice wanted a cigarette. Oh, how she wanted a cigarette!

...but she had promised herself a fresh start when they had made the move out to the Midwest. A new marriage, a new home, a new job and a new her.

So far it wasn’t going so well.

The family had moved to New Billington when her newlywed husband Grant had accepted a Research Associate position with the local College. It made a lot of sense at the time. Housing costs were lower in the small college town and as a market research analyst who worked remotely from her laptop, Candice could earn her living anywhere that had power, a wireless signal and a half-decent coffee shop.

Then she had lost her job when the New York consulting firm she worked for was consolidated into some faceless mega-corp and her entire department was restructured to a rice paddy somewhere in South-East Asia.

There wasn’t much demand for over-qualified market analysts in New Billington, Indiana population 53,000. So Candice’s new job was in a small four-story concrete office block, performing mindless data-entry for a locally-based freight and logistics carrier. She even had her very own five by five cardboard cubicle that felt as warm and personal as a prison cell.

Then there was her not-so-happy home life to comfort Candice. Madeline had not been best pleased with being uprooted from her teenage life in the city and turned all that resultant angst on her new step-father Grant. Blaming the bookish, intellectual man for her unwelcome relocation and keeping the tensions in their white-picket place of residence at an all-time high.

Candice knew Grant was trying his best, Dear Lord he was trying but he was a deep thinker who preferred feelings more in theory than in practice. He wasn’t exactly cold, per se but a logical and rational debater unaccustomed to the wild mood swings and incapable of effectively communicating with an upset teenage girl he didn’t know how to parent.

Oh and to top it all, Candice was gaining weight. There was the whole hand to mouth action—Candice disliked the term “oral fixation” on principle—which felt empty without a cigarette but was seductively replaceable with a quick snack.

Maybe that was why she stopped where she did on the small town’s charming main street. The constant commercial turn-over from a few thousand college coeds a year sustained these broad boulevards lined with bars, shops, restaurants, and other small businesses that still retained their vintage flair. They were the quintessential hubs of any small community and unchanging as a mountain face. So it was always something of a surprise to see a new storefront appear among the old sandwich boards leaning out in front of the hardware store and the ancient wrought iron benches set outside the local deli.

B.B’s Boulangerie Pâtisserie

The words were painted in a curling flourishing font and framed in a tasteful art deco border on a blade-sign that looked so fresh the paint must have still been drying. It was set above a pastel blue striped french awning that shaded the large front display window and the quaint timber and glass entry-door with an actual brass bell affixed to the frame.

Candice paused in front of it, worrying at her lower lip as she looked back and forth up the sleepy street. The morning bustle had died down with most students in classes and the locals hard at work. Where she would be if not for Madeline’s damnable gown fitting. When had the new business moved into the area? She couldn’t remember seeing any workmen renovating the store or even remember what had been in its place before. New Billington wasn’t large but... well, she was still fairly new to town.

The strangest part was how clean it all appeared.

Part of the old town charm was things that had that worn-by-time look, like antiques got. A lovingly long-lived sense of craggy brick walls rubbed smooth by decades of weather or wooden handrails deeply stained and polished by the countless thousands of hands that had gripped them.

Not here though, the storefront was brightly coloured and immaculate. The crayola yellow paintwork was faultless, the window glass smudge-free and spotless, even the footpath looked freshly scrubbed until it was near bone-white. It was as though something had sliced this bakery right out of a picture-book and dropped it right between Harold’s Home Hardware and Grouchoe’s Deli.

The bell above the door chimed prettily as she stepped inside. The overhead lights were so bright she had to shade her eyes and the smell! The sweet odor of sugar with exotic undertones of spice filled the air so thoroughly it tickled her taste buds. The entire interior was painted in shades of pastel pink and soft indistinct music lilted gently from hidden speakers.

Polished glass display cases were set in a neat row on either of an ornately carved wooden counter with an old fashioned nickel and brass Patterson cash register gleaming atop it.

Behind it stood a woman, she was posed so erect and motionless that Candice almost mistook her for a mannequin until she turned her head and smiled.

“Hi!” She said brightly then giggled as if she had said something amusing.

“Ummm... Hello.” Candice replied, blinking away the spots in her vision. The colours, the reflections, the lighting... Everything was very bright in here.

“Hi, hi!” The woman chirped again then continued to grin expectantly at her. As though she could stand there patiently all day smiling vapidly.

She was very beautiful, Candice could admit that with only a small pang of envy. She had high cheekbones and slightly upturned eyes. Her skin looked soft as a peach and her plump lips were painted the same pink colour as the paint on the walls. Her hair was blonde like golden sheaths of wheat in the sunshine, thick and hung in a long braid down her back.

“I was just stopping by to say hi, I’ve not seen you before.” Candice said in a friendly tone before asking, “Are you new?”

The woman’s fashion was decidedly odd. She wore the ruffled white farmhouse apron of a storekeeper from last century but under it she was snugly wrapped in a candy-stripe mini-dress that clung to her slender hourglass figure like a second skin. It stretched over thick hips, cinched in tight to a tiny waist before traveling up to explode outwards over a frankly ridiculous pair of breasts that pushed out the top frill of the apron in defiance of all Newtonian laws of physics.

Her cleavage was so immense that Candice thought she could smuggle entire baguettes within its pillowy valleys. A small embroidered frame on her apron had the letters B.B. within it.

“Yes... new, all new. All new B.B. Nice and pretty.” The blonde sang and then burst into another fit of giggles that made her huge breasts ripple. Did this B.B. think Candice was asking about her? She had meant to ask about the business. What was going on...

“Hello? Please wait a moment...” A deep male voice called from a dividing curtain behind the counter.

It was yellow. Like a lemon drop she noted distractedly. She took a deep breath of the sweet tasting air again, it was nice.

Very calming.

Her eyes fell to the display cases and stared. Beneath the shining glass were rows of little pastries and delicately iced confections arranged beautifully in perfect rank and file on little silver trays and lacy white paper doilies.

The pastries were fabulously golden, the tiny iced sweets were glossy, they glistened like cut gemstones in so many different shapes and colours it was like looking at a vast coral reef under warm tropical waters. It was entrancing.

“Welcome Mademoiselle, I see you are admiring my humble wares.“

Candice returned to the present to find a tall and darkly handsome man standing across the display from her with a pleased smile upon his lips.

“S-sorry...” She stammered apologetically, “I was just looking.”

She was looking at him now, drinking him in. He didn’t look like any Baker she had ever met. They all tended to be fat jolly types with layers of chins sporting well worn aprons and flour dusting them up to the elbows.

This man wasn’t even wearing an apron but instead a crisp white button up shirt with a candy red necktie and trim chocolate brown waistcoat over it. The sleeves weren’t even rolled up, instead they bulged against large muscles at his shoulders and biceps, buttoned smartly at the cuffs with ruby cufflinks and there wasn’t any sign of dough on his large hands or under his fingernails.

“No please, forgive me. I did not mean to startle you. Look all you like.” He said waving airily. His voice was richly accented, continental. “I am very proud of my creations.”

Creations... Candice found his command of English a bit off as her eyes locked on a small tray of glistening chocolate eclairs. Each was only the size of her thumb, perfectly identical to its companions and filled with rich ivory white cream. Cream... She licked her lips.

“You bake these in a factory somewhere? They are all very pretty...”

“A factory Mademoiselle? You wound me!” He protested theatrically, clutching at his chest. B.B. giggled again and this time Candice joined her.

He was very charming.

“No, I craft all my wares here, in-house and lovingly by hand as I was trained to do back home in Europe.”

“You’re the proprietor then?” She asked a little shyly and then clarified when he looked a bit confused, “The owner of the bakery?”

“Me? Never…” He replied, looking surprised, “Excuse, but I am merely a poor artist. My name is Jean, Jean Bimbeau...“

The name sounded a bit funny to Candice but she stifled a giggle not wishing to be rude. Jean slid an arm smoothly around B.B’s waspish waist and gave her firm hip a squeeze before planting a small kiss on her rosy cheek.

“...B.B. here is the owner. Without her genius none of this would have been possible.”

He pronounced her name as Bae Bae in his warm, accented tongue. Candice’s own tongue licked her lips again.

The vapid blonde giggled again and snuggled into his side looking up at him with big adoring puppy-dog eyes. She didn’t look like a genius to Candice but she didn’t like to say so.

She stood there dumbly not knowing what to say next, just watching the gorgeous couple kanoodle briefly until Jean turned his attention back to her.

“My apologies, you are our first customer and as such you are our favourite customer. You do not want to listen to me bore you.” He quipped, before turning the full force of his brilliant white smile on her again. “Please, tell us how we can help you today?“

Candice floundered, she didn’t know what to say! She hadn’t come in here intending to buy anything. Madeline was very insistent that they couldn’t keep sweets in the house—she was watching her figure. What figure? The girl was as flat as a washboard!—and Candice was increasingly aware that her own behind was spreading into more of a pear than a peach ever since she quit smoking...

“Mademoiselle, you look alarmed! Calm yourself.” Jean exclaimed in concern. “Take a deep breath...“

His voice was very soothing, Candice took a deep breath.

Sugar and spice and everything nice. Just like in the nursery rhymes. She almost giggled again but let out a relaxing sigh instead.

“... that’s better, now tell humble Jean what troubles you so.”

Candice didn’t know how long she spent in B.B’s Boulangerie Pâtisserie. She had vague recollections of pouring her heart out to the man (he was so handsome and sympathetic) about her job, the move interstate, the tensions at home and troubles with Madeline...

“She fell in with a clique of very pretty girls who are all caught up in the beauty pageant scene and now...”

Jean had nodded his head making sympathetic noises while B.B. mimicked him like a brainless bobblehead. They... He was sooo~ understanding.

She had read up on pageant culture, educated herself on the soaring highs and crushing lows the vulnerable young women experienced with every win and loss. The mental and eating disorders that were commonplace amongst the contestants. The objectification and chauvinism from the predominantly male judges. The backbiting and sniping between the girls and the mother’s…

“I don’t want to be a pageant mom! They are all a bunch of horrible, conniving vipers. I don’t think Madeline is even attractive enough to compete... Does saying that make me a bad mom too?“

She wept but it was true. Barely past her eighteenth birthday Madeline still had the figure of a fourteen year old boy. It was like puberty had passed her by and forgotten to swing back around to her. Her hair was long but mud brown, unmanageable and frizzy like Candice’s own. She was stick thin but lacked any womanly curves unlike the other girls who just seemed to blossom further into womanhood more and more each day.

Then there was the expenses, money wasn’t exactly tight with both Candice and Grant both working but the cost of hiring make-up artists, custom tailoring elaborate gowns, buying designer swimwear and the pageant classes...

“I believe I understand the problem.” Jean said, holding up his big hands palm out to slow her rambling to a stop. “You are stressed, overwhelmed, you feel unheard and unappreciated. I think we can help.”

The ”we” was lost on Candice as B.B. had wandered off somewhere during her endless meandering outpouring but Jean just looked at her with compassion. She blushed, embarrassed under his soulful gaze.

“Do you like cream puffs?” He asked, changing the topic abruptly and reaching down to slide open the back of a display.

Cream puffs?

Cream...

“I... I guess. Yes?” Candice stammered uncertainty, watching as Jean placed a silver tray with fillagried edges on the glass before her.

It was populated with small flakey balls of oven-bronzed pastry the size of her knuckle topped with a tiny dollop of shiny pearlescent white icing. Each one was identical to its brother beside it in every way and had a weighty look to them that belied their diminutive dimensions.

“Try one, I think it may help with your problems.” Jean said, picking one delicately up between his big thumb and forefinger to hold out to her.

Candice’s mouth watered but she swallowed it back.

“I can’t, money is so tight right now and you... You haven’t discussed prices...” She whimpered piteously as she all but drooled for the tasty treat he held up to her face.

“No price. It is... How do you Americans say?” His dark brows knitted before breaking into a smile again, “A free sample, yes. Free for you; our first and most favourite customer.“

Candice relaxed and stretched out her tongue obediently. Jean smiled reassuringly and gently placed the small pastry on her moist, pink flesh.

It was impossibly delicate and dissolved like spun sugar on her taste buds. She moaned as an ecstatic shiver curled her toes and tremored through her body. The thick cream within sat heavy on her tongue—slightly salty but totally delectable—before sliding readily down her throat and making her shudder again.

“Mmmmmmmph~ M-More?” She begged softly, her eyes heavily lidded and tongue still extended.

Jean smiled at her, so pleased and effortlessly charming.

So very big and dashing.

“Certainly Miss Candi, I shall pack you a dozen with our compliments”

Strangely, Candice couldn’t recall if she had told him her name or not.

Candice was back on the boulevard, a bright pink pastry box in hand walking back towards Madam Sentani’s with a new spring in her step.

She was light on her feet, she felt like was walking on clouds. She licked her lips, relishing the salty sweetness clinging to them and giggled when the taste made her tingle all over.

It was so fun to giggle, she couldn’t understand why she didn’t giggle more often. What had she been so concerned about earlier?

Oh yeah, her darling Madeline needed a pretty dress for her Pageant. Something about how expensive it was... Candice frowned then slid a hand under the cardboard lid of the box and pulled out a small flakey pastry.

She could have one more, right? Just the one, then she could face all the problems the world could throw at her with a smile. One teensy-weensy little cream puff wouldn’t be so bad...

She giggled and popped it in her mouth with a pleasured moan.

They tasted sooo~ good!

“Mom, where have you been? I needed you here but you were gone for ages!”

Candice felt a little bad seeing Madeline so upset but she didn’t see what the problem was. Madeline was trying on the green ball gown again with Regina—the celebrated Madam Sentani herself—fussing with the skirts and a handful of flat-headed pins. The seamstress was going to have to take-in the dress dramatically to fit her daughter’s stick-thin figure.

“It’s okay Sweetie, Mommy is back and I think you look wonderful in that gown.” She said sweeping through the press of clothing racks and running her fingers across the sumptuous gowns on display.

The opulent silks and satins felt so good against her warm skin.

Madeline gave her a wary look and even Regina raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t pause in her work. The middle-aged Puerto Rican woman knew Candice had been initially shocked at the prices she set for her dresses and had acted decidedly cool towards her going forward. Like Candice wasn’t good enough to shop in her store. Well, Candice knew how to change that.

“You looked so pretty in that color, you should definitely wear it for your Pageant Show.” She declared, setting her handbag and pastry box down on a small stool. “Those cute heels you liked too.”

Madeline squealed in girlish delight and bounced excitedly in place. The heels in question were a sea-green pair of stiletto peep-toe sandals with sparkling ankle straps encrusted in verdant rhinestones. They cost nearly as much as Candice made in a week but that seemed unimportant compared with the joyful expression on her daughter’s beaming face and the visibly calculating way the spunky Latina dressmaker was re-evaluating her.

“Really Mom, You mean it?” Madeline positively vibrated in glee and Candice couldn’t believe she had worried herself so much over this.

Like, sometimes overthinking things just got in the way of feeling good and being happy.

She wrapped her daughter up in a warm hug and giggled when she heard Regina hum in disapproval as she nearly stepped on the low sweeping hem of the long trailing skirts.

“Of course I do, Baby. I just want you to be happy.” She cooed and pecked her little girl lightly on the cheek. “Everyone deserves to be happy, right?”

Madeline just nodded mutely into her shoulder and Candice took the moment to enjoy holding her there, admiring all the pretty dresses surrounding them—spotting a slinky red sheath-dress she wanted to try on herself—and basking in the small smile of approval Madam Sentani grudgingly conceded at the heartwarming scene.

Then the sound of chatting voices came from the front of the shop and Madeline peeked her head up over Candice’s shoulder to spot the newcomers.

“Britney, Missus Dawson!” Madeline called out, recognising the two beautiful women. “Come see my new dress for the contest on Saturday.”

Those names cut through Candice’s cheerful mood like an ice pick. Nobody in New Billington’s small pageant scene would ever say outright that the young girls and their sniping mothers had a ringleader, but Jessica Dawson and her daughter Britney were definitely the cruel Queen and preening Princess they didn’t have.

“Oh, look Britney. It’s Madeline and Candice.” Jessica commented to her daughter before smiling complacently at the two of them, “Good morning ladies, are you here to pick up your gowns too? Britney picked out hers weeks ago.“

Jessica was the dictionary definition of a Pageant Mom. Candice had heard people say dance moms were bad but they hadn’t met this grinning she-wolf in sheep’s clothing.

She was tall with a tight swimmers body, salon blonde hair that hung far down her slender back and a perfect solarium tan. She looked like someone who had been air-brushed for a centerfold shoot. Her ageless breasts sat high and firm on her chest—Candice didn’t know for certain they were fake but a mother in her middle years should have at least a little sag and wobble—her striking face touched up with subtle hints of expensive make-up and she was never spotted out in public wearing any footwear without at least a three-inch heel.

Her daughter Britney was just a younger, blonder carbon-copy of her awful mother. Jessica Dawson liked to remind people that they were constantly being mistaken for sisters and boasted that they shared each other’s clothing all the time, being around the same single-digit dress-size. It didn’t sound too far-fetched given they were dressed almost identically as they glided their way into the back of the boutique in matching outfits.

Short, white pleated tennis skirts barely reached the tops of their athletic thighs and pale short-sleeved polo-shirts clung close to their shapely chests leaving long expanses of flat, golden midriffs exposed. They even sported those stark-white tennis shoes with impractical sneaker-rubber wedge heels that always seemed ridiculous to Candice even as she eyed them speculatively.

They did make the women’s legs look fabulously long.

“We were on our way back from a small spot of tennis. Don’t you think Madeline looks nice, Britney?” Jessica said breezily as though she had no more pressing concern in the middle of a workday.

Like, she didn’t need to hold down a job or anything, she just floated down the river of life on a luxury yacht made of upper-class entitlement. With her big-shot husband, beautiful daughter, finely appointed three-story home and decadently designer outfits.

“She’s just the cutest, Mom. Everybody is going to love her.” Britney agreed with a smile as bright and genuine as diamante diamonds.

“But what is this?” Jessica asked bending down to open the pink pastry box with one long manicure finger. “Oh Candice, baked sweets? For shame, you should know better...“

Candice spun away from her daughter and snatched up the cardboard container before Jessica could open it. They were her special cream puffs!

“Mom! I told you before that we can’t have sugar at home. Think about the empty carbs.” Madeline scolded looking scandalized.

As if her own mother was embarrassing her in front of her fancy new friends. Candice felt a bit hurt as she cradled the small box protectively and then started to feel a bit foolish. They were just pastries for goodness sake.

Then she remembered how divine they tasted on her tongue and how good they made her feel. She didn’t have a whole lot to feel good about lately...

“It’s nothing, just something I picked up for my team at work.” She dissembled as smoothly as she could, then saw the time. “I really need to get back to the office, Baby. Grant will be around to pick you up in an hour.”

Madeline’s face soured as though she had bitten into a lemon at the mention of her new step-father. Candice didn’t want to hear another argument so she just grabbed her purse and hustled towards the door.

“Give my love to Nicholas when you see him.” Jessica called after her, “He is such a kind boss giving you time off like this.“

Candice sat in her tiny cubical on the third floor of Transdirect Freight Express Pty Ltd licking a stray spot of icing from the corner of her mouth. It was her third creamy snack today and she had to cover her mouth with her hands to muffle a heady moan of delight as she felt the delicate salty-sweet cream filling run down the back of her throat to sit warm and heavy in her stomach.

On the cluttered desk beside her ancient work terminal sat a stack of heavy ring-binders. Each was filled with printed shipping orders and receipts that had to be painstakingly keyed into the horribly out-dated software the company still employed despite it being developed in the last century. The office chair she sat on was lumpy, faded and so frightfully squeaky Candice worried it would set stray dogs to barking outside the building.

This was what she had to work with all day. Small wonder she needed a little pick-me-up to get her through her monotonous nine to five. Worse still, she had only got those scant few hours off this morning on the promise she would still be able to make up the lost productivity by the end of business on Friday.

Today was Thursday and so far it wasn’t looking too good for Candice.

The compromise had been hard struck with Nicholas Dawson; the state area manager and her boss. It was no coincidence that she worked under the venomous Pageant matriarch’s husband but even then she had needed to invoke his wife Jessica’s name more than a few times and highlight the importance his wife placed on the silly beauty competitions. However...

Candice wasn’t working at her best.

Oh, she was managing. Slowly crawling through page after dreary page of bone-dry order numbers, customer IDs, shipping addresses and freight manifests but she was also somewhat distracted.

Her skin was feeling all tingly and her scalp itched something fierce. She was seriously considering a change in body-wash as she pulled at her modest blouse and tugged at her sensible gray office skirt trying to get comfortable. Her smart jacket was already thrown over the stiff back of her chair after it had begun to feel too restrictive and her black leather flats were kicked off under the desktop.

Candice suspected she was having a reaction to the... the... what was it called? The smelly stuff they put in soap. That had to be it because she could feel it over every inch of her prickling body.

That or maybe her laundry detergent because her clothing was bothering her too.

She had shaken her frizzy brown hair out of the strict bun she usually wore it in to let her nails really get in there. She sighed in relief as she scratched then pulled her fingers through her long locks of dark hair to prevent any tangles from catching. It felt good to finally get some alleviation, sooo~ good!

She needed to get back to work but as the tickling in her hairline subsided her nipples started to ache. They had been slowly growing sore all morning and now were rubbing painfully against the inside of her bra with each vigorous scratching motion of her upraised arms. Worse still the underwire was beginning to press uncomfortably into her fleshy breasts no matter how she pulled and shifted the cotton undergarment.

She was bitterly aware she was putting on weight and gaining a true mom-bod but this felt more like an odd swelling as she furtively slipped a hand into her bra-cup to...

“Oooooh…”

The low sound whispered past her parted lips as her fingertips accidentally brushed over a stiff, engorged nipple in her attempt to rearrange things. It was so sensitive to the touch and her body immediately responded on its own volition, sending a shock of pleasure across her blushing skin. She immediately broke out in an exhilarated rash of gooseflesh across her chest, neck and shoulders.

Biting nervously at her bottom lip she glanced about surreptitiously. She had the top four buttons undone so her simple white blouse was open all the way down to her navel, clearly revealing her a lot of her plain bra and the gentle swell of her modest cleavage. None of her fellow wage-slaves had seemed to noticed anything and she did have her back to cubical opening...

Feeling a bit adventurous Candice slipped her fingers back over the tight, tender raspberry-sized nipple and gently pinched...

“Ooomph!”’

The blissful wash of sensation was unmistakable. It lanced from her stimulated peak like lightning to run down her arching back and ground itself in her twitching loins. Candice was panting a little, waiting for someone nearby to question the lewd sounds coming from her tiny workspace but all she could hear was the tip-tapping of dozens of typing keyboards and the rumbling of a distant photocopier.

Her fingers trembled, desperate to chase that ebbing tide of pleasure and her fat stocking-clad thighs started the shift, rubbing smoothly together. Goodness but her clothing was feeling constrictive in all the wrong places! Candice thought she had best tidy herself up in the bathroom and then she could properly get back to work.

That was what exactly she needed to do!

Try as she might, Candice couldn’t get the top two buttons on her blouse buttoned up over her heaving, swollen breasts.

The third floor offices of Transdirect Freight Express Pty Ltd only had a single disabled toilet. The company didn’t employ anyone with a disability that Candice had ever met but the Federal Equity Act of 2010 stated employers had a duty to accommodate disabled employees by providing appropriate facilities for their needs.

Not that Candice was cognoscente of that particular piece of legislative minutia as she sat on the closed toilet lid, leaning way back with her widespread legs propped up over the support handrails on either side of the porcelain bowl and was trimming desperately at her thrilling, exposed pussy.

It had begun right after she had locked the door behind her and started pawing at her chest again.

Unbuttoning the shrinking shirt had revealed a startling surprise; Candice had tits!

Well, of course she did but Candice—much like her poor under-endowed daughter Madeline—had been a late bloomer in life. The largest her cup-size had ever reached was a modest C and that had been during breastfeeding. Then they had deflated back to a flat sort of B-cup with baby-ravaged nipples and even that amount had begun to sag.

Not now though, Candice had stared in the bathroom mirror at some proper perky handfuls sitting like ripening fruit upon her skinny chest and spilling out the top of her small bra. It had been a struggle to get the back clasp unfastened, it had been pulled quite tight under its new weighty burdens.

Said undergarment was now discarded over the washroom sink as Candice tried to keep her happy mewling noises to a minimum.

Her gray skirt was bunched up around her waist and her white blouse hung completely open. It dangled off one bare shoulder as she painted eager circles over her thrumming clit with her thumb and dipped long wet fingers between her glistening folds. Her other hand was tugging insistently at a stiff nipple, pulling at the tit-flesh and making her shudder in carnal delight.

She had worn pantyhose today—she didn’t know why, stockings were way hotter and totally more convenient too—but she had torn the crotch out of them, badly laddering the nylon in her primal, animal need to get at her aching hot pussy.

“Mmmmmnph!”

The gusset of her large, respectable beige panties were pulled to one side and that was a good thing too as she squirted the proofs of her pleasure across the plastic lid of the toilet. Her hot juices ran across the cool white surface and began leaking onto the tiled bathroom floor.

Candice had stuffed a hastily balled-up wad of toilet paper in her mouth earlier when it became quickly apparent that she couldn’t keep her own voice down. Her nostrils flared, dragging in much needed oxygen as the rest of her body went boneless and limp in the wake of the soul-shattering orgasm.

She just sat there, splayed out in the spacious stall for a few minutes to catch her breath and collect her thoughts. Touching herself had never felt that good before and she had to giggle at the revelation.

She; boring old Candice had just masturbated in the office bathroom. It sent a naught chill up her spine. What if she had been caught, what would people say? What would Grant say? She suddenly wanted to describe her daring behavior in loving, vulgar detail to her new husband, that would break him out of his cool, clinical shell. Then he would fuck her naughty lil’ pussy until she howled!

Getting unsteadily to her feet Candice straightened herself up as best she could in front of the mirror.

Her hair was tousled but in that sexy-messy fashion and hung down long over one milky shoulder. It didn’t seem as frizzy as she remembered and was it maybe a shade lighter than before? Candice dismissed that as wishful thinking as she wiggled her tight office skirt down over her wide hips.

It still didn’t sit right with a tendency to ride up her thick, soft thighs when she walked but that would have to do for now. Her bra was practically useless now, so she dropped it in the waste bin and tied her no-nonsense blouse up under her fantastic new knockers for support. It left her little muffin-top exposed and her fat nipples still tented the garment but Candice couldn’t do much about that and was beginning to enjoy how it felt when they rubbed against the thin fabric.

Giving herself a winning smile in the mirror she left the bathroom and almost tripped over a gangly young intern pushing an overburdened mail cart down the narrow office hallway.

“S-sorry miss...” he stammered as his eyes widened at the sight of her, “Are you okay?”

He couldn’t have a day older than eighteen, the same age as Madeline. He was cute with scruffy brown hair and a cherry blush creeping across his young face as he eyed her up and down in surprise. She blew him a kiss before sashaying back to her cubical, putting some extra sway in her big hips.

“Just fine, Cutie. Thanks for asking!”

She twiddled her fingers in a playful wave over her shoulder. She heard him gulp audibly at her retreating rear-end and giggled quietly to herself.

She was feeling happy and just having some harmless, naughty fun. It was such a welcome change that she almost skipped her way back to her dingy little desk, enjoying the long, confused stares her male co-workers locked on her as she flounced and bounced her way back into her crumby workstation.

A yellow post-it was stuck to the center of her monitor screen with three simple words and a name scrawled on it in black marker ink.

Come see me—Nicholas

Without thinking, Candice reached into the pretty pink pastry box and fished out a single, small cream puff.

She wondered what the boss could want before popping it in her mouth and letting out a long, loud prolonged groan of pleasure.

“Ohmyooomph!”