The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

But I Don’t Really Want This, Chapter 17

The bell rang and Nicole buzzed the guy up. A minute later there was a knock at the door and Nicole went to open it. Problem. She couldn’t grab the latch as she usually would. Her nails extended 2 centimetres beyond her fingertips, and so her fingers could only brush the latch, finding no purchase, held at bay by her nails against the metal of the latch housing. She put her right hand flat on top of the oval shaped latch and attempted to grip it using whatever muscles were in her palm. That worked, just about. The door opened.

‘Sorry about that’, she smiled looking down at the man standing there, ‘I have new nails, still getting used to them’. I must look like such a bimbo, she thought. Not just the nails, everything.

‘Wow, those are extreme, can I see?’ he asked, smiling back up at her and holding out his right hand palm upwards, inviting Nicole to place her fingertips in it. She did so. Is he gay, I wonder?, she asked herself, before she remembered why he was here. Definitely gay.

‘Very pretty, when?’.

‘Just an hour ago. Brand new, I’m still learning how to do everything again’.

‘How long are you used to usually?’.

‘This is my first time wearing fake nails since I was a teenager, and even then, they weren’t that long’.

‘Careful of your eyes dear’, he winked, jokingly. ‘Love your accent, I assume you are French?’

‘Mais oui’, she smiled proudly back.

‘I was in Paris last year and Cannes a few years before that. I love it there’.

‘I am from the south’, she said, ‘further east, nearer Toulouse, but I have worked in towns on the Riviera, not Cannes, though I would like to’.

‘You must be here as a model or actress, you are stunning’, he said as he made a show of looking her up and down.

She smiled delightedly back at him and his compliment. ‘Well, I actually came here because of a man, but, yes I am a model. My boyfriend has his own modelling agency. We met in Milan where I was working in fashion. It was such a hectic life there’, she smiled to herself quickly, as if reminiscing, ‘but he asked me to follow him back and I did’. She smiled broadly, pleased. ‘He is my agent now, but when I am not modelling I work part time as his assistant in his office. I mostly work at booths and trade shows; computer games, tools, that kind of thing, not yet fashion, but he promises me soon’. She smiled expectantly at him, awaiting his positive reaction to her ‘perfect life’. Amazing improvisation, she congratulated herself, perfect for this situation.

‘Good for you girl’, he nodded back at her encouragingly, seemingly unflappable.

Does he mean that? she asked herself. Or is he just being polite? She caught herself. There was nothing wrong with not flying high in your chosen profession. Success at life wasn’t determined by your pay packet, but by your happiness, and her character was happy.

She decided that she liked this guy. He was stereotypically gay. If she had seen such a character on a TV show, she would have thought of him as the same tired, overused image of the flaming queen. But maybe his clients kind of expected him to be like that? Maybe it was part of what he was selling? Once a client knew that he was a man, they would be expecting a gay man, so it was good business sense to give them what they were expecting. But he was lovely, charming. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t think too little of her by the end of the evening.

‘So why did you decide to go big?’ he asked, an eyebrow raised.

A flicker of doubt crossed her face. Is he asking about my breasts or lips?, she asked herself. She started to raise one arm defensively across her chest.

‘Your nails dear, your nails’, he said, realising that he had said something wrong, and putting one hand gently on hers to reassure her.

She laughed at herself and raised her hand to tap her fingers on her forehead in chastisement for her misunderstanding. ‘Ow’, she yelped. She looked at her nails. ‘I didn’t draw blood, did, I?’

‘No, your fine’, he smiled. ‘I have worn nails like before, but that was a long time ago, when I was younger and still experimenting with who I am. I definitely drew blood once or twice.

She smiled back and remembered his original question. Why the nails?

This was the first time since the lingerie store that she had done this. She remembered Will’s guidelines for this evening. This time she would be playing a very different character to that time in the lingerie store. The previous character had been a completely over the top caricature of a French Sex Goddess. That character had drawn reactions of sheer disbelief from the shop girl, and a struggle to maintain a professional demeanour. This time her character would be more realistic. Her character was to be happy, genuinely happy. But she was also someone who was blind to the enormous mistakes she had made and was making and to the shock and pity that someone should feel for her.

That’s what she wanted for tonight. She wanted to see that look in his eye, the judging. The look that would let her know that she was pathetic, that she was wretched, that she was pitied, that he felt for her, that he wanted to reach out to her and hug her and to try to warn her of the terrible mistakes she was making. How would it feel? she wondered. She remembered the warm, fuzzy feelings that the shop girl’s reaction had caused in her. Would it feel exactly like that? Maybe stronger, maybe weaker?

Of course the shop girl’s reaction had not been one of pity, but shock, is this actually happening? Would that mean that the good feeling would be different? Related, but distinct? She remembered a few months ago at the pool, wearing the teeny bikini. She remembered the scowls of disapproval from women whose boyfriends had spent too long pretending not to check her out. Had it been jealousy, as well as anger? At the time she had thought that it was the beer, but when she thought back to that, it had kind of felt good. Good, like the shop girl’s reaction, but different too. A different flavour. Different provoked reaction, different flavour. Would this be different?

Alternatively, maybe pity would not feel good at all. Maybe there would be no reward. She highly doubted it.

Her own character was to be the baseline for tonight’s character, but Will had given her directions that would lead from herself to this new girl. He hadn’t specified the details, she would have to improvise those, something she was good at and enjoyed. One direction he had given was that she was no longer an executive. She did not have a successful career. Another direction was that she was to have very low self-esteem, that she was constantly seeking the validation of others, her boyfriend’s in particular.

This low self-esteem led directly to a third direction. Though she should believe that her relationship with her boyfriend was good for her, and that it was a relationship of equals, it should clearly be neither. She is sabotaging her own life with this man and he has all the power because she gave it to him in her continuous quest for his validation. Her character wasn’t necessarily a fool, but she was a fool when it came to objectively viewing the state of her relationship.

Her earlier improvisation of her life story had hit all three of those bases. Excellent work, she knew. What aspiring fashion model, already working full time in Milan, decides to move to Vegas to work for a two-bit modelling agency selling computer games to teenagers and drills to middle-aged men? Still this guy was so nice. She hadn’t yet shocked him. There was still work to do, but fortunately Will had given her other directions. She would break him.

For one, she was to draw attention to the changes she had undergone, either specifically for tonight (nails, lashes, clothes) or over the course of the last year (breasts, lips, butt). This related again to her low self-esteem. Seek his approval of these changes. Present them as your own decision, but drop hints that you underwent those changes to please your boyfriend. Of course, the opportunity to talk about such things and their motivation might not arise organically during the course of the conversation. Give too much information if necessary.

Why the nails? She smiled down at him. Try this on for size, she thought, pleased with her imagination. ‘Well, my boyfriend and I watch a lot of porn’. That had a hint of truth. They had started watching porn together. Not a lot though. ‘And when it is his turn to choose a video, he always goes for films where the lead actress has a certain look’. She paused making sure he understood. A lie. She hadn’t spotted any patterns in his choices. Actually, she didn’t know it, but this lack of a pattern wasn’t because Will didn’t have preferences, but because he was trying to hide those preferences from her. The man nodded in apparent understanding. ‘So’, she beamed, acting delighted with herself, and raising her hands in front of her, showing of the nails, ‘I wanted to surprise him with these. He is on business in Arizona, looking for more modelling opportunities for me. But he arrives back tomorrow. I can’t wait to see his reaction’.

The man smiled warmly back at her. Still no hint of anything other than good natured enthusiasm, she recognised. I suppose with what he is selling, maybe I underestimated how hard I would have to work to crack him. Don’t lose heart, you can do this. ‘Actually that’s not all I wanted to surprise him with’. She gave him a knowing and careful wink, aware that the extra weight of the false lashes might lead to a clumsy execution.

He laughed loudly in understanding. ‘Say no more, let’s get to it’.

‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked. ‘I know you’re working, but I wouldn’t mind a small beer myself. It has been a long week.’

‘Sure, I’m walking anyway, I don’t live far away’.

She tottered over to the fridge on the ridiculous pink heels that Will had gotten her last Christmas. She opened the fridge and looked down. The beers were in the lowest shelf of the door, by accident, she had not planned this. More quick thinking on her part had made her realise that this was an option. She smiled to herself. She was good at this.

Even without the six inch heels she would have had to have bent over to reach the beers. But she couldn’t bend over. She was afraid that she would reveal more than was socially acceptable. Far more. First time wearing this skirt. Designed for clubbing. Black with sparkles, designed to glitter with reflected light. Elastic. No contour was left to the imagination. Short. Very short. The idea of getting out of a car while wearing this terrified her. Never mind getting out of a car, just sitting uncross-legged in front of someone would show off her underwear. Not in a ‘I think I see panties lurking in the shadows’ sense, but in a ‘the ambient light of this room is clearly illuminating this trollop’s knickers’ sense.

The French Sex Goddess, that was a woman that would have bent over. Not this girl though. She might be a fool for her man, but she wasn’t an exhibitionist. That would break character.

She kneeled slowly, all the way down, onto her haunches, supporting herself with a hand on the counter as she did so. Now for the trick, she thought to herself. She went to grab two of the beers by the neck. But her new nails got in the way. She paused, seeming to think about this problem. It definitely would be possible to pick them up in one hand. But that wasn’t the plan. She took one bottle in each hand. Now she couldn’t use a free hand on the counter to lift herself back up. Using her leg muscles, she raised herself, slowly, but also steadily and gracefully.

‘Wow! Someone’s been doing squats!’, he said, congratulating her.

She beamed back at him. ‘In the last year I’ve really been working on it!’

‘Very impressive’.

‘My boyfriend is always playing Sir Mix-a-Lot’, she said, grinning.

‘Ha! That song is so good’, he laughed back.

Nevertheless, she persisted. I will have your pity, she thought grimly to herself.

She closed the fridge and opened the beers, one at a time, using the magnetic opener attached to the fridge door. Her nails fumbled one of the bottle tops as it fell off, but she caught it on the second attempt. She tottered back to him and handed him his beer. They clinked bottles and sipped. I’d be the same height as him without these heels, she realized to herself. She led him to the sitting room.

‘So I have to ask’, he said as he settled himself down on the couch. ‘How much experience do you have? And what do you want to learn’.

‘Well, before meeting Will I had very little experience of cock-sucking. Since we have been together though,... he awoke something inside of me, so since then I have had a lot of cock-sucking practise on him. I think I’m good at cock-sucking now, or I thought I got good, and he always says I am great. “A good little cocksucker” he calls me’, she said, allowing herself to smile dreamily to herself for effect. She saw his reaction out of the corner of her eye. Ha! Got you! It wasn’t much, but it was something. Had it even been pity? Or just shock at her candidness?

Now let’s take this home. ‘But, as a surprise for him, two months ago I had my lips done’, she pursed them for him.

‘I love them’, he said without missing a beat. No negative reaction. Maybe he meant it? They did look good. Don’t lose him now. ‘They look amazing’, he encouraged her to continue.

She smiled triumphantly at the compliment. ‘Thank you. But now I’m worried about two things. First of all, I was worried that because my new lips are a bit puffier, that maybe they affect my cock-sucking technique. But then I realised that I didn’t even know what good cock-sucking technique was’. Over use of the word “cock-sucking”. That was one of the directions Will had given her. ‘I learned by what he seemed to like. Maybe there are techniques that I do not know about? I just want to be the best that I can be for him and I want to be the best cocksucker I can be for him.

‘Clearly’, he winked back.

‘What?’ she said, not understanding.

He tapped his lips, raising his eyebrows as he did so.

She giggled, holding her hand to her mouth, acting embarrassed. Come back! I had you, she screamed mentally at him. OK, this guy was a blow job coach. It is not a shock for him to hear a women say that she wants to be a better cocksucker.

Knock down his walls. ‘He is just everything I have ever wanted’ she said, acting defensively, ‘and a lot of things I didn’t even know I wanted. I want to be that for him. Whatever it takes’. She smiled, apparently allowing herself to retreat to a dream world constructed around her boyfriend. ‘Why do you think I have been doing all those squats?’, she winked conspiratorially at him.

‘I hope he has been hitting the weights in reciprocation’, he said, he winked back.

‘He is so strong’, she reassured him, emphasizing the “is”, ‘and so kind and considerate and thoughtful’. Here goes, she decided. Go nuclear. She tested the idea again in her head, impressed with herself for having had it. ‘He always puts me first.’ Another dreamy smile. ‘Do you know, when I decided that I wanted a boob job, I showed him a picture of the boobs that I wanted. I just knew that he would love them, and he did. But instead he told me that they would be far too big. He said that if I went for smaller’, she paused now to use her hand to draw attention to her own definitely-not-small breasts, plenty of which spilled out of the tight crop top with the plunging, wide round neckline as she leaned forward on the couch. ‘Then after a year or so, my skin would be ready to accept the larger implants’. She smiled expectantly at him, inviting him to praise the paragon of virtue that was her boyfriend.

No response. Pity. Pure glorious pity. Nicole basked in it. A model with huge fake tits working in fashion? Never. As if moving to Vegas hadn’t been catastrophic enough as a career move. Oh, she’d have plenty of job offers, that was for sure, she could even do very well, but she was going to have to compromise on that dream.

Put the knife in. ‘He still keeps the picture of the boobs I wanted on his desk in the office. He winks at me when I catch him looking at them, which happens A LOT!’ She laughed. Happy. ‘And he is so great at being a businessman and networking and stuff like that. So he was able to find the plastic surgeon in the city who was offering the best deal. It is amazing how little I had to pay! I thought that all the surgeons were in the rich part of town, in white shiny buildings, but there are actually surgeons all over, working in all kinds of buildings, if you know where to look! And what is even better is that the surgeon knows I want a second surgery and agreed in advance to offer a further discount for that. I can’t believe what a good deal it is. I almost have enough saved up now from my modelling gigs, thanks to my boyfriend.’

OK thought Nicole. Will’s directions were that this girl wasn’t necessarily a fool, but I’ve decided now that she is. If I have to be stupid for this, then I will be. Totally worth it. Clearly the blow job coach had made up his mind on her intellect. You’re mine, thought Nicole, savouring his open mouth.

He realised his outh was open and closed it. He smiled weakly at her. Trying to be encouraging, but she could clearly tell that alarm bells, no not alarm bells but the air-raid sirens of a large city, were going off inside his head. Yeah, she thought to herself. She was back in the lingerie store. So fucking good.

‘OK’, he said, changing the subject. ‘To start off you can show me what you would usually do, and I will give you some pointers. I have a selection of courgettes and carrots with me. They are non-threatening and that is what I usually offer people’. He remembered himself and the role he was playing. A glint appeared in his eye. ‘But something tells me that that won’t be enough for you, eh?’ he asked suggestively, eyebrow raised conspiratorially.

She covered her wide smile with her hand. ‘What else do you have?’

‘Dildo’s of course, silly. You want to use one of them?’

She nodded, laughing, her hands still covering her smiling mouth. ‘My boyfriend is always calling me silly’, she giggled. ‘And worse!’. I hope Will has a secret camara set up that I don’t know about. I need to see this again.

He reached into his bag and took out a small neon pink dildo. ‘Here’s a cute little one. You want it?’

She shook her head. ‘Uh-uh. No way’.

He reached in again and took out what she assumed, based on her experience, was one of average size. ‘No’, she smiled. ‘He’s bigger’.

‘Lucky girl’. She giggled and sipped her beer. She should have eaten. She was feeling the warmth of the beer. But that was OK. She had won. She could let herself go now and just enjoy it. He reached in again, and pulled out the next one.

The next one was bigger than Will’s, who was himself larger than average. ‘No’, she said, dishonestly implying that Will was larger. This was another direction from Will. If he has ‘props’, ask for the biggest. ‘Make him believe that when we have sex, you feel like I am splitting you in two, and that you can’t get enough of it. This isn’t about making people believe that I have an enormous dick’, Will told her, simultaneously trying to convince himself, ‘it’s about the image you are painting for him of yourself. Of a girl who is sacrificing herself at the alter of her perfect dick’.

‘OK, well I only have one more that I bring as a joke to hen parties. It will have to do’.

‘Wow’, thought Nicole to herself. There was a big jump in size to this last one. The designer had gone all out with the veins and texture. A swirling neon pink and yellow pattern had its center at the slit of the eye and undulated down the shaft. The balls, the size and color of tangerines, were not a solid part of the mass, but actually swung, clunking heavily against each other. She was no expert on dildos, but she hadn’t seen that feature before. She looked from the dildo back to him and nodded her head eagerly, her eyes wide open, her lips forming a wide, close-mouthed smile. ‘I love it’, she said, radiating earnestness.

What are you doing to yourself girl, he thought. And Nicole knew he was thinking that. I win.

Nicole took it from him. ‘Oh, It will have to do, I suppose’, she exclaimed dramatically and laughed. He laughed too, but his heart wasn’t in it.

He attached the dildo using some straps to the back of a wooden chair and placed it in front of her. She moved from a sitting position on the couch to a kneeling position on the floor, the tops of her feet perfectly flat on the floor, each ass cheek balanced perfectly on each heel, her back straight, the dildo pointing menacingly at her. She looked up expectantly at a non-existent pair of eyes which looked down at her, making her feel very small. She felt warm and fuzzy. She would remember this feeling, she knew. She maintained the imaginary eye contact and made a show of slowly licking her plumped lips with a wet tongue. She found herself wishing that it really was Will in front of her now, that she could blow him in front of an unwilling witness. She giggled to herself at the thought, oh it felt good. She got to it.