The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Hesitantly Nichole made her way down the stairs. Despite Ms. Henderson’s promise Nichole was so worried about how her family would react to her newest outfit. Yesterday’s look had almost provoked a storm. Today’s…

Today her red skirt wrapped tightly around her hips and reached barely two inches below her crotch. Her pale peach blouse was so sheer she was sure that she had glimpsed the outline of her bra when she’d looked in the mirror. The tight cut of her red blazer just emphasised how revealing the rest of her outfit was.

But it wasn’t just trepidation about the response to her outfit that had the young woman creeping slowly down the stairs. She could barely keep her hand from reaching under her short skirt. She hadn’t touched herself. Not last night, alone in her bed, her pussy aching with need. Not in the shower that morning. She’d had to be so careful as she’d cleaned herself. She’d almost cried out, hot water running over her naked body like a lover’s caress. Her hands gently massaging herself. Routine touches sending jolts of pleasure shooting through her. She’d had to stop, so often. Panting, head bowed, fingers splayed as her hands rested against the wall. Trying to control herself.

She’d been able to, just. She hadn’t touched herself, not like she was dying to touch herself. Not under the shower, not as she dried herself, not as she’d dressed. And she’d wanted to so much, her body crying out. As she’d put on that blouse, felt the silk brush over her skin. As she’d wiggled her hips into that almost non-existent skirt. As her body cried out for release.

She wasn’t allowed to bring herself off.

She’d watched the flame of the lighter again this morning.

Then forgotten about it.

Nichole couldn’t forget the need that was pouring through her, her skin aching to be touched, desire roiling at her centre, a centre that was hot and empty and demanding.

It would be so easy to touch herself.

She couldn’t. She could imagine it. But there was a distance, like she was looking at the idea through glass.

“Oh, that’s a nice outfit dear,” Nichole’s mother Elaine complimented her eldest daughter.

Nichole’s eyes widened in shock. The best she’d hoped for was silence, not compliments.

“Is it another one Ms. Henderson paid for?” her mother continued.

“Um, yeah,” Nichole muttered, slipping into her place at the table. She couldn’t understand her mother’s acceptance. It didn’t help that she could barely think, the arousal coursing through her, blotting out anything else. She was covered by the table now. Maybe no-one would notice if she slipped her hand…

No!

“If she can have a skirt that short for work I want one like that for school.” At least Alice’s attitude hadn’t changed. But Nichole wondered why her sister was bothering with the exact same argument that hadn’t worked the day before.

“We’ll see, dear,” their mother smiled.

Huh? That didn’t make any sense to Nichole. Yesterday their mother had been definitive. Maybe she was just trying to deflect Alice.

“Yeah, it is good,” Ruth, the middle of the three sisters, chipped in. “Where did it come from? Maybe I’ll get one like it.”

Nichole blinked. As Alice had said yesterday Ruth almost never wore skirts. “You mean for a club?” Nichole ventured. Ruth had said something about that.

“Or for around university,” her dark-haired sister shrugged. “The boys in my classes would love it!”

Nichole didn’t know what to say. Ruth never wore skirts to university.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get a lot of attention from the boys wherever you wear it dear,” their mother offered reassuringly.

Nichole was sure that Ruth would. The middle of the three sisters may not have had Alice’s and Nichole’s blonde hair, but her legs were just as long and slim, her figure just as good. In a skirt as short as Nichole’s they’d look so good. Nichole’s legs did. She could remember looking at them in the mirror. Her eyes following their line. Coming to rest on where they disappeared under that short skirt. Knowing what lay under there. Her centre burning. She was so turned on. Would Ruth be that turned on if she wore a skirt that short?

“Who cares what boys think?” Alice scoffed, a spoonful of cereal poised before her lips.

Nichole blinked. It wasn’t the reaction she expected from Alice. If anyone in the family was boy-crazy it was the youngest sister. Alice did run through her boyfriends though. Perhaps there was some trouble with the latest. Nichole couldn’t even remember his name. Maybe he wasn’t giving Alice what she wanted. What she needed. Nichole knew what she needed. Her hand under her skirt. It would be so easy. The skirt was so short. She knew what it would feel like. Her hand slipping up her thigh. Over her sensitive skin. Sparks erupting from the touch. Creeping closer. Her pussy yearning for the touch.

Her hand was on her thigh, almost at the hem of her skirt.

Which meant it was bare inches from her centre.

No!

“Are you alright dear?” Elaine asked as Nichole bolted upright from the table.

“Ah, yeah, um, time. Have to, have to get going,” Nichole spluttered as she fled.

What seemed like an age later Nichole still couldn’t think straight as she stood in front of her boss. The train trip had been agony, heat erupting in her body at the slightest brush with the other commuters. It didn’t matter if they were old or young, male or female. Just the touch, her body crying out in need, had been enough to send desire spiralling through the young woman.

Then trying to ignore her reflection in the windows as she walked from the station to work. Her legs, so revealed in that skirt. Her calves stretched by the heels. The outline of her breasts clear under the blazer and blouse. So aware of how much they wanted to be touched. How much her pussy was crying out. Shutting her eyes so she wouldn’t see her reflection. Then running into people, the sensations cascading through her.

Her panties had to be soaked. Nichole was worried that she was dripping down her legs.

She’d thought about heading to the loo. Maybe she could get herself off there. Maybe it would be alright. The bars in her mind that had kept her hands away from her body ever since yesterday seemed to weaken as soon as she set foot in the agency.

She didn’t even worry about where those bars had come from. Didn’t think about them.

But Clara was already at her desk and said that Ms. Henderson wanted to see Nichole. Nichole had looked imploringly at the PA. Tried to make some excuse. But Clara had insisted.

So here she was.

In front of her boss.

Who looked amazing, with her long ash-blonde hair and perfect features. And her blue eyes.

So blue.

Nichole wasn’t sure that she was still breathing. All she could do was keep herself standing there. So still. It was the only way she could keep her hands off herself. Just standing there. Her eyes fixed on Ms. Henderson.

On her sculpted cheekbones. On her delicate neck. On the curve of the breasts beneath her blouse.

Need pulsed through the intern.

Her nipples were so taut. She was so glad that she’d worn a bra. Could Ms. Henderson see her bra? The material of her blouse was so sheer. What did her boss think of her legs? What would her boss think if she knew that arousal was pouring through the intern?

It was rising higher, a dizzying wave, every moment Nichole spent gazing at her boss. It was threatening to engulf her.

Nichole frowned. How she was feeling made no sense to the young woman. It was wrong.

Guys. I like guys, Nichole insisted to herself. Desperately she summoned that image of her dark dream lover. So handsome. Rugged. It was there. In her mind.

Behind glass.

She couldn’t reach it. Even as desire surged through her. As her toes curled in her high-heeled shoes, her calves so taut. As her pulse pounded in her ears. She couldn’t focus on that image.

Not with Ms. Henderson in front of her. Not with those blue eyes. Eyes she could fall into.

“Why don’t you come around here, Nichole?” Ms Henderson asked, indicating a space beside where she sat at her desk. Her tone was professionally neutral, but Nichole swallowed. Did she have to say come? Surely Ms. Henderson hadn’t emphasised that word. Surely Nichole was just imagining that.

“It will be easier for you to see then,” her boss continued.

See? See what? Panic gripped the young intern. What was she supposed to see? What had they been talking about? Dimly Nichole remembered Ms. Henderson speaking to her. She could even remember replying. But her memory didn’t hold the words. They’d slipped away, lost in the torrent of her arousal. She must have said the right things though. Ms. Henderson didn’t look annoyed or disappointed.

If anything she looked pleased.

Hesitantly Nichole approached her boss’ desk, shuffled around it. Every step was torture, her naked thighs brushing against each other, her clothes rubbing against her skin, the feelings electric. Desire, hot and liquid, was consuming her. With her right hand Nichole gripped her left wrist. It was the only way she could stop herself from doing something she’d regret. But even that had her eyelids fluttering, bright sparks erupting from where her thumb rubbed against the inside of her wrist. Her chest heaved. She was so aware of her breasts. Her nipples were rock-hard as they rubbed against her bra. She wanted her breasts touched, held, groped. Her pussy was crying out. It was so hard not to ram her fingers into herself. She was so wet. Her fingers would slip inside so easily. She could almost taste the delicious friction.

“You see what I mean,” Ms. Henderson said, pointing at an image on her screen. It was an image of a pretty woman, probably a model. Smiling. But Nichole had no idea what the context was. “You have to make people want it. Need it. Look closely.”

Nichole leaned over, forcing her eyes to stay on the screen. But she was so aware of Ms. Henderson’s proximity. Had her cheek brushed against her boss’s gorgeous hair? She wasn’t sure. But the older woman’s perfume was filling her nostrils, citrus and spices and something Nichole couldn’t place. It was filling the young woman, down to her fingers and toes, her eyes losing focus.

They were so close. Maybe Ms. Henderson would put her hand on Nichole’s shoulder, in such easy reach as the young woman leaned forward. Or maybe her waist or her back. Anywhere. Something to give Nichole what she needed.

No! She wasn’t like that. Girls did nothing for her. She’d never thought of them like that. She wasn’t going to think of them like that now. Wasn’t going to think of Ms. Henderson like that. She couldn’t.

But she was so close to her boss. She could sense the older woman’s body. Her own body was crying out. Her hand was creeping towards Ms. Henderson.

No. She couldn’t want that. Couldn’t be stupid enough to do that. What would Ms. Henderson want with her anyway? She was young and naive. Painfully aware of how inexperienced she was. Nichole cringed as she realised how little she had to offer a lover. Even if Ms. Henderson did bend that way she’d want someone more mature, more experienced, more sophisticated. Just, more. And chances were her boss wasn’t into women anyway. Not that Nichole was.

But she could picture it. Ms. Henderson turning to her. Putting her hand on Nichole’s hip. Fire erupting through the young woman’s body. Ms. Henderson telling her what to do. Taking charge. She was older. She’d know what to do.

Know exactly what to do to take Nichole’s breath away. To have her melting.

No, no, no. It wasn’t what Nichole wanted. And even if it was, even if the idea was spine-tinglingly, heart-stoppingly, mind-meltingly arousing, she couldn’t. Even if just being so close to her boss, inhaling her perfume, was turning Nichole on more than she could ever remember being turned on.

It’s just that I haven’t. Nichole couldn’t finish the thought. Not coherently. But she knew what she meant. That she hadn’t cum since the afternoon of the day before. But did that matter? She didn’t touch herself all that often. Days, even weeks, might pass. When did hours matter?

When did hours have her dying in need, have her knees going weak?

Even if she had only cum twice in her life.

Ms. Henderson shifted in her chair, the simple movement sending shivers through the young intern. She was picturing what her boss looked like under those clothes, with her blonde hair falling free around naked shoulders.

Pressing her body against Nichole’s. What would her breasts look like? Not breathing, Nichole snuck a glimpse down her boss’ cleavage, just a hint of glorious, pale, skin visible, the curve of a breast having Nichole take a shuddering breath.

She couldn’t understand what she was doing.

Ms. Henderson was saying things. Nichole didn’t know what. Didn’t care. The older woman was pointing at the screen. All Nichole could imagine was that finger on her body. Trailing slowly up her thigh. Lingering on her soft flesh, just for a moment. Finding her opening. Tracing its length. Circling her clit.

Like her own fingers were.

Oh God.

Nichole froze in place, her hand under her short, red, skirt, one finger pressing down on her clit. What had she been thinking? She didn’t dare move her hand.

She might explode if she did.

“When you’re in the middle of a campaign it’s important to keep up the pressure,” Ms. Henderson declared.

Nichole’s finger pressed down harder. Part of her didn’t want to. Part of her did. It happened anyway. Almost as if she wasn’t in control.

Part of her was glad about that.

She didn’t cum, but she was so close, the delicious sensations shooting through her as her finger traced back and forth along the line of her opening through her sodden panties. Pleasure rushed through her body, her toes curling.

“You also need to know how important it is to repeat the message,” her boss continued. “Repeat it over and over. That’s the only way to achieve your objective.”

Nichole knew what her objective was. She wanted to cum. She needed to cum. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, jilling herself literally behind her boss’ back. But she couldn’t stop. Her need was a living thing, hot and hungry. And Ms. Henderson was so close.

Nichole traced the line of her opening, over and over.

“You have to take advantage of an opening when you see it.”

Nichole’s fingers pressed into her opening, ever so slightly, through the sodden material of her panties. Her eyes were fixed on the back on Ms. Henderson’s head, her glorious hair. The intern barely managed to stop a moan escaping her lips.

“Don’t let anything get in your way.”

I can’t do this. I have to stop.

Nichole didn’t stop, her fingers pushing her panties aside, her nails trailing over her labia, sparks shooting to her brain, dissolving her thoughts in bliss. Nichole was sure that small sounds were escaping her lips now, but she couldn’t help it.

Ms. Henderson didn’t seem to notice. “Then you have to grab the climax of the campaign. You have to want it. You have to need it.”

Nichole did want it. She needed it. She could barely stay on her feet, the sensations threatening to overwhelm her. Her moans were louder now.

“You know just when the moment is. Something tells you. Sometimes you can’t stop it. It just happens. Now.”

Nichole couldn’t stop it. She was being dragged over the edge. Bliss was pouring through her, a red, delicious, torrent. She was crying out, her knees so close to buckling.

“Oh God, yes!” the young woman cried.

Nichole watched, unable to move, her hand still at her centre, as Ms. Henderson spun in her chair.

The young intern was dying of embarrassment. This was beyond unprofessional. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. Trying to ignore the delicious aftershocks still rippling through her Nichole hastily pulled her hand free. Hid it behind her back, so aware of the glistening evidence on her fingers. Felt her sodden panties slide back into place. She took a step. Then another. She was at the corner of the desk. She wanted to flee.

“Stop!” Ms. Henderson commanded.

Slowly Nichole turned around. She knew what was coming. She was going to be fired. Her thoughts were in pieces. Was fired even the right word for an intern? Why was she even worried about that? She was in so much trouble.

Ms. Henderson didn’t say a word. Simply looked at her.

Nichole looked back. The older woman’s eyes were so blue. So clear.

So deep.

Shame was flooding the young woman, its burn replacing the heat she’d felt moments before.

“Hmm,” the Ms. Henderson smiled archly. “I’m told I have good presentation skills but I’ve never had that reaction before.”

It wasn’t what Nichole had expected. A glimmer of hope flared in her.

“And I do understand what it’s like to be young,” the agency owner continued. “I’m not that old myself.”

Nichole’s head spun. Ms. Henderson didn’t seem that concerned. Was treating what had happened as if it was nothing important.

But it was. Oh.

Nichole knew she shouldn’t think like that. She couldn’t believe what she’d done.

Ms. Henderson’s eyes were so blue.

“Young women have needs don’t they? Sometimes it’s so hard to control them. So if you need to do it again, you can. Only if it’s just the two of us though. Others might not understand.”

Nichole blinked. She couldn’t have heard right. Her boss was giving her permission to masturbate in front of her? That wasn’t right. She couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t do that. Not ever again. It was wrong. It was…

She could just fall into those eyes.

It didn’t matter if she heard what Ms. Henderson was saying.

“You do trust me, don’t you, Nichole?” her boss asked.

Nichole was sure that older woman had said more than that, but she couldn’t remember a word.

“Y-yes,” she nodded hesitantly.

“Well, then,” Ms. Henderson smiled. “As I said, if you feel the need for, hmm, some relief, you just do what’s necessary. I won’t mind.”

Of course that’s what Nichole should do. Ms. Henderson knew best. She was so much more experienced than Nichole. So much more mature. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t quite normal. She wasn’t a normal employee. So if she needed to get herself off when it was just the two of them, then that’s what she’d do.

The young woman could imagine it. Standing in front of Ms. Henderson’s desk. Her hand up her skirt, inside her panties. She’d be so wet, her fingers tracing her length, her thumb grinding into her clit. Crying out as she stared into Ms. Henderson’s blue eyes.

Nichole almost came again thinking about it.

It was still embarrassing though, Nichole painfully aware of the red blush in her cheeks. Even if Ms. Henderson had given her permission, what must she think of Nichole? Did she think she was just some silly little girl who couldn’t control her own urges?

“Do you need to do it now?” Ms. Henderson asked. Nichole couldn’t believe how calm the older woman was.

She tried to concentrate on the question. Did she need to? She’d just cum. She could still feel the echoes of her crest, delicious waves flowing through her.

But the arousal was still there as well, her hand drifting to the hem of her skirt.

“You can tell me,” Ms. Henderson encouraged. “Or maybe just show me.”

Nichole gnawed anxiously at her lower lip. She couldn’t believe what was happening. Couldn’t believe what her body was demanding. She’d only just cum. The best orgasm of her life. Admittedly she hadn’t had all that many, but even so. She couldn’t want another so soon. Could she? And she couldn’t do it in front of Ms. Henderson, could she? At least the last one had been without Ms. Henderson looking. What would Ms. Henderson think of Nichole if she did what her boss was suggesting?

Ms. Henderson wouldn’t do anything like that. Nichole couldn’t even imagine it. Or maybe she could. Maybe Ms. Henderson understood Nichole’s need all too well. Maybe when the agency owner was alone in her office, sitting at her desk, she needed some relief as well. The image leapt into the young woman’s mind. The gorgeous blonde sitting at her desk, her hand slipping to the hem of her skirt, those long legs parted just enough to allow her access. Those fingers, long and delicate, would seek out her centre. Would she stroke herself through her panties? Or push them aside? What sort of panties was Ms. Henderson wearing? Did she wax? Those fingers would know, as they found the agency owner’s centre.

As Nichole’s fingers had found her own.

Oh God, no.

Embarrassment flooded the young woman. She couldn’t believe it, but she was doing it again. And this time Ms. Henderson was watching her. Knew what she was doing. Those blue eyes were fixed on Nichole. Despite her shame Nichole couldn’t look away. Her eyes were fixed on Ms. Henderson’s. As her fingers traced the line of her opening. As she moaned her need. Ms. Henderson knew what she was doing. Ms. Henderson was looking at her.

That just made it even hotter.

It felt so good. Was she still moaning, the pleasure spiralling out from her centre? Nichole wasn’t sure. She couldn’t stop.

Doubt fluttered in Nichole’s stomach. She knew she should stop. That she shouldn’t do this. But that wasn’t what the doubt was about. It was whether she should give her boss a show or whether she should get this over with as quickly as possible. She was only an intern after all. Surely the agency owner had better things to do than watch a silly girl get herself off.

Nichole’s fingers grazed over her labia, her lips quivering as another moan escaped them. When had she pushed her panties aside again? Did Ms. Henderson know that she had? Nichole’s boss gave no sign, simply watching the young woman as she pleasured herself. It was so good having Ms. Henderson watch her, the thought of being watched slipping through Nichole.

Not just being watched, but who was watching her. She wouldn’t let anyone else watch her. No-one else would see her head tip back, hear her moans, see the delicious quivers run through her young body. Only Ms. Henderson. That was right. She was Nichole’s boss after all. And she’d said Nichole could do this. When it was just the two of them.

“Oh, oh, oh.”

Nichole’s thumb ground into her clit, her hips jerking forward as her eyelids fluttered. She was so close. Ms. Henderson was saying something. Nichole knew that she had to focus on her boss. Her boss who was so generous to let her do this. Who understood how demanding her pussy could be. Who let her take care of her needs. Who knew that some young girls just couldn’t help it.

Nichole knew that her boss was speaking but she couldn’t grasp the words.

It didn’t matter.

All that mattered was giving her pussy the attention it needed. That it was crying out for.

Another moan escaped her lips, much as she tried to keep it in.

And of course her fingers could only slip along her opening. Not push inside. No matter how much she wanted to be filled. Her first time had to be right.

It still felt so good to touch herself, to feel that friction, that pressure. The pressure on her skin matching the pressure building inside her, hot and demanding and oh so wonderful. She was so close, her nerves ringing with desire. Just a little more.

Nichole cried out as she came, staring into Ms. Henderson’s blue eyes, her boss looking at her, a smile curling the edges of the older woman’s lips.

Oh God, why did I do that? Nichole thought as she came down from her crest, the sensation still humming through her. It had felt so good. Maybe better than the first one. But doubt still gnawed away at the edge of her mind. Surely she shouldn’t get herself off in front of her boss? That couldn’t be right, could it?

“That feels better, doesn’t it Nichole?’ Ms. Henderson smiled reassuringly. “Now you know that you can do that anytime you need to. It’s nothing to worry about.”

The doubt receded, became transparent. If Ms. Henderson said that it was nothing to worry about, then Nichole believed that. She could get herself off in front of her boss any time she needed to. It didn’t mean she had to. Much as she could still taste the edges of her arousal she didn’t need to get herself off again. Not right now anyway.

“Now clean yourself up and go back to your desk. There are some more proposals there for you to look at. We’ll talk about them this afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Nichole breathed. She meant it. She was sure that most bosses wouldn’t be so understanding of a young woman’s needs. For a moment she wondered about the afternoon meeting Ms. Henderson had just alluded to. Would her boss expect her to get off again? Nichole shook her head. That wasn’t how this worked. Ms. Henderson wasn’t expecting anything of her. She was simply making sure Nichole’s needs were met. It was so thoughtful of her.

“Off you go then,” Ms. Henderson chided gently.

Nichole hurried away. She didn’t mind the tone of voice her boss had just used. She was just an intern after all. And interns needed guidance. She knew that.

As she approached her desk she saw the folders there. She assumed Clara had taken care of that.

What Nichole didn’t see was the blue glow that surrounded her as she sat down on her chair.

Nichole was so pleased with herself as the afternoon meeting with Ms. Henderson drew to a close. She hadn’t let her hand go anywhere near her needy pussy, not once! She’d been so worried that she would. She’d wanted to. Despite what she’d done in the morning the need in her had built all through the day, until she was squirming in her chair. But she’d told herself over and over again that she wasn’t going to touch herself. She couldn’t do it every time she saw her boss. No matter how generous Ms. Henderson was. There had to be limits. Nichole was sure of that.

Even if it had been so hard. Even if she couldn’t stop herself rubbing her thighs together as Ms. Henderson spoke to her. As she looked into those blue eyes, warmth spreading out from her centre. It would be so easy to let her hand slip under her skirt. Give her pussy what it was crying out for.

But she was supposed to be learning to be a professional. And a professional woman wouldn’t get herself off every time she saw her boss.

Nichole was sure that that was right.

So no matter how much she felt that delicious, tingling, need, Nichole kept her hands to herself. Concentrated on what they had to discuss. She could always take care of herself latter. As Ms. Henderson said, young women had needs.

“I think that’s about it, don’t you Nichole?” Ms. Henderson asked.

“I, uh, yes,” Nichole stammered.

Even though Nichole was determined not to touch herself it was so hard. Ms. Henderson was right in front of her. With that blonde hair and those tempting curves and her oh so blue eyes. Nichole knew it would be so easy to give into the desires coiling inside her. That had her centre pulsing, hot and needy. But she wasn’t going to do that. She didn’t think about women like that. When she was alone that night Nichole would be thinking about the dark lover. Handsome and strong. With his firm chin and dark eyes.

Eyes that weren’t blue.

Not blue like Ms. Henderson’s

It would be so easy to remember those blue eyes. To imagine them, as Nichole snuggled under her covers. As she let her hand find her centre. As her other hand caressed one of her breasts. A she imagined what Ms. Henderson’s breasts would look like.

No! Nichole wouldn’t be thinking about that at all. She’d be thinking about her dream lover. At least that’s what the young woman told herself.

And tried to ignore the heat in her centre as her boss regarded her.

“Did you give your family the gifts I gave you yesterday?” Ms. Henderson asked.

“Yes, Ms. Henderson,” Nichole nodded.

“Good girl,” her boss smiled.

Nichole basked in the frisson of pleasure that ran through her. She wasn’t sure it was quite the right way for her boss to address her. But it felt so good. And she was only an intern after all. Not a proper employee. Just a young woman trying to deal with her needs. So maybe she should be happy to be called a good girl. It certainly felt good to be called that, the pleasure snaking down to buzz in her centre.

“I have one for you,” Ms. Henderson continued, reaching down next to her desk and pulling out another of those gift bags. Nichole wondered when she’d got it. She was sure that it hadn’t been there that morning. She was sure that she’d have noticed it. Even with… Even with what she’d done. And as far as she knew Ms. Henderson hadn’t left the office all day. Maybe she’d sent Clara to get it. That would make sense. And Nichole had to admit a sneaking sense of satisfaction at the thought of the surly PA sent to buy a gift for her. She wondered if Clara knew who it had been for. Either way it still had a satisfying edge of revenge to it.

“So is that clear?”

Oh hell. Nichole realised that Ms. Henderson had been saying something while she’d let herself get lost in daydreams about getting one over on her boss’ PA.

“Um, yes?” she ventured, hoping it hadn’t been anything too important.

“Good,” her boss smiled. “And I hope we’re clear about this morning as well. Whenever you feel the need, you do what you have to do. I don’t want you so wound up you can’t concentrate.”

“Th-thanks, Ms. Henderson.” No matter how much Nichole appreciated her boss’ attitude it was still embarrassing to talk about what she’d done. She could feel the blush spreading from her face to her chest. Right at her nipples the heat of her embarrassment met the warmth radiating from her centre. Her nipples were so hard. She wasn’t sure whether she could touch them though, no matter how much her breasts cried out to be touched. Ms. Henderson hadn’t said anything about that. At least, Nichole reminded herself, she wasn’t touching herself down there. She was so pleased that she hadn’t needed to indulge herself this time.

Nichole glanced into the bag as she took it from Ms. Henderson’s outstretched hand. There was another blue candle within. Larger than the other three. She could see her name on it.

“Thank you,” she repeated nervously. She’d only been at the office a few days. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve all the gifts Ms. Henderson was lavishing on her. It only made the young woman more determined to do her best at her job.

“Off you go then,” Ms. Henderson chided. “You don’t want to miss your train. There’s a good girl.”

Nichole swallowed at the delicious shiver those last two words produced in her. She knew that it wasn’t going to be an easy train trip home.

Nichole sighed in relief as she shut the door to her room behind her. The train trip had been just as hard as she’d thought it would be. Every time she’d brush against one of the other commuters in the packed carriage fire would shoot through her. It had been so hard to stop her hand reaching under her skirt. Especially when her eyes had fallen an attractive young man, obviously on his way home from the office. He hadn’t seen her, his eyes fixed on his phone. But Nichole had watched him.

She didn’t want to think about how she’d watched the young woman who’d taken his place on the train when he got off. The woman had been blonde and tall and even if her eyes weren’t the same shade as Ms. Henderson’s they were blue. Nichole hadn’t been able to take her eyes off her. Had hardly been able to breathe with the need coursing through her. She’d gripped the bag Ms. Henderson had given her so tightly. It had meant she couldn’t do anything else with those hands. Even as she’d wanted to. Even as she’d thought about how good it would feel to slip a hand under her skirt. Trace the line of her opening as she gazed on that blonde hair.

Nichole didn’t want to think about that. She was home now. In her room. She could do whatever she wanted. Her sisters were downstairs. Watching the television again, more of their anime. They’d barely spoken a word to her when she’d entered the house. Nichole didn’t mind that. Their mother wasn’t home yet.

So Nichole could do whatever she wanted.

She knew what that was.

She barely had time to drop her handbag and the bag containing Ms. Henderson’s gift on her bed before her hand was under her skirt.

She sighed in relief, her hips rocking slowly back and forth as the delicious sensations flowed through her. But it wasn’t enough. She needed her hands on her skin. She needed to be naked. She wanted to rip her clothes off. Throw herself on her bed and let her hands do what she needed them to do.

But she couldn’t do that. Not to the clothes Ms. Henderson had bought her. That wouldn’t be right. No matter how much she wanted to, no matter how much her mind was fogged by her need, she had to take care of the clothes. Carefully she stepped out of her skirt, a shiver of embarrassment shooting through her at the obvious damp patch on her panties. Then she hung the garment up. The matching blazer soon joined the skirt. The blouse was placed aside, ready for dry cleaning.

She was in her underwear now. Her skin tingled, wanting her touch, promising her release. She wanted it. Nichole turned to her bed. Her mother wouldn’t be home for an hour at least. She wouldn’t need that long.

Her eyes fell on the bag containing the candle Ms. Henderson had given her. Nichole knew that she had something to do. But she wasn’t ready yet. Quickly she removed her underwear. She had to. Not because of the need pouring through her. Something else told her this was what she had to do.

Without knowing why, the young woman placed the candle on the floor of room, then turned to her desk. Where the lighter Ms. Henderson had given her lay. Then she turned back to the candle. Sank down so that she was kneeling before the candle, her legs spread wide, the candle sitting between her knees.

Nichole knew that she was so open, so vulnerable.

She could hardly breathe. She knew that she was doing something right. It was almost like she was touching herself, pleasure shooting through her, riding her nerves to her brain, her eyelids fluttering.

She lit the candle, her breath hitching as her nipples tingled.

Words spilt from her mouth. Nichole didn’t know what they were. Didn’t know where she’d learnt them.

She watched the candle’s flame burn brighter.

She had something else to do. Something important.

Nichole reached out, took the candle in her hands, and rose to her feet. Nervously she turned to face her door. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do. But she had to. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did. It didn’t matter if what she was doing made no sense, if something seemed off about it. She had to do it. Nothing else mattered. Not how wrong it seemed. Not how much her centre was crying out for attention.

She had to.

Heart in her mouth, Nichole crept outside her room. She was painfully aware how naked she was. She knew that any moment one of her sisters might appear. She had no idea how she’d explain herself.

Especially with how her arousal was dripping down her legs. With how her nipples were diamond hard points. Her sisters could hardly miss that.

Nichole hardly dared breathe. She needed to be able hear the slightest sound from the stairs. Cautiously she crept down the hall. Paused at the door to Alice’s room, opened it. It was no different to how it had been the day before. Ms. Henderson’s candle was just where Nichole had left it. Except it wasn’t lit.

Nichole knew what to do.

Quietly she walked over to the candle, so aware that she was naked in her sister’s room. She’d never live it down if Alice found her. But the idea just had her arousal spiking higher.

She tipped her candle over, just enough so that the wick met that of the one on Alice’s makeup table. The blue flame leapt from one candle to the other, the breath of a caress on Nichole’s pussy as the flame caught, burning blue. Blue like the candles.

Blue like Ms. Henderson’s eyes.

Nichole spoke more words. She wasn’t even sure they were English. It didn’t matter. It was what she had to say.

Then she turned and padded away. To do the same in Ruth’s room. And her mother’s. Blue candle to blue candle. Blue flame burning. Like the fire was burning in her. Hot and bright.

Nichole returned to her room. Placed her candle on her desk. She stared at it. Just standing there. Naked. The flame filling her eyes. Filling her mind. Burning like she was burning. But it was allowed to move. She wasn’t. She had to stand there. No matter how much she wanted to touch herself. No matter how much she wanted to paw at her breasts, pull at her nipples. No matter how much her dripping centre demanded attention.

She just had to stand there.

“Nichole!” her mother’s voice broke the young woman out of reverie. “Dinner time!”

Nichole had no idea how long she’d been standing there, in front of the candle, naked. Had it even burnt down at all? But it must have been a while, her mother was home. Had even cooked dinner. Nichole frowned. What had she done with the time since she’d been home? She’d come to her room, stripped off, lit the candle and then… Nothing. She couldn’t remember. She was sure that she’d done something. She’d meant to get herself off. She hadn’t done that, need still coursing through her. Maybe she could do it now.

But her mother would want her downstairs and Nichole couldn’t face the possibility of being discovered.

No matter how much she wanted release she had to go downstairs.

There’s always later, she told herself. She could see to her needs later. Alone, at night, in her bed. Thinking of her dream lover.

Except somehow she knew that she wouldn’t. That no matter how much she wanted it, how much she’d crave release, she wouldn’t do it.

Because it would feel so much better tomorrow.

When she could stand in front of Ms. Henderson, gaze into those blue eyes as her fingers caressed her labia, as her thumb ground into her clit.

Shudder in bliss as her release swept over her.

It was all she’d need.