The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Veronica woke the next morning with her thumb up her ass. How in the world had that happened? She squeezed her anus a couple times, then pulled her thumb out, smelled it and made a face.

She went to work, trying to not think about the things that she did ... and let be done ... to herself last night. As soon as 11:00 rolled around, she drove back to the Baxter-Harbert building and marched into the dating service.

“Hello,” Tiffany smiled. “Ronnie, wasn’t it? You were in the day before yesterday.”

“I have a complaint to file.”

“Oh my, of course. What could we have done wrong, Ronnie?”

“That man that you sent over last night—there is absolutely NO WAY that we could be any type of match!”

“Let me pull up our records, sweetie.” Tiffany began typing at her terminal.

“Please, I’d prefer if you not call me ‘sweetie’, Tiffany.”

“Sure, no problem. Let’s see. You were matched up with ... ‘Al’.”

“Al what?”

Tiffany gave her a reserved look. “Why don’t we talk a little more before I give out his last name. I wouldn’t want you to be some closet stalker or anything.”

“ME?! Stalk HIM?!”

Tiffany raised her eyebrows. “Still. Where did the two of you go?”

“To ...”

Tiffany waited. “To where, Ronnie?”

“I don’t want to say.”

“Come now, if you’re going to register a complaint, we’re going to need a few details.”

“We went to ... a pornhouse.”

Tiffany began typing. “Porn ... house.” And what did you view at that pornhouse, Ronnie?”

“I ... don’t know. Something ... something with cocks and tits and pussies and assholes and sucking and fucking and ... oooh!” Veronica’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hand as those last words poured out, but she still shivered at the end.

“Okay ... cocks ... tits ... pussies ... what was the rest of that, Ronnie?”

“I don’t think I want to talk about it anymore.”

“What? You didn’t like the movie?”

“The movie didn’t matter. It was what he made me do.”

“And what did he make you do, Ronnie?”

“He touched me.”

“What did he touch, Ms Wilson?”

“He touched my boobies ... and my pussy ... and my ass. And at the end of the evening, he stuck a finger up my butt!”

Tiffany typed some more. “Finger ... up ... butt. And what were you doing while he was doing these disgusting and degrading things, Ronnie?”

“I was ...”

“Yes?”

Veronica looked down at the floor.

“Mrs Wilson? You were ...?”

“I was screaming in pleasure.” Veronica couldn’t believe her mouth had betrayed her like that. She kept her eyes planted firmly on the floor, uncomfortable to raise them now.

“Screaming in pleasure? Well, I think it’s going to be a ... little hard ... to really register a complaint if you were doing that. Were you doing anything else?”

“I ... uhm ... I was on the phone ... with my ... uhm ... son.”

“With your son. And what point in time was this?”

“It was ... it was during ... the ... orgasm.”

“The orgasm, Ms Wilson—yours or his?”

“Both. We were both cumming.”

“While you were talking to your son on the phone.”

“Ye—yes.”

Tiffany began closing windows on her computer screen and backing her way out of the menus. “Ms Wilson, do you know what it sounds like to me?”

“Wh-what?”

“Ms Wilson—" Tiffany softened her voice and waited to make eye contact with the distraught woman. “Ronnie, you are simply a slut, sweetie. We really could not have paired you up with a better match than Al.”

She smiled and gave that a moment to sink in. “Veronica, dollbaby, you need to face up to the facts and just admit the truth. You storm in here, demanding to file a complaint because poor Al unzipped his fly and landed in the soup of sex juices between your legs. But Al wasn’t the one that put the soup there. You are—you and your hot, steaming little mind.”

“But—”

“Honey, you have a desperate whore locked up deep down inside you, struggling valiantly to get out. And until you are able to deal with that conflict, to let her express herself occasionally, to celebrate with Slut Wednesdays, so to speak, until then, you are going to project your own emotional turmoil onto unsuspecting victims like poor Al, and try to take your frustrations out on them.

“I think that we can safely say that Al is the true victim here, Ronnie.”

“But ...”

“No. You just think about what I’ve said. And I’ll tell you what, Ronnie. We’ll send you out another match in the next day or two. In the meantime, you should do some soul-searching. And don’t come in here complaining about the agency or about your date when you need to simply better control yourself.”

“But—”

“You go do what I said, Ronnie. I will speak with you later.”

“But—”

Tiffany had turned back to her computer screen and was busy typing, ignoring Ronnie.

“Yes ... ma’am.”

Samuel was fixing dinner again that night when she got home.

“Hello, Mother,” he said stiffly.

“Sweetie ...”

He set the fry turner down and looked up at her, waiting. Well, she might as well get it over with.

“Honey, I am SO sorry about last night. I ... I went ahead and did the dating service thing, and ... and that was the man they sent out.”

“Wasn’t a very good match.”

“No, sweetie, he sure wasn’t.”

“Then don’t go out with him! Just say, ‘Sorry, Charlie, I can do better’! A LOT better!”

“You’re right. I should.”

“And you CAN’T wear outfits like you wore last night!”

“I know.”

“I mean, you looked like some high school girl, trying to dress to get—. You just didn’t look proper, okay?”

“Okay, baby.”

Samuel picked the fry turner back up and started working on dinner again.

“So we’re okay with things now, Sammy?”

“Yeah ... okay,” he sighed. “As long as you don’t ... do anything like that again. I mean, geeeez!”

Veronica hopped to her son and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, honey! And I won’t be so silly in the future. I just don’t know what came over me.” She started to walk back toward her bedroom, when Samuel spoke.

“Mom, before you go back, I have a favor to ask you.”

“Sure, what is it, sweetie?”

“On the 27th, there’s an honors dinner, and I’m supposed to get an award for my GPA.”

“Oh, sweetie! That’s wonderful!”

“Thanks, Mom. We can bring guests, and I’d like you to come, if you could.”

“Honey! I would love to! I have the smartest baby in the college!” She stepped up and hugged him, she was so proud.

“It’s a date then?” he smiled.

“It’s a date.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Veronica then went back to her bedroom to change. She still hadn’t finished watching that orientation tape all the way through. It seemed that every time she tried, she wound up falling asleep.

She locked her door and put the tape in the VCR.

Again, she fell asleep watching it.

“Sammy! How ya doin’, boy?” Coach Nesmith roared when Samuel answered the door. Samuel had run track two years in high school, and Coach Nesmith would have been his mentor, except that ... well, he was Coach Nesmith. He was the butt of numerous jokes, and oftentimes just the butt.

“Coach!” Sammy smiled. “I’m doing great! How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine! Fine. How’s your pretty little thing of a mother?”

“Oh ... uhm ... she’s doing fine too.”

“Good! Good! Well, I’m here to see her tonight!”

“You want to ... uhm ... see my mom?”

“Yep! Yep! Ask me in, Sammy,” he said, sweeping his hand, then stepping in when the boy retreated from his gesture. “The little filly’s my date tonight!”

“Mom’s ... dating YOU?”

“Yep! Yep! Ain’t the little mysteries in life just grand?!”

Sammy held up an index finger. “Uhm ... you wait right here, Coach, while I go check with her.”

“You do that, son! You do that.”

Confused at this turn of events, Sammy headed up the hall.

Veronica was awakened by the knocking at her bedroom door. She started to roll over and realized that she had two fingers stuck up her ass again, clenching and unclenching her sphincter. God, that was a bizarre habit to suddenly pick up!

She pulled them out, then rose and opened her door.

“Mom,” Sammy said, puzzled, “Coach Nesmith is here and thinks ... he has a date with you tonight or something. It’s probably just one of his spells of confusion, but I wanted to doublecheck with you just in case you DID ask him to do something and he got it all mixed up in his head. Did you ask him for anything?”

“Oh, my, I certainly hope not. Coach Nesmith never was too bright.”

“That’s putting it lightly. He once spent a week studying for a blood test. And then failed! You’re not going to go out with him or anything, are you?”

“Let’s go see,” she said as she stepped past Sammy and up the hall.

“Coach Nesmith?” she smiled when she entered the den.

“Hi, little filly! I’m from EZ and will be your date tonight.” He held up a tie pin similar to Al’s. “Why dontcha go get dolled up for me real quick, and you and I will hit the road!”

“I ... uhm ... yes ...” She turned and headed back up the hallway.

Samuel’s jaw hung open in awe, then he held up a index finger again. “I’ll be right back, Coach,” Sammy smiled tensely and scurried back up the hall to her bedroom. “Mom, you CAN’T be serious. This is Coach Nesmith we’re talking about.”

“Yes,” she called from the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. “But if EZ sent him, it’s not like I have much choice.”

“Mom! You ALWAYS have a choice!”

“He’s been scientifically selected for me, Sammy.”

“But Mom, it’s Coach NESMITH!”

“Still ... there must be something about him. Otherwise why would they match us up?”

“Sheer perverseness?”

“Oh, Sammy,” she called. “You shouldn’t pick on poor Coach Nesmith like that. Just think, if he and I REALLY hit it off tonight, you could be calling him ‘Dad’ one day.”

Must ... not ... pass out, Samuel concentrated with gritted teeth as that vision of horror washed over him. “But ... mom—" his voice cracked. Samuel forced his hand to release its death grip on the bedpost and focused hard to keep his balance steady. “You can’t JOKE AROUND about things like that!” He chuckled nervously.

“Well,” she stepped out of the bathroom, “We’ll just have to see how impressive he is tonight.” She was wearing three inch white heels, a white miniskirt, and a sheer black blouse underneath a white bolero jacket. She held her hands out to the sides and swayed her hips. “Well? Do you think I’ll get a ... rise ... out of the Coach tonight?”

“MOM!” Samuel’s voice cracked again.

“Yes? Samuel?”

“Mom! You CANNOT go out dressed like that. And most CERTAINLY NOT with Coach Nesmith.”

“Sammy, if he’s going to be my date, I need to go ahead and look pretty for him. I need to give him a good time, after all.”

“Not THAT good a time!”

“Oh, Sammy!” She lightly flicked her hand at him.

“I’m not kidding, Mom.”

“Now, Sammy,” she said, stepping around him and to the door. “You just need to stop being jealous that I’m paying attention to your ex-Coach. You’re a big boy now and can deal with the idea of your mother dating.

“But not with ... Coach Nesmith,” Samuel swallowed.

“You’re cute,” his mother smiled and lightly tapped his nose with her index finger. “Don’t wait up.” She turned and walked back up the hall.

“This is just ... insane,” Sammy muttered, then hurried up the hall after her.

“Well, Sammy,” Coach Nesmith roared, slipping his arm around Veronica’s waist while she smiled, “Don’t wait up. Don’t wait up, son. We may just party the night away, and you shouldn’t see your mother drunk with pleasure when I drop her off back here.”

Sammy’s mother giggled and waved to her son as the couple walked to the door and stepped out.

Sammy just stood, gaping, slack-jawed. What in the HELL?!

Veronica noticed that the sky was beginning to sprinkle as they walked out to the Coach’s muscle pick-up truck. Coach Nesmith opened her door, then pushed on her ass to help her lift herself up into the cab. He then went around to the driver’s side, and it took him two heaves to lift him and his belly up into the cab as well.

“Well, little filly,” the Coach said as he rumbled the engine to life, “We’re off. I’m going to want you to change into another outfit up the road, though.”

“You don’t ... like the one I have on?”

“Oh, no, it’s a great outfit as far as it goes. But I want you to get into the cheerleader frame of mind. The cheerleader is the ultimate woman: as dumb as she is beautiful.”

“Oh. Okay.” She frowned slightly.

“You don’t have anything against dumb broads, do you, Ms Wilson? I mean, it’s not like they can help it.”

“No, no, you’re right. People can’t help it if they’re a little less than bright. And we shouldn’t disparage them for that.”

“See? There you go. ‘De-spare-itch.’ That’s an extra thing that you gotta scratch. Why do you feel you gotta go droppin’ ten dollar words like that?”

“I ... I don’t know.”

“See? Now THAT’S a good thing for a woman to say, ‘cause most o’the time they don’t.” He put his hand on her knee. “We’re gonna get along just fine, Ronnie.”

Ronnie just smiled politely.

After another couple minutes, the Coach pulled into a gas station. “Be right back,” he said, then ran inside and got the keys to the restroom. He came back out and opened her door. “C’mon. Time to change, Ronnie.” The Coach grabbed a paper bag from the floor of the truck, then walked her around the side of the gas station and unlocked the unisex restroom.

Veronica took the bag he handed her and stepped inside. There was a sink, a urinal and a toilet inside a stall. It was actually not all that filthy, but Veronica’s mind just rendered all public bathrooms as disgusting.

Being careful not to touch anything, she removed her bolero jacked and black sheer blouse. She had left off the bra tonight since she was wearing both the blouse and jacket. Carefully, she hung the two items on a peg projecting from the wall, being careful not to let them touch the bathroom wall.

The door opened, and Coach Nesmith stepped in. Veronica gasped and brought her forearms up to cover her bosom.

“One more thing, Ronnie—Hey! Nice ‘uns! Lemme see!”

Hesitantly, Veronica moved her arms to her sides, exposing her breasts for the Coach’s consideration.

“Mm-mmm. Nice ‘uns! I got me one hot little slut tonight, don’t I?”

“I ... uhm ...”

“Don’t answer that. I just wanted to remind you that cheerleaders never wear bras.”

“Never?”

“No, Ronnie, never. I thought you were a bright girl and would have known that. Maybe you’re not so bright after all.”

“Uuuhmm ...”

“Actually, not-so-bright is attractive on you, Ronnie. You finish changing now.” He stepped back out.

As she began removing her skirt and panties, she could hear the Coach singing outside, “I’m swingin’ in the rain. Just swingin’ in the rain. What a glo-o-o-rious feelin’, I’m stiff’ning again, da-dah-da-da-dah ...”

She pulled the costume out of the bag and frowned. It was so tiny and so sheer ... There was just no way that she was going to wear this ....

She opened the door and poked her head out. “Coach—" She froze.

Coach Nesmith stared back at her, like a deer caught in the headlights. His zipper was open, his pecker pulled out through the fly, and his right hand and rotating hips had been swinging it around in circles while it slowly hardened in the shadows outside the bathroom.

Veronica crossed herself. “Good God,” she muttered.

The Coach’s other hand slowly sank to cover his deflating member.

“Don’t laugh!” he snapped. “You’ll be begging me to suck it before the night is over!”

“Laughter ... never ... entered my mind, Coach. Truly.” The man needed professional help.

“Well ... good! And I want you to call me ‘Rocky’ the rest of the night.”

“Rocky ... as in the flying squirrel?” Veronica was confused.

“No! Rocky as in Rocky Balboa! Championship fighter! King of the ring!”

“Uhm ... sure, Rocky.”

The Coach grinned. “There ya go! Now you get back in there and change. And do that ‘meditation’ stuff. Become one with the cheerleader.”

“Right, Coach.” Her head disappeared back inside.

The Coach took a couple steps to the outer wall of the bathroom and studied the condoms available from a dispensing unit hung there: stallion-sized, extra thin for extra sensation, red white and blue, glow in the dark, and ... “Oh, yeah!” the Coach grinned as he started pulling quarters from his pocket.

In a moment of lucidity, Veronica located the window in the restroom, seriously considering crawling out of it and walking back home. However, it was a tiny one foot by two feet swinging thing at the top of the wall—not practical to use as an escape route.

She pulled the costume back out of the bag. Five inch white heels. A pleated white miniskirt perhaps eight inches long. Red silk panties with a golfball-sized yellow and white mini-pom-pom sewn on the front. A sheer navy blue haltertop with a sheer yellow and white “FU” on the front.

Sighing, she began pulling the scraps of cloth on.

At the bottom of the bag, she noticed when she started to stuff her original outfit into it, were two elastic hair bands. Sighing again, she took them and tied her hair into two pigtails.

Become one with the cheerleader. She rolled her eyes at the asinine things that could come out of the Coach’s mouth. Still, she thought as she laid her hand on the door handle, if EZ sent him, she guessed she owed it to him to give him a good time.

She opened the door and stepped outside, setting the paper bag on the ground. At least the Coach wasn’t just outside this time, whirling himself like some turkey standing on a streetcorner, swinging his gold watch by its chain.

She flashed a smile on her face, whirling her hands around each other as she bounced perkily. “Creamy semen / Get your fill / If Coach can’t give it / No one will / Gooooooooo, Rocky!” She performed a side split partway, which raised the tiny skirt enough to bare her scarlet panties.

The Coach beamed. “Hey, doll! You look titty-licious in that outfit. Just pussy-tacular! And your cheer was as perky as your boobs. Mmm, I got me a NICE little sex doll tonight!”

Veronica beamed back, letting that vacant look that she knew men like so much fill her eyes.

“I’m gonna call you ‘Bambi’ the rest of the night. That okay with you?”

“Sure, Coach!” she said enthusiastically but emptily.

“And we’re gonna have to shave your fur down there before the night is over. I like all my bitches bare.”

“Uhm, sure ...” she said, a little of the vacantness draining from her. She really didn’t WANT to shave anything down there.

“As a matter of fact,” the Coach grinned, “let’s go get the stuff to do that now.”

“Uhm ... Coach, we really don’t have to, uhm ....”

“Come along, snookums.”

Snookums?! Was the man for real?! She trailed along behind him, though, jiggling bralessly in her heels.

When the Coach turned the corner to go into the gas station’s quickie store, she halted and hissed, “Coach! Someone will SEE me! And I’m—" She gestured at her chest.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what I’m checking,” he said as he looked in through the store window. A grin grew on his face. “It’s just Timmy. He’s one of the boys on my team. Come along.”

Unsure about this, Veronica hesitantly followed the Coach into the store. Timmy turned out to be a beefy boy in his mid-twenties behind the counter, manning the gas station and store.

“Hiya, Timmy!”

“Coach! How’s it going?” He ogled Veronica. “Oh, man! You’ve bagged another one! Oh, this is a fine one, too! Mm-mm!”

“Bambi, spin around for Timmy, won’t you?”

“Coach, he’s just a boy.” She gestured toward him. “He’s still in pimples.”

“Bambi ... be one with the cheerleader.”

“I ... I ....” A vacant smile washed over her face as she spun around. “Go ... team?”

“Bitchin’!” Timmy nodded. “Coach scores again!”

“I’m going to need some shaving cream and a razor, son.”

Timmy crossed his arms and nodded smugly. “Gonna SHAVE the BUSH!”

Veronica really didn’t like this young man.

“I got just what you need, Coach.” Timmy came around the counter and retrieved the two items from the shelves. “I got some alcohol if you want to pierce her nipples.”

Veronica’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Nah, I never do a very good job of that.”

“I could do it for you, Coach.” He leered at Veronica’s breasts.

“Nah, I don’t want her bitchin’ about her tits bein’ all tender and sore tonight.”

Timmy shrugged, and Veronica let her breath out.

“How much do I owe you for this, son?”

“Aw, it’s on me, Coach. Just take me some Polaroids of her bald beaver for me.”

The Coach held up the shaving cream and razor and shook them toward the boy. “You got it, son.” He stepped toward the door. “Come along, Bambi.”

“Look, Coach,” she said as she jiggled along behind him in high heels, “We really don’t have to ... you know ... shave me. I’m already pretty light down there. Not much fur at all.”

“Hush, Bambi. You’re gonna be barer than a baby’s bottom.” He pushed open the door to the bathroom.

“But Coach ...,” Veronica whined, following him in.

“Time to lose the panties, Bambi. We have some de-furring to do.”

“Look, Coach, I REALLY don’t want to do this.” She held her hands forward as he started to reach for her skirt. “Coach! REALLY! I DON’T want to shave down there!”

“Bambi, Bambi. Trust me. You want this.”

“No! I don’t!”

The Coach sighed. “How wet are your panties?”

Veronica lifted the front of her skirt up and bent over to look. “They’re ... uhm ...,” she looked up, surprise in her eyes. “They’re soaked.”

“Well,” the Coach nodded, “either you’re looking forward to this, or Timmy back there is the kind of guy that really gets your juices going.”

She gave a confused smile. “I ... uhm ... I guess I’m ... looking forward to this?”

“That’s my girl. Now lose the panties and spread for a shavin’.”

Hesitantly, Veronica slid her underwear to the floor and stepped out of them, then hung them on the hook on the stall door.

“Sit on the throne,” the Coach said as he sprayed foam on his fingers.

Veronica sat but held her hands in front of her crotch in one last desperate attempt to keep her pubic hair. “Look, Coach, we really don’t have to—you saw how sparse I was?”

“C’mon, you shaggy bitch,” he grinned. His hand darted behind her shield of fingers and began patting foam on her pussy.

“Coach really ... we don’t need to ....” She laid her hands on his forearm and lightly pushed. “I really don’t want—ungh! ohsweetJESUS!”

“Whoops,” the Coach grinned. “Them two fingers just slipped right in there. Sorry about that. Here, let me pull them back out.”

“Oh SHIT, Coach!” Veronica clawed at the sides of the stall, her hips bucking by themselves.

The Coach continued to pat foam on her fur, but was difficult. “C’mon, Bambi. Don’t get so excited. Your juices are washing off the foam as quick as I dab it on.”

“OhSHIT, Coach! You’re setting off LIGHTNING BOLTS ... in ... my ... HEAD!”

The Coach frowned and studied the situation. With her pelvis bouncing around in ecstasy like this, it would never be safe to shave her. In a flash of inspiration (even the coach got those sometimes), he jabbed his fingers into her, then pumped them rapid-fire until Veronica simply passed out.

With a stationary target now, the Coach lathered her up and shaved it off.

A few minutes later, Veronica awoke to something banging her in the nose. “Whuh?” She opened her eyes and a cock slipped in her mouth. “Mmrhmmphth!” Spit. “What the HELL do you think you’re doing?!”

“Aw, c’mon, honey-mouth. Don’t it look purdy and good to taste?” He wagged his erection in her face.

“Coach, you—!” She heard the bathroom door handle jiggle, then the door open. She yanked the Coach all the way into the stall with her and shut and latched the stall door. “You forgot to lock the bathroom door!” she hissed quietly and glared at him. She just hoped that whoever else was in there with them wouldn’t stop to count the four feet in one stall.

“Is anyone else in here?” a male voice asked suspiciously.

“Hrhmm, just me,” the Coach answered in an FM-radio voice. “But I’m in this here stall. If you just have to pee, you’re welcome to use the urinal out there.”

“Uhm ... thanks ...,” the voice replied in a perplexed tone.

Glop.

Veronica looked down to see that her sopping wet red panties had just fallen to the tile floor. There was no way that those had fallen by themselves—the Coach had to have deliberately pulled them off the hook. She turned around and glared at him, and he returned a sheepish shrug.

Sighing at he idiocy of the man, she bent over to pick them up before the other man saw them and realized that there was a woman in here too. As she grabbed them, she felt the Coach’s hands on her hips, pushing forward, forcing the small of her back to the stall door and locking her into a folded-over position.

Trying to stay silent, she pushed back, but he wouldn’t budge. She punched his foot, but he slapped the side of her ass.

Then she felt his fingers at her labia and her thigh muscles started spasming ecstatically. Her mind softened to the craving to have her pussy stuffed again.

After several seconds of his fingering, she felt his hard-on wandering casually around the backs of her thighs, sliding, poking, LOITERING outside her entrance like it had not a care or desire in the world!

Unable to take the teasing any more, she reached behind to seize the dawdling member, then positioned it and impaled herself.

“Uuuunnnggh!” her mouth moaned of its own accord. “Fuck me,” she gasped quietly. “Ohgod, fuck me!” louder. He slid in ... slid out .... “Fuck me!” she wailed, no longer caring about the third person in the room.

The Coach complied. A minute later, he looked up from thrusting into Veronica’s pelvis to see a face peeking over the stall wall. “Hiya, sport!” he grinned without disturbing his rhythm.

“Ehr ... hi ....”

“Ohgod, fuck me! ... ohgod, fuck me! ... ohgod, fuck me! ....” Veronica had settled into the Coach’s rhythm too.

“Better be careful up there,” the Coach offered up a pearl, “Or ya might—”

Ssss-whop-crash-BAM!

“—fall.”

The other man’s toe had finally slipped off the urinal he had been standing on and he had tumbled to the floor.

“Y’okay out there?” the Coach called, still pumping.

“Y-yeah ....” The other man snatched the wet panties off the floor and scampered out of the restroom with them.

“He, he.” The Coach lightly slapped Veronica’s upper hip. “Well, Bambi, here comes the locomotive!” He pumped a few more times, then grunted and clenched. “Oh ... mother ... of ... PEARL!”

When he had finished firing, the Coach flipped the latch on the stall door and let Veronica spill out on the floor. She dazedly looked around, saw that the other man was gone, then leaned back and just let the fireworks ricochet around in her head a little while.

The Coach collapsed back on the throne and quietly muttered his mantra, “Coach rules ... Coach rules ... Coach rules ...,” to himself a few minutes.

When the stampede of orgasmic rhinoceroses in her mind finally tired out, Veronica opened her eyes and focused.

Wow!

That was almost enough to make you okay with being a whore. Almost.

She slid herself to the wall and propped herself up against it, then studied her pussy. Her newly ... bald pussy. It looked weird to her and she lightly traced her fingers over its smooth surface.

Gah! She suddenly blinked several times rapidly at the sensations. MUCH more sensitive! She traced her fingers over it again, and it started leaking juices.

Wow!

“You look like you’re just fine with the whole shaving thing now,” the Coach observed from his seat on the throne.

“It’s ... uhm ...,” her fingers were dancing over her sex, “... pleasant.” She nodded.

“Told ya.” He stood and stretched. “Time to go.”

“Couldn’t we just sit here and enjoy a few minutes?”

“Nope.”

Veronica sighed. “Okay. Well, where’s my panties?”

“Did you lose your underwear again, girl?”

“Coooooaaaaach!” she whined, looking around on the floor.

“Guess that nice gentleman took them,” the Coach shrugged. “You’re just gonna have to do without now.”

“But Coach, I need my panties!”

“No you don’t. You’ll just take them right back off as soon as you get horny again.”

“What about my modesty?”

“Bambi, whores aren’t modest.”

“Coach!”

“Come along.”

She tapped along behind the Coach in her high heels, her breasts jiggling in the stretchy lingerie like jello in pantyhose.

The Coach opened the passenger door and stepped back. Veronica grabbed the door and heaved herself halfway up. “Coach?”

“Yes, bedhopper?”

“Could you give me a hand?”

“There’s no ‘i’ in ‘team’, bedhopper.”

Veronica looked around at him and scowled. “What?! What does THAT mean?!”

“I wanna watch you get up by yourself,” he grinned. “Become one with the way of the cheerleader, bedhopper.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Enough with the ‘bedhopper’ gig, Coach. I get the joke.” She lowered herself back down. One with the way of the cheerleader—yeah, right.

Actually, though ....

She backed up a dozen paces and muttered, “Go team,” by way of a small prayer. Then she executed her idea.

Run, run, run, run, skip, skip, hop, JUMP!

Ooooommmph!

“I love it when that happens,” the Coach muttered.

Her middle had caught on the edge of the truck seat, leaving her upper body laying on the seat and her legs hanging outside the cab. She tried flailing her legs a few moments but found herself suddenly lacking the coordination for that to work. Tiring, she let her legs hang down. “Coach?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Help.”

“Sugar dumpling need a boost?”

Veronica rolled her eyes again. “Yes. ‘Sugar dumpling’ could use a boost.”

He walked up to her, inserted his index finger in his mouth to wet it, then stuck it up her ass to give her the impetus to make it up the rest of the way.

“Gaaaaaahhhh!” She scrambled her way up into the cab.

“See?” he grinned. “You COULD make it.” He shut her door, walked around and got in himself.

“Coach!” she lit into him, “that was just RUDE! A gentleman HELPS his date! You made me try to do it by MYSELF and when I couldn’t, you—you—you STUCK your FINGER up my BUTT!”

“Easy, Bambi. Don’t you see what just happened here?”

Her mouth was a silent, grim line, her brow furrowed.

“What just happened is this. You didn’t THINK you could make it. But I showed you you COULD. Now you’re BETTER for it. Just like with shaving your pussy.”

“Still seems rude to me,” she said stiffly.

The Coach smiled. “Hey, look at what I got,” he said to distract her from her pout and unzipped his pants.

“Coach! I am NOT sucking on that thing!” She continued sulkily, “At least not until AFTER you buy me dinner!”

The Coach pulled his pants down. “It’s one o’ them french tickler condoms! Looks like I got a koosh doll for a pecker, don’t it?!”

She giggled despite herself, then reached over and tapped his woody, fascinated with the way the rubber threads danced. “Looks like Cousin It ATE your pecker! That’s neat!”

“Hmph!” Coach grunted. “My schlong would be way too big for Cousin It to even mess with!”

She flicked it again, causing the little rubber threads to wiggle. “It’s like a big batch of squishy seaweed!”

The Coach grabbed her hand and moved it away. “Awright, now we’re not giving it the respect it deserves.”

“And it sort of—sort of looks like a Medusa! With all these snakes sticking out of her hideous hair!”

“That’s enough. Now you’re just being disrespectful. You’re going to make it go down.”

Ronnie raised her hands and started swaying. “MEH-dusa, WHERE’RE your snakes? / YOU’LL make Coach wilt with LOTS of aches! / MEH-dusa, DON’T be bad, / YOU’LL make Coach cry and BE so sad! / MEH-dusa, don’t SPILL your cup! / YOU’LL make Coachie SHRIV-el up! / MEH—”

“Okay, that’s enough. You’ve lost the privilege to talk about Rocky’s schlong. And it IS a privilege and NOT a right. And you’ve lost it until you earn it back.”

“Aaawww ... and how can I earn it back, Coachie-Woachie?” Her hand darted over to the Coach’s lap, pinched the tip of the condom, then drew it back eighteen inches.

“NO!” the Coach’s voice broke. “Don’t! ... Don’t ... let ... go.” Ronnie just smiled at him. “Now ... very ... VERY ... gently ... ease ... the ... condom tip ... back ... to ... the ... pecker.”

Ronnie found a lucid moment and shook her head negatively, smiling. “I don’t think so, Coach.”

The Coach swallowed hard. “What ... what do you want?”

“Coach,” Ronnie sighed, keeping the condom tip drawn and ready. “Coach, I am a grown woman. And you have me running around in this teensy cheerleader’s uniform, from Fuck University, my hair in pigtails, trying to be ‘one’ with the state of bimbo. Then you shave my pussy despite my wishes to the contrary. Then you have the ... gall ... to insert your finger up my ass!”

“So ... what do you want?”

“I want some RESPECT!”

At that point, the Coach’s worried penis shriveled to the point that the condom slipped off, then snapped back to sting Ronnie’s fingers. “Ooowie!”

“Don’t mess with the Coach,” he said in a deep voice with a smirk.

Ronnie stuck her stinging fingers in her mouth. “Owie!”

“Now what did we learn from this, Ronnie?”

Veronica took her fingers out of her mouth and frowned. “Not to ... mess ... with the Coach?”

“And?”

“And to be one with the Cheerleader?”

“And?”

Veronica’s brow furrowed. What else had she learned? “That I’m ... just an ... eye candy ... sex doll for the Coach and his friends?”

“Well, that too. But you learned that Coach rules.”

“Oh.” He was staring expectantly at her. “Go ... Rocky?”

The Coach nodded, satisfied, then started the truck and began driving up the road.

Veronica looked out the truck window into the drizzle. Here she was, in the same compromised position as last night, doing bizarre ... things ... for her dates. This was just unbelievable.

The Coach finally turned off the road and pulled a few feet into a dirt and weed yard. “Well, we’re here,” he smiled. “My domicile.” Behind a wire fence was parked one of those 1950s aluminum-shell hitch trailers. Scattered all around were empty beer cans and broken glass.

“It’s ... uhm ... quite quaint,” she said with a half smile. She really didn’t want to venture out of the truck.

The Coach opened the door and jumped down, nearly twisting his ankle from the drop. When he shut the door, Veronica saw the flamingo-pink curtain pull back at the trailer window and a face appear. A smile flashed on the face and the curtain dropped back into place. As the Coach walked around the truck, a young blond in pigtails and a cheerleading uniform exploded from the trailer and ran for him. Veronica opened her door.

“Daddy!” the young woman screamed, delighted as she leaped to wrap her arms around his neck, grip her legs around his waist and plant her lips on his for a sloppy-wet kiss. “Daddy! You’re home!” She lowered her legs to the ground and stepped back from the Coach to look at Veronica. “And you brought home a bitch too! Can she do any neat tricks?!”

“You have a daughter, Coach?” Veronica asked, lowering herself down from the truck cab.

“Now, now, gals. No need to fight over the Coach,” he chuckled smugly. “The bitch’s name is Veronica. The daughter’s name is KC.”

“You’re not really his daughter, are you?” Veronica shook her head.

“Of course not. I’m the Coach’s bestest cheerleader at the college!” She lowered her voice, “And his prettiest whore. So he let’s me call him ‘daddy’.”

Veronica studied the other woman. She looked to be about twenty, blond hair in pig tails, the nipples of her pert breasts vaguely visible through her “FU” cheerleader’s uniform.

“Aren’t I, Coachie?” she beamed.

“You’re my darlin’,” the Coach nodded.

Veronica stuck her fists on her hips. “Well, I’M his bestest bitch! and I’m—”

“Gals, gals, there’s no need to get into a catfight. There’s plenty of Coach to go around.”

“C’mon, Coachie,” KC laid her hand on Coach’s chest, “This one looks like a middle-aged woman trying to dress up like a twelve year old.” She smiled at Veronica. “How delightfully pathetic.”

“Your daughter sure is a smartass, Coach,” Veronica smiled sweetly back. “I hope you don’t mind if I bend her over and smack her butt.”

“Are you going to make Coach pull out his pacifier rod, girls?”

“I could use some pacification,” KC smiled sweetly, clasping her fingers behind her back and swaying her torso.

“I could use some rod,” Veronica dropped to her knees in front of the Coach.

“Guess you get first taste, Ronnie,” Coach said, unzipping.

“Cooo-oo-ooach!” KC whined and stamped her foot.

“Don’t worry, snookums. Ronnie will share. Kneel down beside her and you can be suck-sisters.”

“I don’t wanna be,” KC knelt, “a sister to—oomph!” She held her ribs where Veronica had just elbowed her, then hauled off and whacked Ronnie’s ass.

“Hey!”

“Girls, girls. Here. Coach is pulling out his—”

“Ow! Ow! Why you—!”

“You bitch!”

“You cunt!”

“Girls, Coach has his—" he let his pants drop to his ankles and held his semi-hard member forward.

The two ladies were both on their knees, hands jutted forward to pinch the other’s nipples.

“Ow! Ow! Stop it!”

“YOU stop it! Ow!”

“Girls, I have him out. Rocky is here, girls.” He wiggled his pecker to entice them.

They were in a slapping fight now, though, ignoring the tasty little worm at the Coach’s crotch.

“Okay, girls, he’s ready.” Wiggle, wiggle.

KC had Veronica’s arm bent behind her back and her face pressed to the ground.

“Let me UP, you BITCH!”

“Uhm, girls ... if no one shows any interest, he’s going to get bored and go back in his hole.” Wiggle, wiggle.

“I’M going to get first taste of Coachie’s cock!” KC released Veronica’s arm, sprang to her feet, took a step toward Coach, then ... bit the dust.

“Ha!” Veronica released KC’s ankle, sprang to her feet, took a step, then ... went down too.

“BITCH!” KC climbed her way forward, up Veronica’s body.

“Whore!” Veronica slapped at her.

“Slut!” KC slapped back.

“Lady of the ... ugh ... night!” Veronica had worked her feet up to KC’s abdomen and kicked, hurling the young woman off her. She spun around on her hands and knees and scrambled toward the Coach. “Rocky!”

The Coach stood frozen in shock as the gnashing teeth came at his weener. He looked down in astonishment as they gobbled him down. Then he sighed a prayer of thanks as the sensations from Veronica’s tongue let him know that Rocky had not been severed.

“Go ... (slurp) ... Rocky ... (slurp) ... !”

“Thank you, God, thank you, God, thank you, God, ...” the Coach said his prayers of thanks that he was still attached to his little friend.

“You old,” KC came forward with her index finger extended, “WHORE!” She jabbed the finger forward.

“GAAAAAAAHHH!” Veronica came off Rocky, her ass impaled on KC’s finger.

“Girls! Let’s be CAREFUL around the Coach’s THING!”

KC yanked her finger from Veronica’s rectum, then Coach saw teeth coming at his schlong and froze in place again.

“Mmmmmm ... (slurp) ... (gobble) ... (slurp) ....”

“Thank you, God, thank you, God, thank you, God, ...,” he exhaled, once again still attached.

“This is not (slurp) a little squirrel! This (slurp) is a big (slurp) fucking moose!” She gazed up at the Coach. “Bullwinkle! (slurp)!”

“Back off, you little sewer-hole!” Veronica snatched the Coach’s semisoft member form KC’s mouth.

“Hey!” KC snatched it back.

“Girls, girls, let’s be careful with Coach’s instrument. We wouldn’t want to scratch it!”

“Mine!” Snatch.

“Mine!” Snatch.

The Coach was involuntarily stiffening now, his worried mind being outvoted by the inadvertent massage their rough-housing was giving little Rocky.

“MINE!” Snatch.

“MINE!” Snatch.

“Girls! Girls!” Coach swallowed hard.

“GIVE me!” Snatch.

“Give ME!” Snatch.

“Uhm ... girls ....”

“GIVE ME!” Snatch.

Squirt.

Both girls grew wide eyes, then both heads dove for the erupting cock, teeth bared.

Coach’s eyes grew fearful again.

KC’s mouth edged out Veronica’s and she slurped him in.

Veronica fell back on her butt, her head hanging in defeat.

KC’s jaw worked, creating a vacuum to drain the Coach of every last drop.

“Careful! Careful!,” he urged her to curb her enthusiasm. “Or you’re gonna suck the ball right out through the hose there!”

KC came off his penis and the Coach was able to slump back, drained from both fear and orgasm. Then KC crawled on her hands and knees over to Veronica.

“Whuh?!” Veronica was startled when KC pressed her lips to hers. Then she tasted the salty filling oozing from the young girl’s mouth into hers. Jism!

The Coach stirred, the mixture of terror and sex having taken a lot out of him. Looking over, he saw the two women mewling, kissing, sharing cum like naughty young women always do. Ah, he smiled as their cum-covered tongues played with each other, girls will be girls. Slowly, he sank to the ground, leaned over and nodded off.

The girls progressed from kissing to caressing to fingering each other, to wailing as they brought each other in orgasm.

“You are one sweet pussy, Veronica,” KC sighed as they laid there in each other’s arms afterwards. “And it’s shaved naked, just like the boys like.”

“Yeah, that sort of happened earlier. Though I wasn’t sure about it.”

“It really tempts the boys ....”

“Does it?”

“Yeah ... though I’ve got something even better.”

“What’s that?” Veronica lightly traced her fingernails over the other woman’s breasts.

“Weeeelllll, first of all, you get a boy really, really worked up—you know, so hard that he can’t even think straight.”

“Okay ....”

“Then you shake your ass at him and he thinks you’re still just taunting him.”

“Okay ....”

“Then you sink down on him—up your ass—while his eyes get all wide in astonishment that you’re letting him go up in that forbidden place.”

“Okay ....”

“Then ... you squeeze and milk with your sphincter until he gasps and squirts up inside you.”

“Okay ....”

“Then he’s yours forever. He doesn’t ever forget the feeling of being milked, and he’ll do anything for you. Forever.”

“That seems sort of ... sneaky. I mean, aren’t you backdooring this obsession with you on him?”

“It’s never backfired on me yet. I have so many slaves that will do anything just to give me a rear fender-bender again that you wouldn’t believe it!”

“Still ....” The two laid there a few moments until Veronica giggled. “I’m so sated and tired that I can’t think clearly. I feel like I have some of Coach’s jism gumming up my brain.” Big yawn. “Could I get you to drive me home, KC?”

“Sure.”