The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

This is my first time writing to your magazine. I hope this letter is good enough to become your letter of the month, because I promise that all of it is true. Though to be honest, I’m still not even quite sure why I’m doing this. Like a lot of the strange things that have happened to me this weekend, it just seems like a really, really good idea.

My name is—well, you can call me Jaqui. I’m a dark-skinned Latina, seventeen years old, and a freshman at the local community college. I still live at home with my parents and two younger sisters, though I have my own bedroom in the attic, all to myself. We are a very religious Catholic family, the first ones in church every Sunday, and if my parents even found a copy of your magazine—but I’m getting ahead of myself.

I know your readers want to know what I look like, and I hope I don’t disappoint them. I’m what you would call voluptuous. I have generous, DD-cup breasts, capped with wide, almost black nipples, a very round stomach and wide, jiggly hips. My uncle (the shameless one) calls me a prime cut of meat, and my aunts (my father’s sisters) can’t understand why I haven’t been married off yet. Tia Rosa even said (when I wasn’t supposed to be listening) that I have the perfect shape to be a baby factory, and that it was a shame that my parents hadn’t even let me start dating.

Yes, I was a virgin. I had never even tongue-kissed a boy, or even touched myself down below, until this past Friday night. I’d sometimes wondered what it would be like, but then my mami’s stern warnings, and the fear of God’s almighty wrath, would stop me cold. This all changed two days ago, thanks to my next-door neighbor.

I’ll call him Mr. Creep, because when I first met him last year, he gave me a really creepy feeling, like he was trying to look inside my skin. He lives alone, and he must be somewhat wealthy, because he always has people over to keep the house and yard cleaned up. A lot of them were women, very attractive women, which seemed a little odd. He hasn’t told me his age, but I think it’s somewhere near forty; he’s definitely at least twice as old as I am. In my culture, that’s not necessarily considered a bad thing, by the way.

He’s not bad looking. He’s a blanco, a white, which my family would never approve of (well, except maybe for my shameless uncle; the rumors said he had a blonde mistress a few years back.) His hair and beard are dark and a little scraggly, and he’s so thin you can count his ribs. And he wears glasses. Most of my friends would have called him a nerd.

It all started about an hour after sundown on Friday. I was in the attic, lying on my bed watching television, when the strangest idea occurred to me. I decided to pull open the curtains on my bedroom window, even though I was wearing only a blouse, bra and panties! Now I know that to a lot of your readers this may sound really innocent, but for me it was the most daring thing I had ever done. Little did I know that it was only the beginning.

I also didn’t know that Mr. Creep was watching me that night, at least until he told me so this morning. His attic workshop was dark, and the blinds were only half-open. With my curtains pulled up, he had a perfect view into practically my entire room, and part of the bathroom!

I decided that the show was really boring, but I left it on anyway. I grabbed my hairbrush and sat in front of my vanity. I started brushing my long black hair, something I did every night anyway to keep it smooth and glossy. But after a few minutes, I decided that my blouse was bothering me. I quickly unbuttoned it and hung it over the back of my chair.

After counting to one hundred, I went into the bathroom to wash my face. Without even realizing it, or remembering that my window was uncovered, I decided to unsnap my cotton support bra, letting my large breasts dangle freely. I splashed water on my face, then wet my thumbs and rubbed them in circles around my nipples until they stood up hard.

I had never done that before (not counting my monthly self-examination), and I couldn’t believe how good it felt. I forgot about the window, Mr. Creep, and even God; I just had to experience more pleasure. I lay down on the bed backwards, my feet by the pillows, pulling and thumbing my nipples all the while. Mr. Creep had a perfect view of everything; if I had laid down normally, it would have been difficult for him to see all that much.

For the first time, I brought my nipple to my mouth. It tasted delicious, a bit salty and a bit musky, and the shock of the sensation caused me to groan a little. I froze in panic; then I realized that the television would cover up any little sounds I made. Realizing I was free to explore myself further, I wriggled my plain black cotton panties over my hips, kicking them down my legs until I was completely naked.

Even thought the television was on, there was always the chance that one of my parents, or my sisters, would come up the stairs. The risk added to the thrill of exploration. I bent forward and grabbed a couple of pillows; as I shoved them under my shoulders, I unconsciously turned so that I was laying on the bed diagonally. Though I didn’t know it then, my womanly parts were now facing directly toward the window—and Mr. Creep’s delighted eyes.

I spread my outer lips, touching myself as a woman for the first time. Gently exploring with the long finger of my left hand, I found my inner lips, my virginal hymen, and then my dark, super-sensitive clitoris. When I touched it for the first time, my hips lifted off the bed, and I had to grit my teeth to turn a loud moan into a forceful hum.

I grabbed a corner of my quilt and shoved it into my mouth, to use as a muffler. My finger flew across my clit, faster and faster, causing my hips to thrust and a series of longer and deeper moans to try and sneak past my smothered tongue. It practically took me less time to reach orgasm (for the first time, no less!) than my orgasm lasted! And when it was over, instead of taking the prudent course and covering up my activities (and myself), I decided that I wanted another one.

I had a sudden overwhelming urge to use a dildo. And I didn’t even own a dildo! The urge grew stronger and stronger; it almost felt like I was being punished for having a craving I couldn’t satisfy. Finally I remembered my electric razor; when turned on, it made a gentle buzz.

I dashed to the bathroom. Thank God it was fully charged! On my way back, I made an impulse decision to sit in my chair, on one of my pillows, naked and facing the window. The thought of being such an exhibitionist, even without knowing that I really did have an audience, was so arousing that I could feel myself juicing up all over again.

I thumbed the razor on, and started rubbing it up and down the inside of my thighs. The skin there is not only very plump and soft, it’s also somewhat ticklish. I had myself squirming with laughter and arousal, when I realized that I could see the very top of my engorged clit, even through the dense black hair of my bush.

Like a woman possessed, I started using the electric razor to remove the excess hair. I didn’t remove all of it; I just trimmed it back to a manageable level. It was like I knew that Mr. Creep liked pubic hair, but not when it was overgrown and messy. But that part comes later.

Once I had trimmed my most intimate parts, I pressed the back of the razor directly against my clit. I had to bite my arm to keep from shouting! Again, it took less than two minutes of stimulation to bring myself to climax, and again, my climax lasted over a minute. This time, though, I was sitting up, watching myself bring me off right in front of my bedroom window, suckling my breast and biting my nipple to stifle my own moans, lest I create unwanted attention.

When I was done, panting and sweaty, I got another unexplained urge. Instead of hopping into the shower, or putting on my sleepwear, or even changing out the pillow cases, I decided to turn off the television and crawl into bed naked, using the pillow I’d been sitting on, breathing in my sweat and girl juices. The combination aroused me, but I was too tired to do anything else, and the unexplained urge to explore seemed to have retreated for the moment. I fell asleep with my finger on my clit, and my dreams were sexy.

The next day was Saturday, and I had plans to spend the day with my best girlfriend Amanda. Amanda is my age, and despite being African, is actually a bit lighter-skinned than I am. Her bottom is almost as large as mine, but her breasts and stomach are really small. She used to do ballet, before her hips grew too big. She has short curly black hair, and a beautiful Halle Berry smile.

I cleaned up myself and my bedroom, but for some reason, I decided to leave the curtains open. I also felt the urge to dress more provocatively than I normally do, which, since I didn’t own any dangerous clothes, wasn’t enough to get me in trouble. I wore a long skirt with stockings but no panties, my tightest bra (I’d been waiting for Nina, my next-oldest sister, to grow into it), and a cream-colored button blouse.

Amanda met me after breakfast, and we walked to the mall. I had fifty dollars saved up, and I had decided that today would be the day to spend it. I had a strange urge to buy something that would give my parents a fit if they knew; and I still wasn’t quite over the urge to get myself a dildo. I didn’t know how I was going to pull that off, what with Amanda being with me, and my parents’ usual routine of inspecting whatever I bought.

We did our usual routine of window shopping and trying on things we couldn’t afford, before stopping at the food court for a cheap lunch. As always I noticed the boys looking at us, but this time I realized that we were a couple of young, sexy ladies, and that we should be desirable. I even thought I’d caught a glimpse of Mr. Creep, but since I didn’t see him again, I decided it must have been my imagination.

After lunch, Amanda suggested we look around the lingerie store. She always said this; I think she got a kick out of making me blush. But I surprised her, and myself, by agreeing. Before I could change my mind, she grabbed me and dragged me into Intimate Secrets.

Like most lingerie shops, you could try on anything, but if you tried on any panties or sealed items, you had to buy them. Amanda and I spent almost twenty minutes deciding what we wanted to try on. The prune-faced clerk took an unusual lack of interest in our browsing; it was almost as if she’d been told to ignore us. I breathed a sigh of embarrassed relief, grabbed my selections, and followed Amanda to the back of the shop.

The changing area had three small rooms, and a larger one against the back wall. I don’t know why, but by unspoken agreement, we both headed for the large room. It was easily big enough to accomodate four women, and even had a soft chair, though for some reason, both of us decided to use the bench instead. This was another first for me; I’d never undressed in front of anyone, or allowed myself to be seen naked, since puberty. The night before, when I’d fallen asleep naked, was the closest I’d ever come!

I’m sure by your reader’s standards, Clubhouse Letters, what I’d picked out would barely raise any eyebrows. But they were by far the naughtiest things I’d ever tried on, and I could feel a squishiness down below that my nylon pantyhose weren’t designed to absorb.

Amanda started undressing first. I don’t think she was that much more experienced than I was, despite her talk, because her face was as flushed and warm as mine. Maybe she was worried that I would make fun of her precious little bosom; but as soon as she revealed those beautiful little chocolate apples, all I could think of was how wonderful they must taste.

Instead, however, I decided to remove my own blouse and too-small bra, which was squashing my breasts and cutting into my shoulders. As I unhooked the monstrosity and let it fall, Amanda was gazing at my hanging breasts with something approaching rapture. Her tongue flickered out, moistening her perfect lips, and her breathing seemed to mirror mine, deep and fast.

She shrugged out of her jeans as I wriggled out of my skirt. Standing there, in just her panties and my hose, I felt even more aroused than I’d ever been, even while playing with myself the other night. It was all I could do to not grab her, and it looked like she was struggling not to do the same. As I turned to the first piece of lingerie, I wondered where this willpower had come from.

I slipped into a black lace half-cup bra. My nipples are so dark and wide that they were easily visible, part of them sticking out over the top of the lace. The satin straps were comfortable, and pushed up my breasts, making them look even larger—not that they needed it. I fondled my nipples right through the lace, making myself even hornier.

I looked over at Amanda. Her bra was even smaller, a quarter-cup; it exposed her nipples completely. It was pure white, which looked great against her dark skin. I could see her nipples puckering; my mouth had gone as dry as my cookie was moist. I can’t believe I just wrote that!

Sitting on the bench, I slid my pantyhose off. Something told me that I wouldn’t be needing them anymore, so I wadded them up and threw them at the chair, where they disappeared—I guess they rolled underneath, or something. Opening a package I didn’t really have the money for, I took out two sheer black stockings, and rolled them up my bare legs. I then attached them to a sturdy satin garter belt, with a hand-stitched red rosette in front.

Meanwhile, Amanda had slipped off her panties, and had put on a white silk thong that had to cost sixty dollars! I don’t know how she intended to pay for it, but God, it made her bottom look great. Unlike my extra flesh, which jiggled and wiggled, her ass was large but firm from years of exercise. I had to see what she looked like from the front, so I whispered, “Turn around, please, ‘Manda.”

She giggled and turned around—and her giggle cut off as we took a good look at each other. Waves of lust, I don’t know how else to describe them, flooded my brain. Her nipples looked like chocolate kisses, erect tips and everything, and the front of the thong was so soft and sheer, I could see each individual hair underneath it. She flicked her eyes over my body from head to toe, and stopped when they got to my crotch. It was only then that I remembered that I hadn’t bothered to put any panties on at all.

“I have to taste you, Jaqui,” she said. All I could do was moan.

I thought she would dive straight for my exposed cookie, and half of me wanted her to, but she surprised me by pulling me into a hug and a kiss. My first kiss, with tongue, and it was with another girl! If my mind hadn’t already been blown, that would have done it for sure! Instead, I relaxed into it, letting her show me how to let my tongue play, giving me a chance to taste her and decide that I liked it. I breathed in her scent, deep and musky, and realized that she was as turned on as I was.

Neither of us gave any consideration to where we were. It was as if we knew that we could do anything, be as loud as we wanted, and we wouldn’t be disturbed. In the back of my mind, I felt like we were doing more than exploring each other; we were also performing for someone. That was ridiculous; we were alone in the dressing room, and there was no way anyone could peek through the door. The only way someone could be watching us would be if they were already in the room, invisible, and sitting in the chair—and that’s impossible, right?

As we kissed, my hands wandered down to Amanda’s exposed titties. Eagerly I fondled those two nipples; if anything, they stood out even harder. I relished making her moan. I felt like a grown woman for the first time in my life. She returned the favor, grabbing both my plump melons and squeezing them right through my bra, letting the rough lace arouse me even further.

Moaning, we sank to the floor, hands still on each other’s breasts. Mouths quickly replaced hands, freeing them to wander each other’s body. I loved the taste of her, and the way that her entire apple could fit into my mouth! She returned the favor by unhooking my bra, and lapping at my entire melon like a puppy dog, including biting each nipple and sending me into a frenzy.

Eventually, our hands found each other’s ass. I cupped hers, enjoying the muscles under the softness. She jiggled mine, then slapped it, sending rippling waves along my thighs. It felt great; I wanted her to spank me more. As if she could read my mind, she started slapping me harder, and faster, and on both cheeks. I was dripping; I knew that only a little more stimulation would make me come.

Amanda provided it, pressing her index finger against my dripping gash, and her thumb on my clit. I exploded! I only hope, Clubhouse Letters, that every one of your other readers has had a chance to experience an orgasm as long, as powerful, and as loving as that one. If I could have bottled it, I could have bought your entire publishing company!

Feeling it only fair to return the favor, I slipped Amanda’s thong to the side, exposing her lightly furred, deep red cookie. My intent was to caress it, like she had for me, but as soon as I saw it, I was filled with the irresistible urge to see how it tasted. First I licked gently, which caused her to fall backward, helpless. Then I licked harder, which made her moan and press her lower lips against my mouth. Using my thumbs, I spread her outer lips, exposing her tiny Bing-cherry clit. As soon as I lapped it, savoring the scent and taste of her, Amanda started to climax with a scream! All I could do was hold on for dear life, as her fingers clutched my hair, forcing my tongue against her juicy gash and tiny clit, as she rode out her climax!

I thought we were done, but it turned out that Amanda had one further surprise.

Reaching underneath her pile of clothes, she pulled out a long plain box. My eyebrows said, “?” so she turned it around, so I could see the picture. My eyes widened into saucers as she had a fit of the giggles. What was so funny? While I was trying to decide which bra to try on, Amanda had managed to swipe a plastic, battery-operated vibrator—and some batteries!

While Amanda quickly opened the box and got the pink vibrator ready, I felt a wave of smug satisfaction, which puzzled me a bit. Sure, I’d had that nagging feeling of wanting a dildo since last night, so I understood the satisfaction part—but why was I feeling so smug?

I forgot about the question, however, the moment I heard the beast buzz for the first time. Just the noise made me excited again, as if my body was responding to the memory of using my electric razor to bring myself off the night before. Amanda teased me first, by teasing herself. My mouth watered as I watched her tickle her nipples, rub her slit, turn it off and lick it, and then tease her nipples again. When she turned it back on and pressed it inside of herself, I felt my own cookie spasm in sympathy contractions—or maybe I just had another orgasm.

It took her about five minutes—of moaning, squirming, cupping her tiny tits, demanding I kiss her and suckle her (which I did, willingly)—to bring herself to a loud roaring climax. I was surprised that mall security, never mind Old Biddy Prune-Face right outside, didn’t come barging in to see who was dying! Before I thought she was fully recovered, she surprised me by pulling the vibrator out, turning it off, and shoving it into my mouth.

Her juices tasted as delicious as before. I couldn’t believe how horny I was again; I had honestly lost track of the number of orgasms I’d had. And I knew one more was coming; my girlfriend pulled the dildo from my mouth with a small ‘pop,’ and slid it up and down against my clit. That alone would have been enough, given time; but she surprised me again when she turned it on, without pulling it away, and while my eyes were still closed.

I almost jumped in shock, but something prevented it. It also prevented me from opening my eyes. Stuck in a near-orgasmic frenzy, all I could do was fondle my melons, moan, and dream that it was Mr. Creep rubbing up against me, instead of a fake plastic picho. It worked; I climbed the mountain so quickly, I almost flew into space!

Nothing else we could do in the store could top that, so after a few minutes of heavy breathing, we got dressed, wearing our new lingerie underneath our old clothes. I left my bra behind—Nina would just have to make do with one less hand-me-down—while Amanda stuffed her old underwear, and our new vibrator, into her purse. The old biddy clerk continued to ignore us as we left the store. It was a strange feeling, shoplifting for the first time. I just know I’m going to burn in hell for this!

This morning, Mr. Creep told me that he’d watched everything the two of us had done. He even showed me pictures; we looked just like some of the beautiful ladies in your wonderful magazine. I couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten them; I’d always thought it was against the law to put security cameras in dressing rooms, and I know he wasn’t in the room with us, because we would’ve seen him, right? But he described everything, and he was right about all the details. And just hearing him retell the story while I was looking at the photos made me hot and horny all over again.

Despite all the time we’d spent in the lingerie shop, we actually left the mall earlier than usual. When we got back to my house, no one else was there, so we were going to go upstairs, clean up, and hide my new ‘purchases.’ But just as we passed Mr. Creep’s house, both of us turned to each other, like we’d both just had the same crazy idea.

“Let’s march up to his door,” our eyes said to each other, “and ask him to choose which of our new outfits looks better.”

And that’s just what we did. The insanity of this didn’t occur to either of us. The fact that if I was discovered unchaperoned in any man’s house, (let alone our creepy white nerd neighbor,) would be enough for my parents to disown me, never even crossed my mind. All that mattered was my excitement, and arousal, and the knowledge that I was going to outdo my more experienced girlfriend at seducing my first man.

We knocked, and Mr. Creep answered right away, almost like he’d been expecting us. He invited us into his living room, where a fresh tray of chocolates, candies, and wine sat on an elegant glass table. ‘Either he’s rich,’ I thought, ‘or he can convince people to give him stuff for free.’

After a few nibbles and sips, and a few moments of small talk, Amanda and I got down to why we were really there. When we offered to model our new undergarments, I expected him to be shocked; but then again, I had that nagging feeling that he had already known why we were there. I was aroused again already. And if Amanda’s little twitches were any indication, I wasn’t the only one.

Mr. Creep took out a fancy high-tech remote. He touched the display twice, and the lights dimmed. Another touch brought on a row of small spotlights—high hats, I think they’re called. Two more touches started the stereo, and Amanda and I took that as our cue to begin to dance.

Amanda had actually taken ballet and tap, and really knew how to move. But what I lacked in technique, I made up for in enthusiasm. Mr. Creep seemed to enjoy my ragged undressing as much as Amanda’s elegant disrobing. I think it was because he secretly liked me better anyway. I don’t know how I knew that; I just knew.

By the end of the song, we both stood there, dressed just as we’d been in the dressing room. I could smell our sweat and musk, but instead of turning me off, it just made me more aroused. This time, however, we had both removed our shoes; and the faint whiff of Amanda’s elegantly painted feet was inspiring feelings I hadn’t even known I had. Her nostrils flared, and I knew that she was feeling the same way about my unpainted toes.

I hope this isn’t too kinky for you, Clubhouse Letters, though I don’t see how it couldn’t be. For the next few minutes, Amanda and I attacked each other’s feet and toes, with our noses, fingers and tongues, bringing ourselves closer and closer to climax without so much as touching each other’s breasts. Or genitals. Or bottoms. And all this, while Mr. Creep sat there and watched, fully dressed, and looking like he was enjoying himself immensely.

Finally, we couldn’t take it anymore. At the exact same moment, we each took one of our big toes, and jammed it hard against the other’s clit. I grabbed Amanda’s foot and held it there; I felt her do the same to mine. It was the last bit we needed; we both exploded into orgasm, grinding ourselves desperately against the other’s foot. I felt my toe slide a little of the way into Amanda’s gash; she tried to do the same, but my intact hymen blocked its passage.

Finally, spent, we fell apart. I looked up to see Mr. Creep with a huge smile on his face—and a huge bulge in his jeans. Even I, innocent as I was, knew what that meant. It was at that moment that I knew I was going to lose my virginity that afternoon. And I knew that I was going to enjoy it.

I think Amanda did, also. She gasped out, “Mr. Creep, sir? Can we go use your bathroom and ... freshen up?”

I knew what she meant. I was all sweaty myself, from now and from before. But our host surprised us by saying, “No, don’t bother, Amanda. I love the way the two of you smell; I worked hard to get you that way. Take off the rest of your clothes, both of you, and leave them here. Go use the toilet if you need to; I’ll meet you in the master bedroom in five minutes.”

We did exactly as he asked. I didn’t try to disobey, but I don’t think I could have, anyway. There was something commanding, something ... regal ... about him. It turned me on something fierce. I reflected in how far I’d come, in less than one full day. I’d masturbated in front of an open window, slept naked, gone into a lingerie shop, made out with my best friend (twice!), broken the law, and was now preparing to give myself to a man that only yesterday I would have crossed the street to avoid.

Exactly five minutes on the dot, we presented ourselves for Mr. Creep’s inspection. He hadn’t been wasting time either; he was lying in the center of a king-sized waterbed. He’d changed into an expensive silk bathrobe—you know, like the kind the publisher of your competitor’s magazine is always seen wearing. It even had the little rodent logo embroidered on the front pocket.

He wasn’t wearing anything else. And he wasn’t even wearing that for very long, as Amanda and I rushed the bed and pulled it off of him. Naked, he was spectacular! I’d never realized how much alabaster white skin, a completely hairless chest, and no body fat turned me on. From the looks of things, it was a new experience for Amanda, as well. She’d never dated anyone with paler skin than herself; of course, on a technicality, neither had I.

The big surprise was his picho—his manhood. It was huge! I don’t have much of a basis for comparison, but it was at least five inches long, and easily an inch thick! I had no idea how that monster was going to fit inside of me, but I knew for a fact that I was about to find out.

Surprisingly gently, considering our eagerness, Mr. Creep guided me on top of him—not an easy task, as the waves on the waterbed kept throwing me off to the side. Finally, with Amanda’s help (to be more precise, her hands on my bottom), I was suspended above my soon-to-be first lover, and ready to take the plunge. Gently I sank down onto his shaft, letting it fill me, until it pressed up against the wall of my maidenhead.

We paused for a moment, and then he said, “Jaqui, it’s time.”

I couldn’t help myself. I crossed myself, Catholic style, and murmured, “Dio mio, bless me and forgive me,” and then I let the weight of my body take my virginity. Oddly, I felt a tearing, and then a quick hot pain, which almost instantly turned to pleasure. My loins felt full, and I needed a few seconds to adjust, but within moments, I was bouncing merrily, gasping at the pleasure my new novio (lover) was bringing me.

It seemed like not quite a minute before I felt his picho swell, and then I felt hot spurt after hot spurt splash deep within my walls. I should have been concerned about pregnancy or disease; neither thought crossed my mind. Instead, I responded to his climax with one of my own, and only after the fact did I register the thought that Amanda had been behind me the whole time, fondling my full bosom and pinching my wide nipples, and nuzzling the back of my neck.

“That was wonderful, mi amor. Spectacular.” I panted. “How long was my first ride?”

Amanda looked over at the bedside clock, and grinned. “Not quite a minute,” she replied. Then she looked at my—our—lover, and gave a feral grin. “Next ride’s in five minutes, mister. You’d better be ready, because I sure as hell am.”

Mr. Creep just grinned. I had no doubt he would meet mi amiga’s deadline. And sure enough, he did. How we didn’t get in trouble when we arrived back at my house, completely disheveled and more than three hours late, I’m still not sure I understand.

It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m finishing this letter at Mr. Creep’s writing desk. I didn’t go to church this morning; I was all ready to claim woman sickness, but my family never even came up to see whether I was ready. As soon as they were gone, I snuck over to my new lover’s house. I didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath my robe.

Mr. Creep—he decided he likes that nickname, so that’s what I’m going to call him—says that it won’t be long before I can introduce him to my family. And he assured me that it won’t be a problem for me to move in with him. He confessed that he’d had his eye on me for the last six months. I’m flattered that he chose me over all those models he always had coming around. He laughed and said that they had their place, but that I was the one he’d fallen in love with.

He says that as soon as I turn eighteen, he’s going to fly us to Las Vegas to get married. I’m gushing with anticipation—above and below—about the day I finally become Mrs. Creep, and what my love has planned for our honeymoon. He says that I still have one virginity left, and that he’s saving it for that night. I don’t quite know what he means—though I’ll bet that most of your readers do, and are probably laughing at my innocence—but I know that I’ll do anything my man wants, at any time. I love him so much.

He’s been hinting that he might ask someone to join us on our honeymoon. At first I thought he might mean Amanda, and she would be more than welcome (in fact, she’s due to come over later). But it seems he’s really thinking about my next-older sister Nina, who at fifteen is developing nicely, and is almost ready for some of my old bras. I know my lover would be just the man to break my sister in; look what a wonderful job he’s done for me.

I’ll write you again if anything unusual occurs on our honeymoon. Thank you again, Clubhouse Letters, for publishing this letter. I know it will get my man hot to see it in print, and I only hope it does the same for everyone else.