The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Corelle D’Amber was slender and pale faced. She looked better than her plain photographs in Fortune or Forbes. The large sunglasses made a big difference in her face, too. With the dark glasses hiding the obvious mar of the eye patch, she was an elegant looking woman. Her poise at the table of the sidewalk café was noticeable.

To me, at any rate, that’s my job, noticing things.

Her file said she was forty-nine. She didn’t look it. Her charcoal trench coat and black hose set off her auburn locks and slim profile. I’m not one of those women who thinks anyone looks good in dark colors, but it seemed that D’Amber was unconscious of the darkness of her clothing. Her clothing didn’t create her mood. On her, the clothes were an understatement. In fact, that was her theme in my mind, understatement. I remembered people in a quick system of themes and details. For instance, the posture of her hands was much more interesting than her clothes.

Her hands were slender and long-fingered. Her two hands enfolded each other as if they were seeking comfort. They were ‘spooned’. The knuckles of one hand backed into the palm and fingers of the other. I fancied that her hands were warm and drawing quiet pleasure from just snuggling into each other. A sculptress would have hands like that. Not for working stone though, her hands were too tender-looking for that. Clay. Yes. She could work clay through those fingers and shape art. I pictured her as a much younger woman, studying art under a famous French master. Shame if she had never been to France. I could see her in Paris or some other European city café.

Obviously, I really needed a vacation badly.

I stopped daydreaming when my client’s wife walked around the corner and headed for Ms. D’Amber’s table.

Balls. Now things got ugly. It looked as though my client was right. His wife was meeting the financier on the sly. I slid my hand into my coat pocket and thumbed on the power of the zoom camera tucked there. A few shots and this little case was about to close. I took out the camera and made sure the flash was disabled. The day was a little gray and overcast, but if the flash went off, I’d stick out like a sore thumb.

Mrs. Kinta Jackson was a fine looking black woman and her husband was a software engineer so famous that he was one of four men who were just identified in the media these days by their last name. They were the ‘rock stars’ of the cyber age.

Gates. Jackson. Case. Jobs.

Kinta was a former model for TV and magazines and onetime actress. She had married Jackson a while back and they settled down to flawless matrimony. Jackson had a pre-nuptial, a well-written one as millionaires often do, and his marriage was only two years old. His chocolate colored face had been tired looking when he signed a contract for me to watch his wife. He had a quiet sad story. He had noticed a sharp change in her behavior over the last three weeks. He didn’t know D’Amber was involved for sure, but the timing went along with a business deal that he and D’Amber had just closed on.

It looked like I was going to be the bearer of bad news once again. Licensed investigator with a knack for digging up the dirt. That’s me. That’s why they all picked me, because I got the ‘goods.’ Pictures. Tapes. Whatever you needed.

Hard to be really good at what you do and not love it. Once I had really cared a lot. I had been the ‘dogged hunter’ with a nose for cold trails and warm bed linen. I’ve an eye for embezzlers and cheats, along with an ear for liars. It was sad how many things I had learned and studied only to find that this job was mostly taking pictures and uncovering the barely hidden. Most people just weren’t that clever about their indiscretions, they just thought they were. The challenge of ‘getting the goods’ had been my cup of tea once upon a time.

Except that I was thirty-two and I had been doing this since I was eighteen. Then I had opened my own place when I was twenty-four. Now I was fried on the little improprieties that folks are prone to. I didn’t much care for people anymore. It had long since occurred to me, that if the ones I was chasing down had these flaws, then the ones that were hiring me probably did too.

I was really tired of it, but it kept a roof over my head.

I started snapping some quick shots when Kinta sat down at D’Amber’s table.

Smiles. Laughing. Lunch. One glass of wine each. Man, they were having a good time. They looked like old school chums meeting to reminisce. Strange thing was there was no hand holding, no long stares into each other’s eyes that new lovers like. I made hard notes using the practical side of my brain while the puzzler side worked overtime trying to figure out why people screw up their lives so badly.

I mean, both of these women had it all. Money. Gobs. Admiration. Heaps. Success. Tons.

Yet, here they both were throwing energy into a lesbian relationship that would destroy most of that. Money would walk out of Kinta’s life, though I knew she could earn plenty still. Admiration for wives cheating with other women was out of vogue. I guess you couldn’t really take away success already achieved. What the hell was so fucking great about sex with another woman any-damn-how? Wasn’t that the dumbest part?

Men were hardly worth it; going over to women was really desperate. Love? Puh-lease.

Sex. Some people just seemed to have needs that forced them to tear their higher cognitive functions to shreds. It was so stupid; it would be laughable if I could still get any humor out of these situations. Ten years ago, I used to quote Shakespeare, ‘what fools these mortals be’ and such. I didn’t have the energy for that anymore. People were just stupid.

It totally destroyed my faith in women that these two brilliant and high profile gals were going to crush their public lives all for the sake of rubbing each other’s privates for an hour once a week.

And why was it my career to catch them at it?

Corelle D’Amber followed me back to my office.

Brilliant deduction? No. When she walked through my door without knocking as I was hanging up my leather jacket in the closet I had a stupid look on my face.

The ‘caught’ look. I’ve seen it, so even though I didn’t know how she had followed me or what I was going to do about it, I knew what my face must have looked like. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, slowed to a halt in the middle of whatever I was doing.

Caught.

For one second, I thought about trying to pretend to be a secretary. Say that Ms. Flaumel was not in, just to see if she knew who I was. She never gave me a chance.

“Ms. Evelyn Flaumel,” she nodded, “you are very good at what you do. I’d like to hire you.” She looked me up and down.

Yeah. I bet. “Look, Ms. D’Amber, this isn’t personal and I’m already working for someone else. I guess you can figure that. I’ll save you trouble and tell you that I’m not for hire. And no, you can’t buy the photos. And yes, I’m sure. Not at any price.”

“I don’t want them,” she replied looking about my gray on gray office. “I need someone to accept direction of my security needs. A watchdog who will think ahead. I suggest an annual contract with thirty days vacation a year. Starting salary is twice what you made last year. If you are interested we can talk specific contract items.”

I swallowed, miserable that I was so stuck on my own principles, “No, thanks.”

She looked back at me and took off the sunglasses. Her right eye was green. “This isn’t a bribe. I know about Jackson wanting pictures. He’s a voyeur. He never touches Kinta. She’s a doll for him to dress up and take to important public events. She’s a notch-up that he has on his competitors. A trophy. You can send him the pictures. I’m talking about your next contract. I’m talking about a career change.”

Ugh. Jackson was—. He didn’t—. Oh, man. Kinta was just for show?

I started to get mad. Luckily, I’m a very practical type, I stalled, “Why me, Ms. D’Amber? I don’t specialize in protection design. I’m a street hack.”

Her gaze never wavered. “I’ll be quite frank with you. Because we are the same build, same height, and if you dye your blonde hair to match mine, you give me a great number of options against my business enemies by acting as my body double on occasion. I guess I’m asking you to be my dress up doll, Ms. Flaumel. Except,” she held up a finger, “I need your expertise about getting information, about people, and managing my exposure to the public.”

The anger went away. Hmm. “Two hundred thousand a year is what I want and I’ll tell you that’s five times what I made last year. Ten percent raises every year as long as I’m doing the job you want. Ten percent increases in vacation time each year, too.” A change might be good. What she wanted was something I would have jumped at eight years ago. I decided to see how serious she was.

“Done.” She nodded, then tilted her head, “Anything else?”

“I should have asked for more money,” I sighed.

“Yes,” she nodded and lifted her eye patch.

Balls! Her eye—

—Leather. The smell of leather. Strong woman. Exciting. So strong. Hot. The soft texture in my hands. On my skin. Horny. Spreader bar between my ankles. Why does she want me? Oh! I’d love to try something that vulnerable. Not in this day and age. Too many freaks. Auburn hair. Grace. No. Too many secrets. People talk. Pillow talk. Don’t want her to know. Giving over to a woman? Too much. Lesbian. Mask. Heavy make-up. Handcuffs. Crimson lips made up for sucking cock. Stretched and spread. So much inside that is so hot. She breaks the rules. Don’t break the rules. Let someone else make you break them. Tired of sucking my own fingers. Want cock. Don’t want her. No. Not a dyke. I just want—

I woke up. A moment of shock, I couldn’t see out of my left eye. Strange dreams.

Then I took in the sounds and the plane interior around me and realized where I was. Landing soon from the cabin activity, was my guess. I opened my purse and checked my look in my compact for the third time today. Auburn hair and delicately plucked eyebrow above an eye patch that matched my dark green silk suit-jacket. Why the hell did she always insist on matching the patch to her clothes? I’d been working for her for close to two months and I didn’t understand that part. You’d think she wanted people to notice the infirmity. Was she proud of it? She was vain in a subtle way that eluded me.

I was out on my first public test as Corelle’s double, a three day seminar in Hawaii.

Strange lady, Corelle. First she insists that I work out every day to lose my little bit of belly, as if my black belt rating went down because of a little stomach flab. Men liked a softer look. No point in telling her what men wanted. Never mind that. With all the women moving in and out of Corelle’s life, it was transparent from inside her life that she had lots of partners. Lipstick lesbians probably.

The girly thing was something I could live with as long as it didn’t get personal.

It was strictly business between us. She was right on the money from the first; we were both the same height, weight, and build. I had a little more leg, she had a bit more bust. With my blonde tresses gone and the stomach flatter, I was like a sister in looks. With the signature eye patch in place, I looked more like her than my old self. Just like her in fact.

The only thing tough about the job was ignoring the personal side of Corelle. She was a peculiar mix of things. Hard edged about business, I liked that. Wise about people. I found myself liking her when I hoped I wouldn’t. She had a knack for finding women who weren’t afraid of hard work or shy about their own ability. Her staff were all really sharp. They also treated her like a general. No, more like a charismatic leader. Whether I was meeting an executive from her PolyCorp firm or just chatting with her housekeeper, Louisa, it always seemed that when Corelle came up as a topic, you were suddenly talking about Eleanor Roosevelt.

Except that unlike Eleanor, she really knew how to dress. I loved that part.

Everything she bought came in pairs now. From two separate sources. That last was my idea. No point in being obvious. She had shown me some of the police write-ups on the shooting and the attempted break-ins. I sensed there was more she wasn’t telling me. I hoped that would change soon. She really did need someone who was going to think about her exposure full-time. It irritated me that I wasn’t being told everything and that it might affect how well I could do my job. The original offer hadn’t been a bribe and Jackson had his dumb photos now.

And Kinta and he were still married. It had apparently never been about splitting up.

Hawaii was someplace I had never been and this trip was only to try out my look and get used to the pose. A dry run for unnamed ‘future plans’ that Corelle had. The hardest thing to do was the walk. For years I had cultivated a ‘don’t notice me’ walk and Corelle had a no-nonsense stride that required concentration to do well, especially in heels.

The plane landed on time. I breezed through the airport. The limo took me to the Grand Regency. I stepped out of the limo before the driver had gotten quite everything out of the trunk.

That’s when the 1991 Ford Taurus tried to paste me around its front grille.

Fortunately, I wasn’t Corelle. When the car was still picking up speed, tires squealing under the drop-off canopy, I set on the balls of my feet and pivoted to face the oncoming car. I tried to get a good look at the driver. Not enough time. I’d never done this in heels, but if I took two seconds to kick them off, I’d blow my timing. I waited, then leaped forward and up, running up the hood of the car. It worked. The car was going faster than I thought, but even when I lost my footing somewhere on the car’s top, my fall brought me down bouncing on the trunk and then hitting the concrete drive with my feet almost under me. Too off balance, I fell to the ground landing on my rump.

I surveyed the damage as I heard the car zooming up the street already a hundred yards away. Bruised dignity, but not even a run in my stockings. Skinned my palm. Scuffed my shoes. Three guys helped me to my feet. I watched them carefully, too. A follow-up attack once danger was ‘passed’ was a classic.

Someone offered to call the police. No. Corelle didn’t want any publicity if it could be helped. Zero.

I walked into the lobby and over to the registration desk. The manager came out and took over from the young man to do the check in for me personally. Red carpet treatment. She was average height, dark hair. Quick, smooth, and gracious, she seemed to be the soul of efficiency. She handed over a door card, “Nice to see you again, Ms. D’Amber.”

There were signs and counters to give here. Corelle had little routines that she did all the time so she knew things were ‘normal.’ Corelle had said I had to try and convince everyone fully, she wanted to know how easily I could do this with people she saw routinely, “Nice to be back.” I waited a beat before giving the countersign. “Have you been a good girl?” Balls! I felt more than a little stupid. It didn’t sound any better out loud than it had in my head.

Her face turned crimson. She bit her lower lip. I stared. It was obvious that she was aroused and embarrassed. She lost her cool manner for several seconds. “No ma’am,” she whispered.

I was warm. This was too weird. I’d never seen such a strong reaction in someone from such a remark. I could only imagine what kind of things might happen between this lady and Corelle. Things I really didn’t have any business thinking about. Why was I aroused? I had to play this through, but I didn’t have to like it.

“Well,” I swallowed nervously; there were too many people nearby, I nearly forgot to finish the counter-sign. “I’ll call you later to let you know if the room is alright.”

“Please do.” She seemed to regain her balance quickly. Dara Henson was her name, I remembered. I just left the check-in with some relief that my part was over.

Of course, the room was fine. It was a fantastic room. I was impersonating a billionaire, after all.

I felt better then about calling the desk. When I got her on the phone, I was on my own; Corelle hadn’t given me any other orders except to have a good time for three days.

“Front desk. This is Dara Henson.”

“Corelle here.” I’d practiced that. The boss always answered the phone that way. “The room is fine, Dara.” There, done.

“I’m so glad to hear that Ms. D’Amber.” She breathed into the phone, “What time might I come up? My shift ends at five.”

Oh, oh. I thought very fast. I hadn’t signed up to impersonate Corelle in the bedroom. Balls! This was really awkward. If I told her to forget it, would spurning her make her do something weird or out of character? And what about her reactions to me in public during my stay? I couldn’t ignore the heat in her voice.

Were Corelle’s enemies watching me here? The car attempt said yes.

“I have some reports to read,” I heard myself say, “so come up at nine.” My palms were sweating.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” She hung up. Balls! Her voice sounded so hot. I got angry. I dialed Corelle’s private cell number. It rang twice.

“Corelle here.”

“Boss. Are you screwing with me? Let’s be honest. This Dara Henson just invited herself to my room tonight and I am NOT getting paid to keep your sex life on track.” The back of my neck was warm.

“Hello, Evelyn. How’s the weather? No. I’m not screwing with you. Dara would never invite herself. If she’s coming to your room tonight, it’s because you asked her.”

I got angry. “Yes! I’m trying to learn to be you. I’m trying to pick up the skills to keep your enemies off-balance, remember? That does not include diddling your little flouncy girls. It doesn’t include keeping ME off-balance. By the way, to make your day someone tried to run you down.” This felt better. Yelling into the phone was taking the edge off.

“Fine. When she arrives, tell her whatever you like, she’ll do whatever you say. Have her turn down the bed, fluff the pillows and then leave. Are you hurt?” Calm. Direct. Unflappable.

“Are you serious? She’s coming up here for sex and I treat her like that and tell her to leave? And if she realizes I’m not you, boom! She’s really going to be O.K. with that?” I realized with some dread that my pussy was slick. I was wet. I tried really asking myself what was going on in my head. Was I hot because of the potential lesbian sex or because I thought Corelle was playing some game with me personally?

“Yes. No question. She’ll be disappointed, of course. Are you hurt?” That was a droll delivery.

I lowered my voice. “Are you getting off on this? So help me boss, I’ll kick your ass when I get back.”

Laughter from her. The tension evaporated. We had developed a complex relationship. She seemed to like it when I told her exactly what I was thinking with brutal honesty. I started to smile and choked it off. I wanted to be angry.

“I guess you’re not hurt. I look forward to that, Evelyn. Do I have your promise you’ll kick my ass when you get back?” she teased.

I swallowed some more thoughts, “We’ll see. I’ll take care of things here.”

“Thank you. Enjoy yourself.” Click. Gone.

Had I just agreed to dominate a stranger? I felt goosebumps on my arms. No way.

Dara was prompt. I let her in at nine p.m. I had fixed myself a drink before she knocked. I invited her to have one, whereupon she went straight to the bar and made herself a gin and tonic. She was still wearing the dark blue jacket over a white blouse and charcoal skirt. Her hose were white, her shoes black patent heels.

She mixed her drink and added ice. Turning around and taking her first sip, she watched me watch her.

I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. How to make this short and sweet? I grabbed at Corelle’s earlier suggestion because my own thoughts were jumbling against each other; “I want my pillows fluffed.”

Her eyes lit up. Her expression of joy was overwhelming. I felt a flush spread across my ass.

She set her drink down, “Yes, Mistress. I’d love to. Shall I strip for you?” She started for the bedroom.

“No!” I steadied my voice. “Just do the pillows and turn down the bed.”

She disappeared through the bedroom door. Mistress? God! She wasn’t just a lesbian; she was a sex slave! I felt stupid and aroused at the same time. All that stuff about ‘good girl’ at the front desk. It wasn’t just an ‘all clear’ signal; it was also sexual banter hidden in plain sight. Now I found myself tonight’s guest mistress to a trained slave and it seemed to be turning me on. Maybe I really didn’t know myself very well. Was I just intrigued or was there a darker temptation to this?

When Dara came back I could just tell her that was all. Pissed or not, disappointed or not, Corelle had said she would leave at that point and I would be done with this.

Did I want to be? Who would know what happened here tonight? Corelle would in some vague fashion. And she could easily ask Dara about it the next time she was here herself. Suddenly nervous, I took a deeper drink of my scotch and water. Better to just get this meeting over quickly.

Dara walked back into the room, she curtseyed, “Bed turned down, ma’am.”

“Great.” My voice sounded thready and hoarse. I cleared it softly. “That’s all Dara. Thank you.”

She stood there looking at me. Balls! I knew she wasn’t dumb, she was managing a four star hotel. Go! Get out!

“Would you like a back rub?” her voice begged.

I felt my resolve melt like spun sugar in sunshine. My panties were wet and bunching between my legs. “You did hear me ask you to leave, didn’t you?” It came out hard. Demanding.

Her head dropped down, she looked at the floor. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am. I’m being bad. You’re probably tired but I’m soooo horny for you.”

Oh my. Her voice had lowered to nearly a whisper, sending a shiver through me. I was hot. I couldn’t believe this. I didn’t want her to leave. I wanted to see how many rules I could get her to bend or break. I had something like a tiny orgasm when she dropped her head in dejection. She expected to be punished now. I knew it.

I was red hot. I didn’t know what Corelle got out of this; after all, she could buy anything she wanted. Sex adventures like this would destroy a public figure like her if it ever got out. No one invested his or her money with a sex maniac.

Sex. Some people just seemed to have needs that forced them to throw out their higher brain functions. It was so crazy; it would be laughable if I could find any humor in this situation. I was really going to regret this in the morning. My sense was slipping into a dark pool of desire.

“How well trained are you, Dara?” I asked. My pulse was loud in my ears. She looked so normal, so professional in her white blouse and dark jacket. She probably had a college education I didn’t have and never would. She probably made good money. Maybe she taught Sunday school. I shifted, keeping my hands on my drink glass when I wanted to touch myself.

“Very well trained, ma’am.” Her voice held renewed excitement that she hadn’t been dismissed out of hand. She kept her eyes on the floor. This was much easier now that I couldn’t see her eyes. Her hair hung forward hiding part of her face.

“O.K., let’s see how well trained you are. We’re going to play a game.” I was winging it now, just starting to feel my way along, “You’re body is mine to command, but you are trying to resist. I’m the devil and you’re the minister’s daughter.

Her head came up. She had a little smile, “How do I know you’re the devil? Did you tell me or do you have horns and a tail?”

Oh my god, she wanted details and I didn’t have a script. “I’ve changed my mind,” I growled, “I’m the evil bitch hypnotist and you are the hotel manager.” I took a step towards her, “Sleep,” I husked.

Her eyes widened then dipped down, then struggled to open again. I took another step, “Sleep. Lose your will and sleep.” Her eyelids fluttered closed and snapped open again. Now she looked panicky. Wow. My nipples were hard points under my bra.

“Wha—.” She mumbled, took a small step and nearly brought her hand up to her face.

“Sleep. Go down into deep sleep.” I stepped to within arm’s length. “Sleep. You have no will of your own. Sleep now.”

Her eyelids dropped and her chin fell to her chest. Her hand fell limp to her side.

I squeezed my legs together and stretched my back a bit upward, arching to try and release some tension.

“Dara, you can hear and speak.” This was exciting.

“Yesss,” She whispered. I shivered. The fantasy was so real. I felt electrified. Hot. I was prickly with sweat under my clothes. I’d never had this sort of fantasy, never imagined it would be so hot. I felt guilty and powerful at the same time.

“You have no will. Your mind is completely open to being shaped by me.”

She shivered and breathed, “Oh, nooo.”

I slid my hand over her breast, the white blouse didn’t stop the heat I felt under there, “Yes. You are already in a trance. Now the trance will deepen. Your mind will fall down into the dark and when it falls so far you know your mind is completely open to being shaped by me, you will bark like a dog.”

I rubbed the hard nipple of her breast. I got absorbed by the sensation of playing with her nipples and was startled when she barked loudly. I jerked and came. Flushed. So hot. Balls, this was so hot. I pinched her nipple. No reaction.

“Dara, you can hear and speak. Take off your skirt.”

Her head didn’t come up off her chest, she simply reached back and unhooked her skirt at the waistband and I heard the zipper. It dropped to the floor. Underneath, I saw through her shear slip. She was wearing thigh-highs and no panties. I swallowed. It looked like her pussy was shaved.

“Dara, open your eyes and pretend to be awake. Take off your slip.”

Her eyes opened. She shook her head slightly as she reached and pushed her slip down her legs and stepped out of it. She was shaved. Clean. Not just trimmed. My snatch gushed when I saw the bright silver ring in her right pussy lip.

“What are you doing to me?” she sounded a little dreamy. I was creating a fantasy, but she was living it. Or she was a great actress. “What’s happening?”

Ideas just seemed to keep coming to me. I had momentum. The heat wrapped around my legs and my snatch was throbbing. I thought about stopping. I shouldn’t feel this good about doing this to her. I wanted to see her flush again. “You won’t be wearing skirts to work anymore. What you are wearing now will be your new uniform.”

She turned red. “Please. I can’t. Do. That.”

Oh my, her bright eyes were intoxicating. “Yes, you can. You’re doing it now. You’re already doing it. Aren’t you?” I massaged her breasts with my fingertips. Her nipples were harder than mine. Smaller. But harder. I squeezed my thighs together. “What are you wearing now, Dara?”

“My new uniform. I am already wearing it.” She groaned.

I grinned, “That’s right. But where is your skirt?” I thought I might come if this kept up.

“I won’t be wearing skirts anymore. Oh, my.” She squirmed. Her legs were twitching.

“I see. Where are your pants or panties? Are you some kind of exhibitionist? Will you walk out of here dressed like this?” I rubbed my thighs against each other while I pulled her nipples a bit.

“Yes. This is my uniform. Um. No pants. No panties. No skirt. I will walk out of here wearing this. Oh. No, I’m not an exhibitionist.” She was shaking and her voice was breathy.

“Well then you are going to be mighty embarrassed aren’t you?” I asked watching her flushed face.

“Yes, I will.” She squeaked. She couldn’t stand still; she shifted from foot to foot. I was playing her nipples like plucked strings.

“And hot. You’re going to be very hot. You must like being hot and embarrassed. Why everyone will be looking at you! Women will stare. Men will smile. You’ll be fired for sure when the hotel gets over the shock of you walking around the halls showing off your shaved pussy. But this IS your uniform now, isn’t it?”

“Y-y-yes.” She came standing up. Her hips trembled with little back and forth motions. It didn’t seem to break her trance. Was she really in a trance? No, she must be playing. Was she? How could I tell? Did I want to know?

“What will you do after you are fired, Dara? No other hotel will hire you.” I leaned in and kissed her cheek. I wanted to come, too.

“I don’t know. No other hotel will hire me. Oh.” She moaned. She was still hot.

“I guess I’ll hire you as my sextoy. You’d be good at that.” I nibbled her ear.

“Oh, no,” she breathed with faint distress, “I’d be good at that.” She echoed with widening eyes.

I couldn’t handle it anymore; I quickly pulled my skirt up around my hips. I pulled my slip down and stepped out of it. Then I pulled my soaked panties off over my thigh-highs. “Time to audition, Dara. You are now going to have one chance to make yourself my sextoy. I want you to lick me until I come.”

She shivered and got down on her knees between my feet. “Until you come. I’m so well trained.” She buried her face in my bush. I nearly exploded when her tongue explored my clit. She wrapped her fingers gently around my hips and really started to work.

I realized I was almost hooked. The excitement was incredible.

My fault? Corelle’s manipulations? Dara’s tongue worked me higher and higher into a buzzing ecstasy. I didn’t know. I went up on my toes. This was so fucking good!

I had signed on to double for Corelle D’Amber and now I was wrapped within her world of shadows and dreams. I was walking in a world of danger and events other people chose not to see. Hidden in plain sight were ordinary women who longed to serve never sated lusts. I flexed my legs, pressing my hot pussy into that loving willing entranced mouth. I put my hands on the back of her head, pressing her mouth to me.

Maybe if I stopped right now. Right this minute, I could get out of this. Go back to the dull gray on gray life. If I came now, I’d be hooked for sure. I’d return to Corelle changed in some way. I’d be back here someday and Dara would do whatever I wanted and I’d have a sextoy of my very own.

I imagined Corelle in leather while I performed for her as Dara was serving me now.

I exploded with an intense orgasm and the world of shadows and dreams accepted me into its folds and took me away.

I sipped scotch curled up on the couch. The knock on the door didn’t surprise me; it was about time that Dara got back from the ice machine. “Come in, I left it open.”

Dara walked in with the ice bucket in hand. I smiled. She was wearing her ‘new’ manager’s outfit, minus the slip and skirt per orders. Her shaved cunt was deeply flushed from her walk in the hall. Her face was crimson. Her hands trembled with excitement. She brought the ice over and daintily placed one cube in my scotch.

I had to know; “Did anyone see you? It’s three a.m. so I thought most people would be asleep.”

Dara nodded, “Yes, ma’am. A young man was at the coke machine.”

My pussy gushed. “Oh, that must have been hot. Did he stare at you?”

“Yes, ma’am, he did. He whistled too. Then he asked me to bend over and give him a crotch shot. I told him to shove off I was busy. Can I play with myself? I’m so fucking hot now.”

I grinned, “Such language. Dara, I’ve been thinking. I love this but I have to tell you something. I’m not Corelle. She’s hired me to help her with security, to double for her. I’m sorry, but—”

Dara nodded, “Yes, ma’am. I know. She comes less than you do and her pussy has a different shape.”

Stunned. I didn’t know what to say. “But then, you’ve been following my orders half the night. Why?”

She shrugged, “I was angry and scared for a moment when I figured it out. Then I realized it made my submission even more shameful and exotic. I also understood that you wouldn’t be here if She didn’t approve and that made it hot, too.” She set the ice bucket down. “I’m quite sure that I’ll start my shift tomorrow wearing only this unless you tell me otherwise. I’ll get out of the car and walk into the building with people looking at my bare cunt. By the time I get to the front desk, I’ll be soaked and ready to fuck. I don’t know how long it will take someone to call the hotel’s regional office. No one here can fire me.”

I started playing gently with my clit. This was addictive.

She went on, “Of course, I’ll have to talk to the regional supervisor on the phone. Admit I’m bottomless and accept his formal criticism, if he believes me. Actually, I’ve been thinking, the corporate policy would be to give me three counseling reprimands. Which means you could actually humiliate me three times before they fired me. Unless the police arrest me before that for indecency, which certainly makes sense. Then you could hire me as your sextoy because my career would be shot.”

I felt the intensity of her arousal, “You’ve thought about this. You’re actually helping me.”

“Yes, ma’am. You’ve taken me to a new level of submission. I never quite understood why I fell in lust with Corelle. But with you, it’s vivid and more real, somehow. I’m feeling so slutty and embarrassed and it turns me on to know you’ve made me feel this way. That’s why I really need to play with myself. May I?”

“No,” I smiled for she obviously needed to. I was completely captivated. I needed to bend her will again, just to see what more I could do. I’d restore her normal working wardrobe before morning so I could come back here and do this all again. “Come here. I’m going to take the rest of your brains and soak them in my pussy juices until you are a walking talking cunt with no thoughts but sex and obedience. We’ve only got a few hours until you have to start work. Won’t that be hot?”

Her lower lip trembled. I spread my legs. She moaned. I felt so damn wicked.

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” she got on the couch and put her mouth to my dripping arousal.