The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Everybody ignored Cora. Why not? Cora was a mousy little thing, a waif. She was barely five feet tall. She had the figure of an underfed 12-year old and the self-confidence of a beaten dog. She rarely spoke except when someone spoke to her. That wasn’t very often. She kept her head down, staring at the ground, as if the sunlight would blind her if she looked up.

Cora was a file clerk. She fetched things and she delivered the mail. She got coffee for Mr. Jacobsen. She shuffled around the office, eyes on the floor, ignored by everybody. She had a shapeless mop of indifferent brown hair on her head.

Nobody knew anything much about Cora. Nobody bothered to ask what her hobbies were, what kind of books she liked to read, what she did after work. Her shyness discouraged conversation. Her eyes were small, dark and downcast, her face forever sad. She never complained and she never celebrated. She arrived each morning at 8:30 and she left again at 5.

People in the office would have been surprised to discover that Cora was in reality a powerful witch. Well, perhaps they would have been if it were so, but it wasn’t. Cora wasn’t a witch at all. She would have liked to be one, though. Witchcraft was her hobby, her pastime, her escape. It was what she looked forward to after endless days of meaningless filing and fetching. It was how she filled the solitary evenings in her empty apartment. She read books; she studied; she pondered the possibilities.

Occasionally she tried her hand at spells. They never worked. A few of them made an awful smell that got the building supervisor upset. Sometimes it was difficult to get the materials: bats’s wings could only be had by catching bats, and eyes of newts required a supply of amphibians. She wondered sometimes if the kind of bat mattered. Maybe details like that were why the spells didn’t work.

Cora was more intelligent, and definitely more persistent, than her co-workers gave her credit for. She kept trying with the spells. She picked up a fair bit of Latin, the better to read the old books. She ordered seeds for exotic herbs and then learned how to grow them. She even experimented with different species of bats.

She tried conjuring a number of times. She thought it would be exciting if she could bring up a demon or something. There was very little excitement in Cora’s life. The conjuring spells didn’t work.

One day at work she stopped to re-adjust all the things she was carrying. She was jostled by Ashley, a young secretary. She dropped some files, and spilled Mr. Jacobsen’s coffee.

Ashley was angry. “Cora, you clumsy idiot! For god’s sake look where you’re going!” she scolded. “Look what you’ve done to my blouse. Coffee stains all over it now, and this blouse was brand new.” She daintily brushed coffee off the thin silk. The wet material clung to her well-filled lace bra.

Cora’s sweatshirt was soaked with hot coffee. “I—I’m sorry, Ashley,” she said contritely, “you came around that corner so fast—”

“Blast, there’s a stain on my shoe too,” Ashley interrupted, scowling down at her white high heels. “I bet that will never come out. Damn your eyes, Cora.” She angrily kicked at the fallen coffee cup, spraying the remaining coffee over the fallen files.

“I’m so sorry,” Cora said again. “Look, I can get that coffee off your shoe.” She bent down to wipe the offending spot. Ashley pulled her foot away in disgust. “Don’t touch me! You’ll just make things worse. What a klutz. I have to get out of these clothes.” She threw back her long blonde hair and walked deliberately across the pile of papers spilled on the floor.

“Ashley,” Cora entreated her, “please don’t walk there, you’re ruining—”

“What’s going on here?” Jacobsen demanded, steaming out of his office.

“It’s Cora,” Ashley said coldly. “She ran right into me. Look at the mess. My blouse is ruined!”

Cora demurred. “No, I was just standing there, and—”

“Cora!” Mr. Jacobsen interrupted, “I haven’t time to listen to excuses.”

Cora stopped in mid-sentence. She hung her head. “Yes, Mr. Jacobsen.”

“Now clean up this mess and put those files back in order. In future try to watch where the hell you’re going.”

“Yes, Mr. Jacobsen.”

He turned to go, then turned back. “And when you’re through, bring me a fresh cup of coffee.”

“Yes, Mr. Jacobsen.”

Her boss turned his attention to Ashley, smiling. “Now then, I hope you’re all right. Let’s see about getting you some fresh clothes. We’ll pay for the dry cleaning bill, of course.”

“Thank you, that’s very helpful,” Ashley said sweetly. Her lips were red and pouty. “But I don’t think this stain is going to come out.” She smoothed the semi-transparent material down her chest.

“Of course, of course my dear,” Mr. Jacobsen replied, “why don’t you get yourself a new blouse. Charge it against my personal account.”

They turned and walked away together. Ashley’s hips swung attractively beneath her tight red skirt.

Cora looked after them dejectedly. She had a big stain in the middle of her sweatshirt. She wore loose clothing to hide her flat chest. She sank to her knees and began cleaning up the coffee-spattered papers.

Ashley had walked into her like she wasn’t there. Then she made Mr. Jacobsen dance as a puppet on a string. It wasn’t fair. Cora did her job. She didn’t make a fuss. Why didn’t she get any respect?

Sex appeal seemed to make all the difference. Maybe if she had a set of headlights like Ashley the men in the office would pay more attention. Well, it hadn’t turned out that way. She gathered the fallen papers.

That evening Cora tried another conjuring in her apartment. It was a new incantation. She had translated the Latin herself. She waited until midnight, mostly for atmosphere.

She sat in the middle of the pentagram, nude, with the candles burning all around. She dropped the herbs and other ingredients into the crucible in front of her, then lit the pile with a match. The fire produced a strong smell of overbaked pumperknickle. Wrinkling her nose, Cora recited the passage from the book. It had cost a big chunk of her salary at a rare book store.

The spell was supposed to conjure an elemental of some kind, she wasn’t sure exactly what. The old Latin was hard in places. The spirit didn’t sound like it was very harmful. Some of the demons in the books were scary.

She finished the incantation in Latin, then repeated it in English, just to be sure. The billowing, stinking smoke from the crucible swirled about her petite figure. The hardwood floor was cool against her skin. She opened her arms wide and threw her head back. “Come to me!” she called out. “Come to she who needs and summons you. Come to me now, I crave and supplicate before thee. I conjure you oh great . . .” Darn, what was the name of that spirit again?

She put her arms down and picked up the book. She looked at the name again. It was really hard to pronounce. For a moment she didn’t notice the smoke was gone.

“CORA!”

Cora let out a whelp of surprise. She dropped the book. “Who? What?” she cried.

“CORA!” came the voice again.

The slender girl looked around. The smoke from the crucible was swirling upward into the centre of the pentagram. It flowed and ebbed unnaturally, forming itself into a vaguely human shape.

“Oh, oh my,” Cora said in a small voice.

“You have summoned me,” the voice said. It was strong, deep and resonant. It was also female. Cora hadn’t expected that.

She searched around her mouth, trying to find her tongue. “What, I mean, who, uhm, you mean, you are, uhm . . .” she stumbled trying to pronounce the name. The conjuring had worked!

The billowing smoke spoke again. “I have come in answer to your call. Your need is great. Your longing is deep.”

Cora’s brow furrowed over her small eyes. “I don’t understand,” she ventured. “I, I just wanted to ask—”

“I know what you want,” the spirit broke in, “and it shall be yours. Your longing shall be slaked, your wishes fulfilled. Farewell, Cora.”

“Wait! Don’t go. I want to talk. I’ve never spoken to a spirit before!”

The fire in the crucible died. The smoke faded away into the grey dark beyond the candles.

Cora sat still for a moment. She shivered, and realized she was cold. She closed the book. She snuffed out the candles. By the light of the streetlamps outside she replaced the big rug she used to cover the pentagram. She went to bed.

The gratingly cheerful voice of the radio announcer broke Cora out of her sleep the next morning. She slapped the clock-radio smartly, silencing him. It was another workday morning. Yet Cora was in a rare mood.

The conjuring had worked. She had spoken to a real demon, or spirit or . . . something. Actually, the spirit had done most of the talking. What did she mean by “your longing shall be slaked, your wishes fulfilled”? Cora never even had a chance to ask her anything.

Getting ready for work was an effortless ritual for Cora. After her shower she jumped into her usual combination of jeans and a bulky sweater. She was too small to really need a bra. She seldom bothered with make-up and combing her hair was pointless. This morning she was hungry. She ate a big breakfast.

Something was wrong with her blue jeans. They were short around the ankles. They must have shrunk in the wash. Since she was wearing joggers and slouch socks with them she decided the difference didn’t matter. She was convinced no one would notice if she came to work nude.

Work was the usual drudgery. Cora drifted through it on automatic pilot. Mr. Jacobsen didn’t shout at her any more than usual.

That evening she tried to decipher enough Latin to figure out what kind of spirit she had summoned the night before. She guessed it was a minor sprite, an airy spirit that flitted in and out of the material world. They were supposed to grant favours to mortals in need, if the mood happened to strike them.

Cora’s work clothes felt uncomfortable by the time she got home. She changed into her nightgown and slippers. Although she had eaten a hearty dinner, she nibbled on snacks while she read the ancient book. She had been hungry all day.

The problem with her pants was worse the next morning. They were a good two inches too short. They didn’t hang right, either. She tried a pair of loose grey athletic pants, but they were too short too.

A half hour later Cora still wasn’t dressed. She was standing in the middle of her bedroom, quite naked, looking around in perplexity at the piles of pants and jeans scattered about. Nothing seemed to fit. They were all too short in the leg. How could that be?

She pulled some clothes off a hanger on the back of the door so she could see the full-length mirror mounted there. Her reflection looked back at her dubiously. If all her clothes were too short at the same time, didn’t that logically imply that she had grown taller? It seemed to be the only explanation.

A few minutes fussing with a measuring tape confirmed the implausible. She had gained rather more than two inches in height. She sat down on the bed, more perplexed than ever.

A growth spurt? She was twenty-three. Any growth should be long done spurting. She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes while she considered it. Her stomach grumbled. She decided to think about it while she had a second breakfast.

Mr. Jacobsen gave her a rough time about being late for work. It had never happened before. “We start at 8:30 here Cora, and that doesn’t mean 9:05. If you can’t get yourself out of bed in time then set your alarm clock earlier. Don’t let this happen again.”

“Yes, Mr. Jacobsen,” Cora replied demurely. Everything was strange this morning. Cora’s jeans didn’t cover her ankles. She felt silly. At lunch time she dashed out and hurriedly bought a new pair, with a longer leg. She barely had time to pop down three or four sandwiches before it was time to get back to work.

The next day things got worse. Now her underwear didn’t fit. Every pair she owned was suddenly too small. The face reflected in her bedroom mirror looked confused. There was something different about her appearance that she couldn’t put her finger on. She flipped her hair back to get it out of her eyes. Mindful of Mr. Jacobsen’s warning about being late again, she decided to go to work without underwear.

It felt odd, walking around with nothing on beneath her new jeans. Cora was nervous. She knew no one could tell, but her self-consciousness kept her on edge. To make matters worse, her sweatshirt was rubbing her breasts. They felt swollen.

She examined herself in the washroom mirror. Her nipples were erect from the contact with the sweatshirt. It was very distracting. When she went out for lunch, she bought new underwear for above and below.

“There, that just about does it,” said the hip young stylist, fussing with comb and scissors around Cora’s head. “Take a look.” She swung the chair around so Cora could look at herself in the mirror.

She was impressed. Her lifeless hair looked nice for once. It was shaped into a smooth helmet, coupated just below the ears. The normally lank locks glistened. They could do so much with conditioners and things.

Cora had become tired of endlessly flipping hair out of her eyes. That was her usual signal to get it cut. Impulsively, she decided to bypass CutRate Cuts, where they cut hair the way a teenager mows the lawn, and dropped into a proper style shop. It was nice to look good for a moment. She knew her new hairstyle wouldn’t last.

She had no idea how true that would turn out to be.

A couple of days later, Cora started to notice doorknobs. The first one was on the door to Mr. Jacobsen’s office. Cora stopped for a moment, looking at it. She had some mail in one hand. The doorknob looked different. She reached out a hand and turned the latch back and forth. Why did it seem unfamiliar?

“Cora are you going to give me those papers or just stand there?” said Mr. Jacobsen from inside his office.

Cora started. “Oh, I’m sorry sir,” she said. She walked in and handed him the mail. She was wearing new jeans, but she could feel cool air around her ankles. Jacobsen was standing by the window, looking out over the city. He took the papers absently, grunting something about more coffee.

He did a double take. He looked back at Cora as if he were seeing her for the first time. Quite possibly he was.

“Is something wrong, sir?” Cora asked. She was certain he was going to reprimand her about her clothes. She was braless beneath a bulky sweatshirt. It didn’t quite reach her waist. It had fit loosely a few days earlier.

Jacobsen looked perplexed. “Cora are you—I mean, have you—” He stopped. “Well, get me another cup of coffee.”

“Yes, Mr. Jacobsen,” Cora replied. Jacobsen drank too much coffee. That was part of the reason he was so edgy. Cora never had the courage to talk him out of it.

She considered the doorknob again on the way out. She was puzzled. Mr. Jacobsen looked . . . well, different somehow. The bald spot on his head seemed more noticeable. Why had he been staring at her?

It came to her suddenly when she was in the changing room at a clothing store, buying another pair of pants. She had grown taller. Doorknobs were lower. Mr. Jacobsen was not a tall man. She was grinning as she paid for the jeans. She bought a new brassiere too.

By the following Monday Cora’s bra was getting tight again. She stood before her bedroom mirror, nude but for the white bra, while she tried to adjust the straps. This was all very strange. The girl in the mirror was . . . cute. Willowy. Was that her?

She was several inches taller now. More remarkably, her shape was changing. She was developing mature curves. She had cleavage. Cora found herself calling up words that had never served in her lexicon of self-description. She wiggled her hips back and forth experimentally. She discovered she had hips. Her hair looked better too. It needed cutting.

Cora flipped a lock of hair over her left ear. Everything about this was disorienting. Still, it was nice to feel attractive. She even smiled for once.

Wait a minute: was that her smile? She leaned closer to the mirror, baring her teeth. Something else had changed. That crooked tooth in the front—the one that had embarrassed her all her life, ever since the orthodontist said it had a twisted root that wouldn’t respond to braces and her mother said she couldn’t afford them anyway—it wasn’t crooked any more. It was perfectly straight. In fact, all her teeth were straight. Cora smiled wider.

A half hour later, after her standard enormous breakfast, Cora received yet another surprise. She was brushing her newly straight teeth when she felt something small and hard in her mouth. She spit it into her hand. It was a filling.

Cora groaned out loud. She would have to visit the dentist straight away. Mr. Jacobsen didn’t like her taking time off work.

She paused for a moment. Shouldn’t it hurt? She felt around with her tongue, looking for the cavity. She opened her mouth wide and inspected herself. There was no cavity. All her teeth were clean, white and perfect.

While she was looking, leaning close to the bathroom mirror, she discovered that the little mole between her eyebrows had disappeared.

A few days later, Cora was at work, delivering the mail. She was skipping along much more lightly these days. She guided the mail cart down the long row of cubicles, pausing at each to drop off letters and memos and reports. She felt her inflated breasts bounce jauntily with every step.

Cora was braless, again. The new harness she had bought a few days earlier no longer fit. She had given up trying to squeeze into it that morning. The twin beauties beneath her sweatshirt were not as easily ignored as they used to be. Colleagues that used to overlook her were now looking her over.

Other things were changing as well. Cora’s jeans were tight around her swelling hips. She had put off buying a new pair because she rather liked the way men’s eyes lingered on her behind when she walked by. Flattering attention was not something Cora was used to—but she was growing to like it quickly.

She stopped at a cubicle and picked up a parcel of mail. She flicked back her hair with one hand. She had to get it cut again, barely a week after the last time. Nevertheless, the stylist had convinced her to wear it a little longer, down to the nape of her neck. “It’s so thick and healthy,” the girl enthused, “it would be a shame to wear it too short.” Cora beamed while the stylist went to work.

The man in the cubicle looked up when Cora knocked. “Well, good morning,” he said, grinning.

“Hi Frank,” Cora replied cheerfully. “Mail call.” Cora knew everybody’s names from the mail she delivered. Frank had never started a conversation with her before.

“Uhm, thanks,” he said. “Er, it’s Cora, is it?” His eyes considered the bulges in her sweatshirt for a moment.

“That’s right.” She graced him with her new improved smile.

“Well, uhm, thank you for the, uh, reports.” He shuffled the papers Cora had given him. His eyes flicked down to her chest again.

“You’re welcome Frank. Don’t work to hard.” She bounced her boobs a little to confirm his suspicions, then flounced away to the next cubicle, wiggling her ass. Cora felt good this morning.

Two minutes later she rounded a corner and ran right into Ashley.

“Watch where you’re going!” the shapely secretary said curtly. She was dressed in one of her sexy office suits, with an abbreviated skirt and matching heels.

“I, I’m sorry, Ashley, I didn’t mean to—”

“Never mind! Just get out of my way.” She stepped around the mail cart, barely glancing at Cora.

“You don’t have to be so grumpy,” Cora said.

Ashley stopped. She turned to look at Cora. Perhaps she was surprised to hear her demur, however mildly. It was as likely that a piece of furniture had talked back. Impulsively, Cora straightened a little, letting her newly expanded breasts press against her top.

“You could try doing your job without being a traffic hazard,” Ashley said after a moment. “As long as you’re here, where’s Mr. Fargo’s mail?” She held out one hand expectantly.

Ashley was Fargo’s secretary. Cora would be passing by her desk shortly. The demand was a reminder of Cora’s status. Both women knew it.

“Oh, of course, I have it right here,” Cora replied, returning to her habitual deference. She bent to retrieve a package of correspondence from the bottom of the mail cart. She stopped with her hand outstretched. She considered for a moment. She straightened up again.

“I’m so sorry, Ashley,” she said contritely. “I must have forgotten your mail this morning. It’s still sitting in the sorting tray. I can get it when I make my second run this afternoon—if Mr. Fargo doesn’t mind waiting that long. Or you could trot down to the mail room and fetch it yourself.”

The choice of words was not lost on Ashley. Her beautiful face clouded in anger. “Don’t you dare insult me you skinny little bitch,” she snarled. “I still have my job to do even if you’re incompetent at yours. I want Fargo’s mail on my desk in twenty minutes or I’ll tell Jacobsen to fire your ass.”

“Remember to bat your eyelashes,” Cora returned.

“Oh, go away.” Ashley flipped her blonde hair and strode off, still fuming. Cora watched a man look up from his desk to admire the secretary’s legs.

Another fulfilling day at the office, Cora thought to herself. She wondered briefly where she had found the courage to stand up to Ashley. The woman was tiresome. Gorgeous or not, she needed a good spanking.

Yet Ashley had given Cora the same when-did-you-get-here look she had been getting from more and more men around the office. Was it conceivable that Ashley, the office show-off, was seeing Cora as a rival? A few weeks earlier the idea would have been laughable. Cora looked down to admire her belling breasts. They weren’t quite as big as Ashley’s—yet.

About a week later, the morning sun again found Cora standing in front of her bedroom mirror. She was dressed in her underwear. The new panty and bra set was rose-coloured, with a floral pattern. She had it bought on the weekend.

She considered her reflection. The woman in the mirror was no longer cute: she was several notches above that now. “Shapely” was a word that came to mind. “Sexy” was another. Cora hefted her healthy boobs for a moment. She was frankly amazed that there was so much to heft.

Everyone in the office was starting to notice. So were men on the street. Their attention was guaranteed whenever her nipples grew hard, which they did every time she noticed a man looking at her. Cora was still rather shy, but her tits were shameless show-offs. She was relieved to have them back under wraps. She strongly suspected their confinement would be temporary.

Her new bra was another size larger. Nevertheless, it was largely decorative; her proudly thrusting chest needed very little support. The panties were a different size too. Cora’s hips had continued to flare, just as her buttocks were becoming full and round. She tossed a thick lock of hair out of her eyes.

She picked up a pair of slacks off the bed and held them in front of her. They were too short. She had gained at least another two inches in height since her last shopping trip. This was a concern: perpetually outgrowing her underwear was one thing; she couldn’t afford to buy a new wardrobe every few days. Fortunately, she had a solution.

The bodacious brunette bounced over to her closet. After some rummaging around in the back she emerged with a simple tan skirt. Cora hadn’t worn a skirt in so long she could hardly remember what it was like. She figured that skirts would be a little more forgiving about length than pants. She was partly right.

Half an hour later Cora was back in front of the mirror. She looked good. Her skirt used to be about knee-length. It stopped well above the knee now. It fit rather tightly over her hips too.

Cora wondered for a moment if the skirt was too sexy for the office. That was another proposition that she had never encountered before. She turned one pantyhosed leg back and forth. Somehow, without her noticing, her legs had become sleek and curvy.

Cora decided she liked the skirt. She was grinning. She threw her bangs out of her eyes.

The top problem was more difficult. She could hardly wear one of her bulky sweatshirts with a skirt. Besides, they were all too small. Instead, she tried a (previously) loose red sweater. She filled it out fetchingly. She replaced her usual sneakers with a pair of soft red slip-ons. She even decided to wear a little make-up. She might have tried some jewellery except she didn’t own any. It hardly mattered.

She looked at her watch guiltily. She was going to be late, again. She turned sideways for a moment, admiring her profile. Her sweater strained. Maybe Mr. Jacobsen would forgive her. She threw back her long hair, again. She really needed to see the hairdresser—again.

Three days later, Cora was sauntering about the office, delivering mail. She was running late, on account of a visit to the style shop during her lunch hour. Her hair was growing so fast that even frequent cuts couldn’t keep up. It was well past her shoulders now. It shimmered in the office lights, glossy and thick as she ambled down the rows of cubicles.

She handed some mail to a young man in a cubicle, pausing to say hello and give him a chance to check her out. He did so, admiringly. Cora’s new dress was light blue, stretchy, and short. It flattered her evolving figure and revealed her shapely thighs. “Hey there, Cora,” the man said warmly. “You are looking fine today.” Until last week he had never spoken to her before. “Fancy a drink after work?”

Cora pinched her lip coquettishly. “Maybe. But I think you should buy me dinner too.”

“Well, I’d be glad to.”

“Promise to give me a lift home afterward?”

“Of course!” He was grinning.

She dropped some mail on his desk, leaning close. “I’ll see if I have time,” she cooed. “See you later.” She returned to her mail cart, smiling herself. Flirting was a new thing for Cora. She knew the man’s eyes were glued to her gently undulating hips as she sauntered away.

He wasn’t the only one looking. From the moment she left her flat that morning, Cora had been basking in uninterrupted male attention. She was delighted, but not surprised. Her brief blue dress sleeked over her newly curvaceous figure. Even in simple black pams, her legs were head-turning. Literally.

The new brassiere she had purchased a few days earlier, when her chest measurement was closing on 36 inches, was already tight. Cora could feel the straps digging into her shoulders. She would probably discard it at noon. Yet Cora’s waist had remained as girlishly slender as ever, even as her chest, hips and ass blossomed into nubile womanhood.

She flipped through the letters and memos in her cart as she ambled along. She perused a few of them as she went. She wasn’t supposed to read other people’s mail, but it relieved the boredom.

She had been studying one memorandum in particular. It was a circular from senior management, outlining progress in the firm’s late and reluctant program to equalize salaries between men and women. The note was dense with figures and accounting terminology. It concluded, with much trumpeting, that the wage gap had been narrowed to a mere 5%.

Something about the memo bothered Cora. She read it again, looking at the yards of figures. They didn’t quite add up. There was definitely a mistake. Could it have been deliberate?. Cora was so distracted by this discovery she hardly noticed that she was doing complicated sums in her head.

She was passing by Mr. Fargo’s office. Ashley was not at her desk. Probably off charming her co-workers over coffee, Cora decided. She tossed Fargo’s mail on the desk. The memo landed on top.

Cora was seized with a wicked idea. Ashley had not logged out of her computer. Cora looked around. Then she sat down at Ashley’s desk, smoothing her short dress beneath her. She opened Ashley’s E-mail program, and began to type. The message header was: “Error in calculation of women’s wages.” She sent the message to everybody.

About a half hour later, Cora made a point of passing by Ashley’s desk. She found the sexy secretary, nearly in tears, trying to explain herself to a furious Mr. Jacobsen. “But I’m telling you, I didn’t send that!” she insisted. “I don’t know anything about salaries. You’ve got to believe me!”

Clearly he did not. “This message came from your computer, from your account, not one hour ago! It’s right here on the message log!” He waved about a copy of Cora’s message as if it were a signed confession. Jacobsen’s intemperate shouting was beginning to draw attention. A number of fellow workers were witnessing Ashley’s rebuke. Cora giggled. She could fully understand why Jacobsen was upset.

Cora’s message had pointed out, in clear and simple language, that the latest salary comparison included certain fringe benefits in the total for women but inexplicably excluded them for men. The difference was buried in reams of abstruse figures. Fairly calculated, the difference in salary was closer to 12%. Caught red-faced, the company would have no choice but to fix things.

Cora wore a smile of satisfaction as she walked away. Striking a blow for equality and bringing Ashley down a notch in one go: all in all not a bad day’s work. She twitched her shoulders. Now if she could only find a well-fitting brassiere.