The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Ben

Ben said he would buy the flowers himself. Of course, lately, he did everything by himself. Sasha was busy preparing for tonight, and Betsy was always off in her own world, visiting the neighbors, spreading the good news of Madame Sasha. That meant that getting things for the party — like the flowers — was entirely up to him.

All Sasha had been able to talk about for the last week was the party. Her orders were clear: Ben was going to throw a party and invite everyone from work. But she talked about it as though only one person was coming: Lindsey Sterling. She was Ben’s new boss, the impressive new District Attorney that everyone thought was going to run for mayor soon. Of course, Ben knew she was going to announce her campaign soon, but she had sworn them all to secrecy. Naturally, Madame Sasha knew immediately.

The announcement of the mayoral race seemed to captivate Ben’s Mistress. Whenever she talked about how excited she was for the party, she phrased it as “Lindsey Sterling is coming next week” or “We must prepare for Lindsey Sterling” or “Everything must be perfect for Lindsey Sterling.” The house was cleaned and practically remodeled and cleaned again. Decorators were consulted. More cameras were installed. A professional, high-class caterer was hired. There were hours of debates about whether to hire a string quartet or use a sound system or whatever would provide ambiance and be classiest (Madame Sasha decided on the string quartet). And finally, there was a conversation about flowers. Madame Sasha wanted two hundred pink chrysanthemums. Nothing else would do, and Ben had been from flower shop to flower shop, talking to dozens of women that looked just like Betsy, trying to find them.

So far, he’d had no luck.

Ben wasn’t hopeful as he approached the last florist on his list, but his doubts were washed away as he stepped into a classy establishment that felt more like a greenhouse than a shop. Behind the counter was a petite brunette, another Betsy look-alike. Her features were all wrong, but Ben swore it was something about her smile that broke his heart. Every woman was his wife, but his wife was the one woman he wanted, and the one woman he couldn’t have.

“Hello?” she said with a smile, Ben’s stomach did flips.

“Hey,” he said. “I have a crazy question.”

“You the chrysanthemum guy?”

“Uh ... I guess?” She laughed. Every instinct in Ben’s body told him to sweep her up and kiss her. “I have a reputation?”

The cute non-Betsy held up her phone. “We talk. Small world.”

“Right.”

“Some guy goes asking for two hundred pink chrysanthemums, and one attendant sends out an SOS, asking if anyone has pink chrysanthemums.”

“So I assume you don’t?”

“No, I do.” Her smile widened. “I just wasn’t going to let Michael get the sale. I hate that guy.” She winked.

“Thank God.” Ben’s body sagged with relief, and she laughed.

“Wedding?”

“No,” said Ben. “My Mis— boss has a precise vision for a party tonight.”

“Well, I hope she doesn’t count too well, because I have one-hundred and ninety-two pink chrysanthemums. You don’t think she’ll miss eight, do you?”

Ben shrugged. “She surprises me.”

“Well, let’s hope she doesn’t this time.”

She smiled, and Ben smiled back. Warmth rushed over his body. He felt … he didn’t know the word. Young? Maybe that was it. She was Betsy ten years ago. She was his wife, his bride, right there in front of him.

So he didn’t think twice about inviting her to the party.

Betsy

Everything was set for the party. Ben was organizing the caterers. Sasha had hired a professional makeup crew and stylist like she was going to the Oscars, but Betsy’s preparations were different. She found her dress days ago. Her strategy was simple: skin and tease. Months ago, she would have wept at the idea of wearing the dress she had on tonight. Now, it was a necessary tool for her larger goals.

Tonight was the night her plans came to fruition.

Weeks of slowly tormenting and brainwashing Esther were finally ending. It took a while to figure out, but she found she could modify some of the Blue Viper Files. Esther would see service to Madame Sasha as service to Betsy if she hadn’t fucked it up. She got some of the tattoos on her body in the same place Madame Sasha had: “Love,” “Obey,” and “Sleep.” Those should be enough to get Esther under her control and finally fuck the MILF next door.

But Esther wasn’t the only course on tonight’s menu. Betsy had been a busy girl. While Madame Sasha was obsessing over Lindsey Sterling and Ben was working and keeping everyone happy, Betsy had been left to her own devices. Sure, she was Madame Sasha’s on-call plaything, but that only fueled her fire. It wasn’t enough; it would never be enough.

That led her to Mary Anne and Peggy Lewis and all the other girls either in the neighborhood with nothing but free time at home or the girls at the Literary Society and the Library Board and half a dozen “old friends” that didn’t call when Betsy was lost in her addiction to being on camera or dominating women over the internet. She knew that if Madame Sasha wasn’t enough, Esther wouldn’t be enough either. Fucking with girls over the internet certainly wasn’t enough. She needed more. Much much more.

And that’s when she remembered that she was connected to a huge network of lonely and horny women with too much time on their hands. They were keeping their bodies tight and perky just to keep their husbands’ attention, but they were secretly pining over their yoga instructor or personal trainer or whoever had the cock to fuck them.

Betsy may not have the cock, but she had the will and the hunger. And now with the modified Blue Viper Files, she had the means. Esther was already a drooling idiot, ready to lick the first pussy that flashed the “Love” command at her, but the other girls were just getting warmed up. Betsy had disguised some messages in the work out videos she was lending to the girls. Those would prompt them to the modified Blue Viper Files, and that would take them eventually to Betsy.

Tonight was her first chance to test her experiment. Her “love” tattoo peeked over her top that barely covered her tits. It was gold sequins, backless, showing off her tight tummy, and all held together with the tiniest strap up around her neck. A strong breeze could pull it off her. Her mini skirt clearly showed off her thong, and her platform heels had wonderful silver straps that wrapped all the way up to her thighs. Did she look like a whore? Absolutely. But that’s how she would know who belonged to her. The women that were slaves to the programming would flock to her, and she would be a miniature Madame Sasha, a demigoddess hunting while Ben’s party orbited around her. Ben’s co-workers and boss — maybe even Ben himself — would be disgusted with her, but that didn’t matter. She’d be having considerably more fun than all of them.

Ben

There were a dozen fires to put out at any given point in time. The flowers were fine, but they needed more on the banister. The music was fine, but could they play a bit louder? The food was fine, but they were going to run out of caviar or crab puffs or something. And could he run to check on this? And could he run to fix that? And in the bedlam, he had no idea where his wife was. If he stopped for a few minutes to orient himself, Madame Sasha would find him, and she had another thing to fix before Lindsey Sterling arrived. She always said her name in one breath, first name and last.

When she arrived, Ben was there, ready to greet her. Lindsey Sterling was young for someone of your power, but not so young for her ambition. She was in a smooth green silk gown that went to the floor gown with one bare shoulder, making her look like some senator out of ancient Rome. Her blonde hair was in a loose bun, and two small coils of curls dangled in front of her ears. She had an impressive pearl necklace and matching bracelet. She looked regal, like someone that could conquer the world in a conversation.

And yet Ben knew that Madame Sasha would eat her alive.

“Lindsey!” he said, coming up to her.

She froze when she saw him, looking confused. Then, in a flash, recognition washed over her. “Benjamin?” she asked. “Oh, I thought you were a butler or something.”

Ben smiled, hugging her and kissing her on the cheek, laughing off the comment. “I’ll have to look for a better tux.”

“Quite,” she said, looking around. “You have a lovely home.”

“Well, we’ve dolled it up for tonight.”

“For me?” she put her fingertips to her throat in false modesty.

“Yes,” said Ben, smiling as best he could. “You and our guest of honor. She’d love to meet you.”

“A mystery guest?” asked Lindsey, amused.

“Exactly.” Ben turned to lead her towards Madame Sasha, trying to hide his smirk. As he moved through the crowd, he passed dozens of bodies, all of them replicas of his wife in his mind. Each woman was another Betsy, another imprint of his past, of his marriage, longing for reconnection. Yet, amongst the throng of women, he did not pick out the one woman in a negligent mini skirt, platform stripper heels, and a dangling gold sequins top as she passed him.

Betsy

Esther was orbiting around the punch bowl, nervously hiding amongst the crowd. She wasn’t entirely sure why she came to the party tonight. She knew it was the event of the year. She knew important and powerful people were here. And yet, she didn’t feel comfortable around her neighbors, especially Betsy. Why on Earth would she come out tonight?

Because Betsy had programmed her for it.

Betsy smiled, feeling invincible, almost incredulous that it worked. Esther was here, before her, and dressed to please. She wore a gold satin dress with a scandalous neckline and a mermaid skirt. Betsy had already seen the woman naked before, but getting just a glimpse of her breasts, being teased with all that cleavage, was fire compared to a nude body’s spark. Her blonde hair was in perfect waves, cascading over her shoulders. She looked like something from a movie or maybe a celebrity on the red carpet.

Betsy couldn’t wait to break her.

She smiled politely when Betsy approached, not recognizing her neighbor. “Hello,” said Betsy, smiling back.

“Hello,” said Esther. She nodded, then looked around the room, hoping that broken eye contact would be enough to send Betsy away.

“I need you to look at me,” said Betsy.

“Excuse me?” Esther still looked around the room, as though searching for the friend she came with.

“You need to look at me,” commanded Betsy.

“What?” Esther turned her head, and her eyes widened as she caught sight of the lacey red lettering: “Love.” There was a tiny intake of breath, not quite a gasp, but something in her prey seized. Betsy saw the fight or flight response wash over Esther, but the last option, the best option — freeze — took hold of her. She came here to obey, came here looking for love, the love of Madame Sasha and her red lace tattoo, but here it was, in front of her.

Her brain quickly washed away all confusion, smoothing out the wrinkles in the question. This girl wasn’t Madame Sasha. She was dressed like a cheap stripper or someone dumped on a street corner. There was no power or poise in her; she reeked of desperation. But she had what Esther wanted, what Esther needed. She had that love. She didn’t wonder why it was happening here and now amidst a room full of people, but they all melted away. There was nothing, no one in the universe except for the four-letter word emblazoned before her mind like the face of god.

“Come with me,” commanded Betsy. She grabbed Esther’s wrist, and the older woman hesitated a moment. But when Betsy turned away, Esther lost sight of the tattoo. Her feet moved without thought, following the tattoo more than Betsy, gliding across the party to whatever was ahead of her, to whatever she would need to do in order to get that love.

Sasha

“Lindsey Sterling, this is Madame Sasha.” Ben stepped aside, letting Lindsey into the room. “Madame Sasha, this is Lindsey Sterling.” Sasha stood in Ben and Betsy’s bedroom, looking out the window. She turned slowly and smiled. She was in a strapless black silk dress with raised lace detailing, covering her tattoos for now. She had long black gloves on, and though she wasn’t wearing her mask, her eyeshadow and mascara were dramatic, giving an edge of theatricality to her appearance. She liked to dress slightly over the top, drawing the eyes of the room around her, daring them to behold her. And for women like Lindsey Sterling? It threw them off balance just enough to give Sasha the edge.

“Lindsey Sterling,” she held out her hand for Lindsey to take it. “I’m so excited to see you.”

Lindsey’s eyes darted to Ben, but he nodded, giving his approval. Lindsey stepped forward and wanted to take Sasha’s hand, but Sasha bent it slightly, forcing Lindsey to take it as though Sasha was royalty, and Lindsey was a royal cousin of sorts.

“You are our mystery guess?” asked Lindsey.

“I think it is you who are my guest.” Sasha spread her arms wide. “For I am the founder of the feast.”

“Oh really?” Lindsey looked back at Ben, but he nodded again, helping to calm her. “I thought this was all Ben’s idea?”

“Ben’s best ideas are mine,” said Madame Sasha. She looked at Ben and snapped. “Bring us some drinks, malen’kiy.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lindsey, stepping away from Sasha, “I just—”

“Ben and I are old friends. He told me about you, and I decided I had to meet you. I figured a party would be better than filling your appointment book.”

“What did he say?” To her credit, Lindsey didn’t turn and run from the room. She didn’t panic or meltdown. She was a professional, and though the circumstances were strange, she could read the terrain. If Sasha paid for this event, she obviously had money and influence. Lindsey wasn’t going to be elected mayor by ignoring the influential and wealthy. This could be turned into a twisted kind of opportunity.

“He told me you were ambitious.” Madame Sasha smiled. “I like ambition in a woman.” She stepped closer, but Lindsey didn’t step away. She took a deep breath, her chest shuddering a bit, her heart rate fluttering.

“That all?” Lindsey did well to keep her voice even.

“You’ve only been the District Attorney for a few weeks, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And already you want to be mayor?”

Lindsey laughed. “So he told you?”

“Yes.”

“And this party is, what? A fundraiser?” Madame Sasha smiled and put a hand on Lindsey’s cheek gently. It was a risk, but she saw something in Lindsey’s eyes, something that gave her confidence. The blonde-haired woman didn’t flinch or pull away. She held Sasha’s gaze, waiting to see what this stranger wanted with her.

“Is that what you’d like?”

Lindsey smiled this time, turning her head slightly into Madame Sasha’s hand, nuzzling it. It was barely perceptible across the room, almost as slight as taking a deep breath, but Sasha felt it more than saw it. Lindsey was still interested, still pawing at the bait.

“Campaigns cost money. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

It was at this moment, Sasha knew the rumors were true, that Ben hadn’t been lied to. Lindsey was flirting, hoping to seduce Sasha or perhaps take advantage of the fact that Sasha was seducing her. It was a tango, but Lindsey couldn’t see the strings attached to her limbs.

Madame Sasha smiled. “Perhaps a trade?”

She stepped away from Lindsey as Ben entered with the two drinks in hand. Without a word, she took them from him, turned, and offered one to Lindsey, drinking the other quickly and without hesitation. Lindsey looked carefully at the drink but took it.

“What do you really want?” she asked. “I imagine someone called Madame Sasha, someone who has the resources to throw this party, wouldn’t need anything from a mayor, let alone a district attorney.”

“I’ve found that having only stokes greed. It never satisfies it.”

“And what makes you think I’ll be able to satisfy it?”

Sasha laughed. “I don’t. You’re only a steppingstone to more.”

“More?”

“This is an awfully small city, but it’s bigger than Ben’s house, which was bigger than mine. I’m moving quickly, don’t you think?”

Lindsey nodded and drained her drink. She coughed a bit but turned to Madame Sasha with a defiant but calm look on her face, trying to seize control. “And what would you have to offer me?”

“Well, for one, I think you’d appreciate my silence about your girlfriend, no?”

Betsy

“Good girl.” Betsy ran her hand through Esther’s hair. It’s a bit ruffled now, but Betsy didn’t think Esther minded. She smiled. Esther didn’t have much of a mind to speak off now. Betsy paced around her neighbor, the older blonde naked and on her knees. They were in the laundry room for privacy, but the door wasn’t locked. Betsy wouldn’t mind someone walking in yet, especially if it was one of her other projects. There was so much to be gained from that surprise.

“Now kiss it,” she commanded as she stopped in front of her prey. Esther leaned forward and gave a quick kiss to Betsy’s underwear, right on top of her pussy, but Betsy sighed with frustration. “Like you mean it,” she snapped, and Esther tried again, leaning forward and parting her lips, using some tongue, kissing the fabric like a lover’s lips.

Betsy sighed and ground her hips into Esther’s mouth, grabbing another fist full of Esther’s hair to keep her in place. “Pull it aside,” she commanded. “Kiss my pussy, bitch.”

Esther did as she was told, roughly pulling the underwear out of the way, getting access to the pussy, and kissing Betsy’s lips.

“That’s right, you fucking cunt,” sighed Betsy. “Make out with my fucking pussy. Use your goddamn tongue.”

Esther obeyed eagerly. Her desperation made her technique sloppy, but it was her enthusiasm that was driving Betsy over the edge. Esther would do anything for her now. More specifically, Esther would do anything to see Betsy’s tattoo, to receive her love, to finally be made whole with Betsy’s blessing.

Betsy staggered back against the dryer, but Esther followed, kissing and letting her tongue quickly dart out and tease Betsy’s pussy. But it was only the surface. It was only a tease.

Betsy snarled and squatted, looking eye to eye with her pet. Esther tried to go to lower, to keep obeying, to keep kissing Betsy’s pussy, but Betsy held the side of Esther’s face, keeping her in place, keeping her eyes on her. Esther squirmed, her arms and legs trying to get to Betsy’s pussy, to obey, to earn Betsy’s love. Her eyes widened with panic. Her face wrinkled with fear. She looked like a bitch on a leash, trying to run for her life.

“You want this?” hissed Betsy. She pulled down her top, exposing her left breast and the lace tattoo there.

Esther froze. She tried to nod but could barely move her head. “Please,” she whispered.

“You’ll have to serve me.” Betsy showed the other tattoo on her thigh: “obey.” Esther tried to nod again, but Betsy held tight, tugging on her neighbor’s hair. “Do you know what it means to serve me?” asked Betsy.

Esther tried to shake her head.

Betsy slapped her. “Speak, you cunt.”

“No,” she whispered. “Please, I just want to—“

Betsy guided Esther’s face to the tattoo on her thigh: “sleep.” “Kiss it,” she commanded, and Esther did, kissing it until she fell asleep.

Betsy let go of Esther’s hair and relaxed. Her heart was racing, but she never felt more alive. Things were clear now, clearer than they had been her whole life. She could take what she wanted. She didn’t know why that felt mysterious to her before, but it no longer did. If she wanted Esther, she could have her. All she had to do was take what she wanted.

Betsy sighed as her free hand slithered between her legs, parting her lips and idly teasing her clit. This was a new high, something not even Madame Sasha had been able to make her feel. For months she’d been burning with hunger, but now she knew what it was she was starving for.

She gasped again, twitching a bit on the laundry room floor as she thought about all the ways she needed to reprogram Esther and the other women waiting for her at the party.

Sasha

“My what?”

Sasha smiled. She snapped, ordering Ben to bring them more drinks. “Elizabeth Rawlings? Beautiful television personality? Weather woman for channel six?”

Lindsey took a step back. “I’ve heard of her.”

“More than heard of her, I think.” Sasha stepped forward and then to the right, walking circles around Lindsey. “From what I hear, one could even call you girlfriends, couldn’t they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not,” said Sasha. “And after a short conversation, maybe I’ll have no idea what I’m talking about either. Perhaps this is all just a nasty rumor Ben heard.”

Sasha stepped behind Lindsey, putting her hands on the blonde’s shoulders and leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Or perhaps it’s a fire I could flame. Think about it.” Sasha gripped Lindsey’s shoulder tighter. “A room full of your colleagues, of some of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the city, are all downstairs. What would they do if they knew their conservative and traditional district attorney was eating pussy whenever she could?”

Lindsey said nothing, but she didn’t tighten, didn’t recoil. “Who told you?”

“Benjamin.”

“Who told him?”

Sasha released Lindsey’s shoulders and continued circling around her prey, trailing one finger lovingly over the fine dress Lindsey wore, letting her nail tease the skin whenever she could.

“Secrets,” whispered Sasha. “Though I could tell you if you were interested in my trade.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Perhaps you will, but you won’t deny it?”

“I’m not sure what good that will do.”

“You don’t quit. I admire that.”

“I accept realities.”

“From what I hear, you accept Elizabeth’s reality most of all.”

Lindsey stiffened. “What?”

“Would you prefer I call her Mistress?” Sasha’s smile widened. “Like you do?”

Betsy

Betsy’s thighs quivered as Esther finished her second orgasm. The hypnosis made training her incredibly easy. She already knew Betsy’s pussy better than Ben. Jesus, she may already know Betsy’s pussy better than Betsy herself. Esther pulled away, gasping for air, and curled up against Betsy.

For a moment, she didn’t know what to do with her. Esther belonged to her; that was undeniable. But she was spent, exhausted. What does one do with their toy when they’re done with them? Put them away? Is that what was left? Clean up?

But whatever beast Madame Sasha had woken up was still hungry. Esther was used, but there were other women, other toys and projects waiting for her.

“Pet?” asked Betsy, shaking Esther’s head. The older woman stirred and sat up.

“Yes, Goddess?” she asked, her chin covered with Betsy’s juices.

“Go find Mary Anne and bring her to me.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

Esther got up to leave. “Wait.” Esther turned around. “Put your clothes on and wipe your face.”

“Yes, Goddess,” said Esther.

“Actually.” Betsy smirked and climbed to her feet. Her body was tired, but she was still hungry. There were so many more women to fuck tonight. She stepped up to Esther and pulled the blonde’s mouth down to her breast, down to the red lace letters. Esther started kissing immediately, sucking on the skin as though she could drain the ink with enough effort. Betsy sighed with relief and stroked Esther’s hair.

“Don’t wipe your face,” commanded Betsy. “You look better this way.”

“Yes, Goddess,” moaned Esther between kisses.

Betsy pulled Esther away by the hair. Her bitch didn’t complain. “Go,” she commanded. “Get Mary Anne and Peggy. I’ll take them both at once.”

Esther quickly pulled her dress up the length of her body, but it was sloppily done. The plunging neckline was a delicate thing, and Betsy smirked knowing half the party was about to see Esther’s tits and wander about her smeared lipstick and slick chin.

Not that she cared so much what any of them thought. It was strange to pick at her mind and find complete apathy for Ben’s opinion of her. And as she kept picking at it, she found that she didn’t care what Madame Sasha thought either. If her Mistress wanted to fuck her, to break her, Betsy would gladly comply. But until then, Madame Sasha ignored her, so why shouldn’t she return the favor?

For once in Betsy’s life, she only had one person’s plans as the center of her attention: hers. And they were going to be delicious. She knew she’d savor each depraved moment of her descent.

Sasha

“And what, exactly, do you want from me?” asked Lindsey when Sasha finished explaining most of what she knew. “Some favors when I’m in office? Or maybe some friend of yours I’m about to prosecute.”

“Please,” said Sasha, holding up a hand. “You insult me. I’m no criminal.”

“Blackmail is—”

“No one is blackmailing you. I want you to know what I know. I want to help you. If I know it, others do. We can’t have that for your campaign, can we?” Sasha gestured to the edge of Ben and Betsy’s bed. “Please, sit.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I want you to win.”

“And then?”

Sasha dismissed the comment with a wave. “Politics have jaded you.”

“Life has jaded me. Everyone wants something. Is this an opportunity or a trap?”

“This is the beginning of a business relationship. I want both of us to profit.”

“I’m not going to agree to a deal without terms. I want—”

“How about this?” asked Sasha. “I have a party to attend to.” She turned to the dresser and turned on the television Ben set up for her. A black screen came on, but there was a thin blue line cutting through the center. It was Sasha’s masterpiece, a file much more subversive and gripping than anything she had on her site. “You watch this video about my company, and if you like what you see, then we’ll start working together. Fair?”

“Your company?”

“Yes,” said Sasha with a smile. “The Blue Viper Foundation.”

“What is—”

Sasha turned out the lights. “The video will explain everything.”

Sasha started the video and closed the door. There were a dozen important people here tonight, and Lindsey Sterling was only the first.

Betsy

“Fuck!” shrieked Mary Anne. “Harder! Fuck me harder!”

Betsy took a deep breath, trying to concentrate. Her wrist burned as she pumped the dildo deep into Mary Anne’s pussy. Her arm tingled and begged for her to stop, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Mary Anne was close to cumming again, and Betsy enjoyed the way her whole body shivered after an orgasm.

Most of the party-goers had left. Ben was somewhere out there cleaning it up or entertaining the lingering guests, but Betsy wasn’t done with Mary Anne or Esther. The two women were spent, their bodies glistening with sweat, their chests heaving from the workout, but Betsy wasn’t going to stop. She couldn’t stop. She knew Peggy was out there, that Esther had convinced her to stay, and when she was done with Mary Anne, she was going to fuck Peggy too. Hell, maybe she’d fuck anyone else out there. She didn’t care anymore. She didn’t discriminate. It’s not like they didn’t know what they were doing here. Esther said they stared at her when she went to get Mary Anne and talked to Peggy. By now the whole party knew Betsy was taking women into her laundry room to fuck them, but they were all too polite to say anything. They pretended to ignore the thudding of the dryer against the wall. They pretended they couldn’t hear Esther’s moans.

But no one could ignore Mary Anne. She wasn’t just a moaner, she was a shrieker and a talker. Betsy was surprised to find that she didn’t have to do much peeling to find Mary Anne’s inner slut beneath the surface. In fact, she’d barely gotten to any of the good programming with the dark-haired girl, but she knew she could have her tonight, that she could fuck her stupid when she saw that underneath the suburban housewife attire, Mary Anne was covered in tattoos: over her chest, underboob, a sleeve on one arm, tattoos on her belly trailing away from her pussy and thighs. Her belly button and the hood of her clit were pierced. She was practically a pornstar underneath turtlenecks and oversized sweaters.

No wonder she took to the programming so eagerly.

Betsy pulled the dildo out of Mary Anne and stood up, catching her breath. She snapped her fingers at Esther. “Eat her out.” Esther moved quickly, putting her head between Mary Anne’s legs and licking aggressively.

“Oh come on,” whined Mary Anne, but her voice was thick with mockery. “Fuck me. You said you wanted to fuck me.” She laughed, and Betsy looked at her, whipping her head around to glare at her.

“Shut up,” she snapped.

“Come on. Can’t you fuck me hard?” Mary Anne ground her hips in Esther’s face. “Or is this little cunt the best I’m going to get?”

Rage bubbled up in Betsy. No one had ever talked to her that way. Ben had always been doting and submissive. Even Madame Sasha talked to her like a lover, like a prized thing. No one made her feel like she wasn’t good enough in bed, like she was anything less than a precious and rare thing.

“Fuck you,” she said coldly, clenching her hands. The burning in her wrist and tingle in her arm faded as adrenaline and anger flooded her system.

“Why don’t you?” Mary Anne’s smile widened. “Or are you too tired?”

Betsy’s mind softened, as though the thoughts rushing through her were blurry. She knew she was thinking something, but it was far away, fuzzy and muted. It felt almost like going into a trance, like watching the Blue Viper Files and seeing Madame Sasha rub the “sleep” tattoo. Her body moved without her thinking, without hesitation, and she stepped past Esther, over Mary Anne, and slapped the filthy back-talking cunt as hard as she could.

She froze, her thoughts stabbing her, catching up to her body. What the hell was she doing? What was she thinking? Why would she—

Mary Anne moaned and brought her hand to her cheek. “Yeah, baby,” she said, her voice breathy. “Like that.”

Betsy smiled and grabbed a fistful of Mary Anne’s hair. Her new slut yelped at first but then eased into a long moan. “You want it hard?” asked Betsy.

“Yes.”

Betsy squeezed, pulling the woman up by the scalp. “Yes, what?”

Mary Anne shrieked in pain. “Yes, Mistress.”

“You want to get fucked hard?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Betsy snapped, and Esther stopped licking Mary Anne’s pussy. “Twist her nipples,” commanded Betsy. “Hard.”

Mary Anne’s smile widened. “I cum first,” said Betsy. “That clear?”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Mary Anne, and Betsy pulled her newest plaything into her pussy.