The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Nichole sat naked on her bed. Her legs were crossed, her hands upturned, resting on her thighs. The blue candle was on her bed, resting against her shins. Her eyes were fixed on the flame, the liquid pool of wax at its apex, the colour seeping into her empty mind, burning into every corner. Somehow there was never any wax dripping down to mar her sheets. Despite the pool of wax the candle never seemed to burn any lower.

Looking down as she was Nichole could see how taut her nipples were. It was no surprise. She was so turned on. She could see more evidence of that, her hairless pussy hiding nothing, moisture glinting in the candle light.

She was so glad she’d finally had the courage to get rid of all that hair.

It was what she’d always wanted.

She could see how puffy her cuntlips were.

That was no surprise.

She was thinking of Ms. Henderson. Of the woman’s gorgeous face, her slim body. Her long, ash-blonde hair.

Her blue eyes.

Eyes the same colour as the flame that Nichole stared into.

Eyes she could fall into.

She’d never wanted anything else. Never dreamed of anything else.

Just for a moment a thought surfaced from the placid lake of Nichole’s mind. A vague image, of some imaginary lover, dark and handsome.

It vanished.

She’d never had fantasies like that. Not of a man. Why would she ever think like that of a man? When thinking of Ms. Henderson had her burning. Like a flame. When just the thought of Ms. Henderson’s beautiful face had tremors of desire running through her. When the memories of what she’d done in front of her boss, what her boss had done to her, were almost enough to have Nichole cumming on the spot.

The flame burned on, washing everything else away.

She needed a woman’s hands on her. It was all Nichole wanted. Even the memory of how Clara had pawed at her in the changing room at the lingerie boutique was turning her on.

The images hung in her mind, unaccompanied by thoughts. She was just memories and desires.

She sat there for hours.

The sun was up by the time she as much as even blinked.

Had she been thinking of lingerie? Of Clara’s hands on her? She might have, however much she disliked the PA. The memory of Clara’s hands groping at her breasts sent a delicious tingle through the young woman.

She’d have to think of what lingerie to wear today. What would Ms. Henderson want her to wear? She’d liked the white, but Nichole knew that her boss also liked variety. So something different today. Perhaps the black set? All straps and little else. Or maybe the black and red corset? Yes, that was the one, a pulse from her pussy telling Nichole that she was right. It was elegant, beautiful. Just right for someone starting her career.

When did I graduate?

Nichole couldn’t remember graduating but Ms. Henderson had told her that she had.

So it must be true.

It didn’t matter that she couldn’t remember. She didn’t need to. It was time to get ready.

Reverentially Nichole lifted the candle, rose from her bed. Even that movement was almost enough to set her off, the air drifting across her exposed pussy, the young woman quivering in need.

Quickly she showered and dressed, a black skirt suit and silvery-grey silk blouse going over the lingerie she’d chosen. The skirt was short but the outfit professional. Just right for someone starting their career.

Of course she’d taken some time to admire her reflection after putting on her lingerie. She’d felt how hard her nipples were, her breasts held tight in the corset. Let her eyes linger on the red silk panties, revelling in the knowledge that under them she was bare and denuded.

Just as she’d always wanted to be.

And after getting dressed, not knowing why, not thinking about it, Nichole picked up some other clothes and headed downstairs.

“Don’t be late for dinner,” Elaine, Nichole’s mother ordered as the young woman finished her breakfast. “Lisa and Sandra are both going to be here.”

Lisa and Sandra were the girlfriends of Nichole’s sisters, Ruth and Alice. It wasn’t a surprise, both Nichole’s sisters were openly gay.

Am I gay? Nichole pondered the question. She’d never thought of herself that way, despite the rest of her family. Hadn’t she been interested in boys? She could almost remember. Something.

But all she could picture was the image of her boss.

“You going to be here this afternoon?” Alice, her youngest sister, asked Ruth, the middle of the three sisters.

“Sure,” was the only reply, although the smile that accompanied it had Nichole suspecting there was more to the answer than that simple word. Maybe they were planning something special for their girlfriends. Or maybe it was just a plan to watch more anime.

It wasn’t her problem. It was time to head to work. Nichole needed to be at work. That’s where Ms. Henderson was.

“You can’t see her yet,” Clara smiled smugly even before Nichole had asked the question. “She said you had to wait. ‘Tell her to get ready’ she said. ‘The files are on her desk’. So get over there you little slut.”

Nichole glared back. That was no way to talk to a colleague. Even with what Nichole and Ms. Henderson did. It was what Ms. Henderson wanted, so if Clara had a problem with it she should take it up with their boss. For a moment Nichole thought about saying something but decided against it. Starting an argument wouldn’t get her anywhere.

She simply headed over to her chair and sat down, a huff escaping her as she pondered about Clara’s attitude. As always Nichole didn’t notice the blue glow that surrounded her.

What she did notice, as the minutes crept by, so painfully slowly, was a growing arousal. The simmer in her pussy turning hotter and hotter, an aching need in her breasts. Her centre was crying out. Nichole was sure she was dripping. She wanted to touch herself. Her hand could shift those few inches, slip under her skirt. Then it would be so easy to…

But she couldn’t. Not in front of Clara. Not in front of everyone else in the office. They were her workmates. She couldn’t embarrass herself like that.

Buts she could always go somewhere else.

“No!” Clara ordered, Nichole not having to turn around to know there was a smirk on the PA’s face. “She said you weren’t to move. You’re to stay right there until she’s ready for you. Or was it until you were ready for her? Eh, doesn’t matter. Just sit there and stew.”

Nichole flushed, embarrassed. Did Clara know? Nichole felt like she was stewing, in her own juices. She was so wet, her centre so empty and pulsing with need. Nichole barely smothered a sob, her hands balled into fists. She could hardly bear it. The sensation of her clothes against her skin was exquisite torture.

She couldn’t read. She couldn’t think. She was simply need, hot waves piling over her, the image of blue eyes filling her mind.

“She’ll see you now,” Clara called, Nichole didn’t know how long later.

“Slut,” the PA whispered as Nichole passed her desk.

Nichole ignored her.

“Good morning, Nichole,” Ms. Henderson smiled.

Nichole melted. She didn’t care what Clara said or thought. Not when she could see that smile. Not when she could fall into those eyes. Not when she could finally loose her clothes and…

“Stop,” her boss ordered, Nichole doing as she was told, her hands poised over the buttons of her blouse. But it was so hard, the young woman quivering in place.

She watched, swallowing nervously, as Ms, Henderson rose from her seat. Slowly, elegantly, the advertising executive made her way over to the young woman, Nichole’s eyes glued to the sway of her boss’s hips, side to side, the movement almost hypnotic.

Nichole hardly realised it, but her hands hadn’t moved since her boss told her to stop. Nothing of her had moved.

She was sure that her arousal was leaking down her leg.

She still didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Ms. Henderson drew a finger along Nichole’s shoulder, the touch electric, the young woman’s insides melting.

“You want it so bad, don’t you Nichole?” Ms. Henderson’s tone was light. Almost mirthful, but not unkind. “I know how girls like you are. So needy. Desperate. Almost begging for it.”

Nichole wanted to beg but she’d been told she couldn’t move.

Doing what she was told was divine.

Ms. Henderson’s finger trailed down the curve of Nichole’s back, sparks erupting from the touch. The young woman didn’t dare turn around, no matter what she’d been told. If she did she’d throw herself at her boss. Wouldn’t be able to help herself.

She didn’t move.

“So beautiful.”

She thinks I’m beautiful? Nichole’s knees went weak at the thought.

Her eyelids fluttered. It was her first movement since Ms. Henderson had told her to stop.

She was burning up.

“You want this.”

Ms. Henderson’s finger followed the curve of Nichole’s arse, the young woman’s breath coming in gasps as that finger traced around to the front of her thigh, found its way under the short skirt.

Yes, please, One touch would be enough to bring her off. Just a little pressure, the faintest of contact, would have her exploding in ecstasy. That finger was so close to her centre now, a centre that was crying out, the waves of arousal blanketing out anything else.

She could twist her hips, it would be so easy, push herself towards that finger.

She didn’t move.

Nichole was still motionless as Ms. Henderson reached around to undo the buttons on the young woman’s blouse. There was the faintest brush against her left breast, a hot, sharp line, rocketing to her pussy as Nichole went rigid. Then her blouse was eased off, Ms. Henderson pulling Nichole’s arms back.

For a moment her arms were left hanging there, Nichole not even thinking of moving them, until Ms. Henderson guided them to the young woman’s sides. There was a pause, an aching, panful, loss of contact. Then Ms. Henderson’s hands ran down her bare arms. Nichole could sense the woman behind her, Ms. Henderson’s lips so close to her ear. “Beautiful.”

The zipper was undone, a glorious sigh escaping Nichole’s lips at the sensation on Ms Henderson’s hands on her hips. The young woman was guided unsteadily out of her skirt, holding on to her boss for balance. Even that movement was at her boss’s command. Nichole didn’t want to let go. But Ms. Henderson stepped back, told her to stay where she was.

She did.

“Oh, don’t you look a picture,” the advertising executive exclaimed, circling the young woman before finishing in front of Nichole and leaning in for a kiss. Nichole wanted to respond, wanted her hands on the gorgeous woman in front of her. But she knew she just had to stand there. She could feel Ms. Henderson’s eyes on her, on the lingerie she was wearing, black and red and lacy and saying everything it needed to say.

It was so good.

“And I do like the lingerie. An excellent choice.”

The joy from Ms. Henderson’s praise had Nichole almost bursting.

Other things did as well.

“But you’ll need to lose them.”

As if released from a spell Nichole knew that she could move again. Hastily she shed her expensive underwear. Until she was standing naked in front of her boss. Ms. Henderson had to know how aroused she was. Her face was aflame, the flush spreading down to her chest. Her nipples were so hard, diamond points. And her bare, exposed, pussy would be telling its own story.

“Just wait there,” Ms. Henderson ordered.

Again Nichole couldn’t move. Didn’t want to. Didn’t even think of it. Even with her centre so empty. Crying out. Hot lust, hot as a blue flame, pouring through her, liquid and alive. Even with that she stayed perfectly still. It was what her boss wanted.

A few minutes later Nichole felt a hand in the middle of her back. Even that touch was enough to send a bolt of raw lust through the young woman. She didn’t resist the pressure. The hand was pushing her forward and down. Down, until she was lying face first on Ms. Henderson’s desk, her nose pressed uncomfortably on the surface.

She didn’t care.

Nichole didn’t know what was going on. There were hands on her head, M. Henderson’s hands. They felt so good, holding her. Moving her.

“That should be better.”

Ms. Henderson was thinking of her, Nichole thrilling at the idea.

Her cheek was now lying on the smooth surface of the desk. She could see Ms. Henderson, the woman still wearing her own blouse. Was that desire Nichole could see dancing in the older woman’s blue eyes? Something made Nichole’s eyes drift lower. Maybe she’d get to see-

What?

For a moment Nichole couldn’t understand what she was seeing. Then she realised. She wasn’t a complete innocent. Her boss was wearing a strap-on. Large and black.

Nichole’s eyes went wide.

She couldn’t.

“Part your legs a little more, dear,” Ms Henderson smiled.

She could.

Panic surged in the young woman. She knew what was coming. Despite the overwhelming arousal, the need to be filled, something didn’t seem right. She’d never had anything, down there, inside her. Hadn’t she wanted to wait until the right time? The right person? She’d wanted it to be special.

Perfect.

Her need had her clawing at the desk.

Perfect.

This was the right time. There couldn’t be anywhere else. Hadn’t she cum so often in this office? Dreamed of those blue eyes? She’d gotten off in front of her boss. Ms. Henderson had made her cum. Now Ms. Henderson was going to take her. Profoundly. Utterly.

She hadn’t worn white. Somehow she thought she would when, when. When it happened. But her outfit, her lingerie, had been right too. She’d worn just what she needed to.

This was the right place. With the right person. Who else would it be?

Just for an instant there was an image. Of some man. Dark and handsome. Of a beautiful bedroom. Of her in a white dress and white underwear.

The image died away, to ashes, as if it had never been there.

“This might sting a little,” Ms. Henderson whispered.

“Ah!” Nichole cried, despite how she knew she had to stay quiet. She couldn’t help herself, pain ripping through her as she was suddenly, totally, full, her boss thrusting straight in, tearing through the scant resistance Nichole’s young body offered.

With her head still turned she could see Ms. Henderson’s eyes, their gaze boring into her. Holding her. Filling her.

Like her pussy was being filled, to its limit.

For the first time in her life.

The pleasure rode through her, hot and exquisite, Ms. Henderson filling her again and again. After that first cry Nichole didn’t make a sound, doing just as she’d been told. No matter how much she wanted to. No matter how waves of bliss spilled from her centre, no matter the electric sparks as her nipples dragged across the surface of the desk as her back arched. No matter how much her clit sang. The one cry as she’d been entered was all.

She could feel the dildo, so deep inside her, stretching her, filling her.

She was just need and lust and the blue eyes that filled her mind.

And then she was cumming and cumming and cumming as her world fell apart. Ms. Henderson was pounding her again and again, the orgasms melting into each other until Nichole was left sagging on the desk, her breath coming in awkward gasps.

She’d never felt so satisfied. So full.

She wanted more.

She came again as Ms. Henderson kept thrusting into her. Any sounds died in the young woman’s throat. She heard Ms. Henderson cry out. That meant something, something good. Ms. Henderson was allowed to make a sound. Nichole wasn’t.

So she didn’t, no matter how many times her body exploded in pleasure.

“Now then,” Ms. Henderson declared, sometime later. When had her boss finished, dressed herself? Nichole didn’t know. She’d barely noticed the last time the strap-on had withdrawn, leaving her empty. So painfully empty. Her boss was the picture of elegance, not a sign on her of what they’d done. “That should help with your needs shouldn’t it?” Ms. Henderson drew a finger down Nichole’s spine, the contact, definite, assured, making the young woman gasp. “I know what it’s like. Almost finished school. All those teenage hormones.”

What? Nichole couldn’t understand what her boss meant. She wasn’t still in school. She’d graduated. She worked here. Didn’t she?

“We’ll need to get you cleaned up. You’d better put your things back on.”

Unsteadily Nichole rose to her feet, looked around for her clothes, the professional black skirt suit, so right for the office, and with them the black and red corset set. So right for what they’d done.

She didn’t see them.

All she saw was a set of white underwear. Simple. Just a few frills. She thought she saw her blouse. But when she picked it up it wasn’t what she’d thought. She’d worn a silk blouse. This one was cotton.

She picked up the bra, a simple triangle design.

Of course that’s what she’d worn. At least she’d worn white for her first time. Nichole hugged herself, giddy with thoughts of what Ms. Henderson had done to her. Maybe when she was older she’d get some nice lingerie. But not yet.

She was still in school. Almost finished, almost nineteen, but still there.

Nichole slipped the panties on, reached for her skirt. It was grey and pleated. Of course it was. That was what she’d worn this morning.

“It’s a nice uniform,” Ms. Henderson declared.

Nichole wasn’t so sure. She supposed it wasn’t too bad, but she did get sick of wearing it day after day. It would be nice to wear some other clothes here. But she was still in school, so even on an internship like this she had to wear her uniform. And at least the skirt was short enough to show off her legs.

Very, very short, if she was honest. She remembered how dubious her mother had been. Her and Alice pleading to have skirts as short as everyone else. Their older sister, Ruth, laughing at them. Her mother eventually relenting.

Older sister? Wasn’t Nichole the older sister? For a moment she was sure that she was. But Ruth was at university and Nichole was still at school. Ms. Henderson had said she was still at school. So it had to be right. Which meant she couldn’t be the eldest sister.

Nichole forgot about it, looked down at her skirt. Despite how short it was Nichole thought her legs look even better if she could wear heels instead of her mary janes.

Not that Ms. Henderson needed anything like that to see Nichole’s legs. She’d seen everything.

Taken everything.

Nichole swooned at the thought.

“Do you think you’ll be able to concentrate on your work now?” Ms. Henderson asked, a look of concern on her face.

“Yes, Ms. Henderson,” Nichole replied, redoing her school tie after putting on her blouse. Ms. Henderson was so kind to her. She understood. Just how needy Nichole was. How her young body was wracked with passions she couldn’t control. How often she needed to get off. Ms. Henderson had been so good to her, letting Nichole masturbate in front of her, cumming. Even taking the time to get Nichole off with her own fingers. But it hadn’t been enough. Nichole had needed more. Needed Ms. Henderson to take her. Use her. Like no-one else had ever done. Ms. Henderson was her first.

Even now her legs quivered at the memory, aftershocks running through her. At the memory of Ms. Henderson’s body pressing into hers. Of the strap-on buried deep within her pussy as she came again and again.

Her deflowering.

It was everything she’d dreamed it would be.

Nichole couldn’t think of anyone better to take her virginity.

I’m not a virgin anymore. She let the thought roll around her head, a smile on her face.

She loved it. How Ms. Henderson had used the strap-on, filling her again and again.

She hoped it wasn’t the last time Ms. Henderson would use the strap-on.

The idea was so dreamy. She wondered if her sisters used something like that with their girlfriends. I bet they don’t, Nichole thought smugly. That Ms. Henderson had used one on her made Nichole feel so grown up.

“Good. But I’d be a poor mentor if I didn’t teach you everything you need to know,” Ms. Henderson mused, snapping Nichole out of her daydreams. “Come around here,” the advertising executive directed. Nichole bit her lower lip. The way the woman was ordering her around reminded Nichole of a teacher.

A hot, sexy, teacher.

Her boss had fucked her. Absolutely, royally, fucked her. It made her feel giddy. Nichole was almost skipping as she crossed the floor. Maybe she was a slut, like Clara said. A slut for Ms. Henderson. If she was, Nichole didn’t care.

As Nichole neared Ms Henderson’s side the advertising executive pointed to the floor under her desk.

Nichole wasn’t sure what the older woman meant. All she wanted was to touch her boss again. Have her boss touch her. To feel Ms. Henderson’s hands on her body.

Her arousal was rising again.

A small smile appeared on her boss’s lips. “You are such a sweet little thing.”

Nichole’s insides melted.

Ms. Henderson crooked a finger, the young woman leaning over. Then their lips met and Nichole’s thoughts dissolved as sparks flooded her brain.

“In you get,” Ms. Henderson ordered, Nichole scampering to obey.

I’m just a schoolgirl slut.

The thought made her so happy.

“Eyes down,” Ms Henderson smiled, not unkindly, as Nichole looked up from where she knelt between her boss’s legs.

Nichole’s jaw dropped in wonder. Her boss had her skirt tucked up about her hips. Nichole could see her pussy. Ms. Henderson’s beautiful, wonderful, gorgeous pussy. That was just as bare as Nichole’s. She could see glints of moisture. Was that for her? Was her boss turned on because of her? The idea sent a delicious quiver through the young woman. Did Ms. Henderson ever think of her? Maybe at night? An image of Ms. Henderson flickered through Nichole’s mind, the older woman in bed, wearing a flimsy nightie, writhing.

Nichole almost came.

But she couldn’t do that now. Not when Ms. Henderson wanted her to… Nichole quailed at the thought. Not because she didn’t want to. But she didn’t know what to do. If this was her sisters, they’d know what to do. They were gay. She was sure they’d slept with their girlfriends. Even if they don’t use strap-ons. The idea that one had been used on her had made Nichole feel rather proud. But even her mother would know what to do in a situation like this. Much as Nichole didn’t want to think about that. Any of her family would be better than her.

But they weren’t here. She didn’t want to disappoint her boss.

“Lick,” Ms. Henderson directed.

Tentatively Nichole extended her tongue. At the contact electric bliss shot from the tip to her brain, her tits, her pussy, everywhere.

Ms. Henderson tasted divine.

“I won’t break,” the older woman quipped. “Think about what you’d like. A woman knows what a woman wants.”

Harder.

Nichole licked again, firmly, fire sparking through her. Her centre was crying out. She licked again, tracing her boss’s entire length.

“That’s right.”

Nichole thrilled at the praise.

“We’ll teach you how to be a good pussylicker,” Ms. Henderson declared. “Now swirl your tongue around my clit. Not too fast, take your time.”

Nichole set eagerly to her task.

She had so much to learn.

She didn’t know how long she spent under that desk.

Learning.

“That’s very good dear. But it’s time to stop.” The words were dim, Nichole almost not understanding them. Part of her didn’t want to understand them. That part just wanted her to stay where she was. On her knees. Between her boss’s legs. Eating her boss out. Over and over again.

She was sure Ms. Henderson had come more than once.

How many times Nichole didn’t know.

Counting was beyond her.

She licked that sweet opening again.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Ms. Henderson tutted, her finger firmly on the top of Nichole’s head, pushing the girl away.

Nichole mewled in frustration but did as she was told, sitting back on her haunches and looking up at her boss.

“That’s quite good progress for your first day. I think in time you’ll make an excellent pussylicker.”

Nichole swelled with pride.

“But I do have other things to do. And it is quite difficult to concentrate with that sweet little tongue of yours lapping away.”

Guilt flared through the young woman. “Oh, Ms. Henderson, I’m sorry, I.” She really shouldn’t be taking up so much of her boss’s time. No matter how much fun it was. Nichole was so turned on, her nipples so hard and her pussy just leaking. Eating out her boss was the best.

And so was getting off in front of her boss. And having her boss get her off. And being slammed into by the strap on. The images cascaded through the young woman’s mind, leaving her reeling.

“It’s alright dear,” her boss smiled. “But I think your little head can only absorb so much each day.”

Nichole frowned.

Ms. Henderson laughed. Nichole thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world. “Oh, that’s so cute. I really can’t let you go so soon. Hmm. Perhaps some time to absorb your lesson would be best. I know. You get out of there and just wait.”

Nichole crawled out from under the desk and stood by its side as Ms. Henderson picked up her phone. “Clara?” the agency owner said, then stopped herself, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “You don’t need to listen to this,” Ms. Henderson said.

After that Nichole just stood there. She knew that Ms. Henderson was speaking but the words just washed over her. It was what Ms. Henderson wanted.

Ms. Henderson put down the phone. Nichole knew that she could listen again.

“You just go and wait over there,” her boss directed, pointing at a far corner of the office. “Where I can see you. Then just stand there, at attention. You should be used to that, right?”

Of course Nichole was used to that. She was a schoolgirl. Schoolgirls knew how to stand at attention.

Even if it was so hard, her body so turned on, arousal threating to drip down her legs. But she could do it. Her hands at her side, her back straight and legs together. Chin up. It was what her boss wanted. And Ms. Henderson wanted Nichole to stand so that she could see her, so that meant Nichole could see her boss.

Ms. Henderson was so beautiful.

Nichole could just stand there and look at her for hours.

Maybe she did.

“God, do you know how many people are out there?” Clara snapped as she burst into the office. “Don’t they have anything better to do? I couldn’t believe how long the bloody lines were.”

“Clara!” Ms. Henderson shot back, the PA falling silent. Nichole could still sense the waves of resentment pouring off the brunette. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see that the woman was carrying more than a few shopping bags.

“Did you get it all?” their boss added.

“Of course I did,” Clara replied waspishly. “What do you think I—”

“Clara,” Ms. Henderson warned. “Just put them on my desk and then you can go.”

Clara did as she was told, but then she added slyly, “Can’t I watch?”

Ms. Henderson paused for a moment. “I suppose so. What can it hurt?” The blonde executive was peering into the bags. “Ah, this one. Nichole, take everything off, including your underwear. But fold it up neatly.”

Nichole blinked. She wasn’t sure when the last time was she’d done that. She’d heard what Ms. Henderson had said. But Clara was here. She didn’t want to be naked in front of the PA. No matter what Clara had already seen. What Clara had done.

She could remember the feel of Clara’s hands on her. Much as Nichole didn’t like the PA they’d felt so good.

And she had to do what her boss said.

She did.

Nichole’s hands fluttered in front of her. She wasn’t sure whether she was allowed to cover herself up or not.

“Put this on,” Ms. Henderson said.

The agency owner was holding something in her hand. Nichole wasn’t sure what. It might have been underwear. All she could tell for sure was that it was blue. A beautiful blue. The same blue as Ms. Henderson’s eyes.

Nichole was in front of her boss’s desk before she even realised that she’d moved. She didn’t care what Clara saw.

She had to do what she was told.

As she took the garments from her boss Nichole realised that they weren’t underwear at all but a bikini. And it wasn’t a plain blue. There was a pattern there, swirling through the fabric. Nichole stared at it. She could lose herself in that pattern.

Like she could lose herself in Ms. Henderson’s eyes.

“Go on,” her boss prompted.

Quickly Nichole slipped it on. They were skimpy, the bottoms cutting high across her crotch, the triangles of the top showing so much of her breasts.

But wearing it was what Ms. Henderson wanted. Nichole knew she looked so good in it. It was just right for the beach. She was blonde and in a bikini. Her mind filled with images of sand and water. She could feel that blue water splashing over her, running over her body. Filling her mind.

“Are we going to the beach?”

Nichole loved the beach.

“Not just yet, dear,” Ms. Henderson smiled.

“We can go swimming,” Nichole announced. She imagined Ms. Henderson in a bikini, heat pulsing from her centre at the thought. “I love to swim at the beach,” she added.

Ms. Henderson’s smiled broadened. Nichole thought she heard someone else huff, but that didn’t matter. “What else do you like about the beach?” her boss asked.

“I like lying in the sun. And playing beach volleyball with my friends. Will you play volleyball with me?” Nichole could feel the sun on her body. And see the sand. She wanted to be on the beach with Ms. Henderson.

She couldn’t think of anything else.

There wasn’t anything else.

“We’ll have to do that sometime, won’t we?” Ms. Henderson laughed. “I can take you to the beach for some fun. But for now I want you to go stand over there,” her boss added, pointing at a corner of the room. “Don’t think, just stand there.”

Nichole did as she was told. Vaguely she had a memory of standing there before. But she could hardly remember anything before putting on the bikini. She didn’t care. She’d been told not to think. So she didn’t.

That didn’t stop images of sun and sand and Ms. Henderson in a bikini drifting through her mind.

It was so good.

Occasionally Ms. Henderson would tell her how to pose.

That felt good too.

There were no thoughts.

“Enough Nichole, come over here.”

Ms. Henderson had said other things, but Nichole couldn’t remember them. She hadn’t been thinking then. She was thinking now.

Ms. Henderson was so kind to let her think.

Maybe they were going to the beach now. Nichole loved the beach. She’d be in her bikini and Ms. Henderson would be able to see her. And touch her. Maybe run her hands over her. Maybe Ms. Henderson would put suntan lotion on her. With how skimpy the bikini was Ms, Henderson’s hands would be everywhere. Maybe Ms. Henderson’s hands would slip under the bikini. Just to be sure. And maybe they’d slip a little more.

And then maybe Ms. Henderson would have Nichole put suntan lotion on her and …

Nichole loved the beach.

“Put these on,” Ms. Henderson ordered, handing Nichole some more bags. Vaguely Nichole remembered someone bringing the bags in, before.

She couldn’t remember. Nothing mattered but the beach and Ms. Henderson.

But Ms. Henderson had told her to change, so she did, slipping out of her bikini. It didn’t matter that Ms. Henderson was seeing her naked. She wanted Ms Henderson to see her naked.

Images of the beach slipped away.

Inside the bags were some skimpy purple underwear, the panties see-through and the bra a push up type, and just as see-through as its companion. There was a sparkly purple dress, the neckline cut low to show off her breasts and the hemline so short. In the last bag was a pair of towering purple stilettos, shiny and new.

They looked so beautiful.

Nichole put the clothes on, stared down at herself.

It was the sort of outfit you’d wear to a nightclub.

Of course it was. Nichole knew that. She’d been at a nightclub. She loved going out and dancing with her friends. Not that she could picture their faces right then. But it’s what she did. She’d been at a nightclub. It was where she’d met this gorgeous woman. Angela. She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off her. Loved having Angela’s eyes on her.

Nichole loved to dance and be looked at it.

And then Angela had told her how she owned an advertising agency. As they’d danced together, bodies brushing against each other. Nichole had swooned at someone so beautiful and important picking her. And then they’d come back here. Nichole couldn’t remember the trip, but she knew it had happened.

She ignored the fact that it was light outside. That wasn’t right. They’d been at a nightclub. So it had to be night.

What she didn’t ignore was Angela kissing her, Nichole’s head tilted back and electric arcs ripping through her body, from her lips, from where Angela’s body pressed against hers.

“Do you just let any woman pick you up?” Angela smiled.

“Only you,” Nichole replied. She knew that was the right answer. Like she’d been told it was the right answer. She didn’t remember being told. It didn’t matter. Only Angela’s lips and hands and gorgeous body mattered.

And her eyes. Blue eyes. Eyes Nichole could lose herself in.

Maybe she already had.

Need was pulsing through her. She needed this woman to take her. Possess her. Use her. They’d only just met hadn’t they? but Nichole needed her like she’d never needed anyone in her life. Her breasts ached to be touched, her centre was an empty, yearning void, fire racing through her. Maybe Angela would use a strap-on her. An image filled Nichole mind, of herself naked, face down on the desk, Angela filling her again and again.

It was so real.

She could only hope it would come true.

Nichole moaned as Angela kissed her neck, moaned harder as she heard the zipper of her dress being undone, Angela puling it down agonisingly slowly, the wait to be naked such delicious torture.

And then Angela was slipping out her clothes, Nichole in awe of the gorgeous form in front of her. She wanted to fall to her knees and worship it. She let her eyes slip to Angela’s panty-clad centre.

Nichole licked her lips. If she was very lucky she would get to be on her knees soon.

But Angela’s arms were around her again and there was kisses and need and hands.

And then Nichole was on her knees, her heart soaring as Angela sat on her desk, spread her legs. This woman was so important. So gorgeous. And she’d chosen Nichole for the night. Nichole could remember dancing with Angela. Each one teasing and seducing the other. The eyes of the crowd on them.

Angela was slipping her panties down, Nichole’s breath catching. Something about the beautiful, bare, pussy in front of her looked so familiar. But that couldn’t be right. It must be because it was perfect, everything Nichole had imagined.

She dived in, losing herself.

And then it was her turn to be on the desk, Nichole squealing in excitement. This woman wanted her! Angela’s tongue on her pussy was a piece of heaven, sweet and sure and delicate, just hard enough to have her crying out.

Because someone had told her she could. Nichole didn’t know why she needed to be told she could cry out when someone’s tongue was on her pussy. In her pussy! Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God! But someone had. And so she could.

So she did, her cries of Angela’s name turning to inarticulate animal sounds of pure need as her world fell apart.

Sparks were still dancing in front of her eyes as she felt hands on her body, pushing her back until she was lying on the desk, her legs spread. Nichole didn’t care, drawing a finger along her dripping slit. She just wanted more. Why wasn’t Angela doing more?

There was a pressure at her opening.

Nichole made herself focus.

Angela was looming over her, hands on the desk on either side of Nichole, supporting the agency owner, the woman’s blues so clear. So bright they were almost electric. Nichole could stare at them forever.

But something made her look down.

Angela was wearing a strap-on. Just as Nichole had imagined it. Except she was on her back, not her front. It didn’t matter. She was about to be-

“Ah!” Nichole cried out as Angela thrust in, pleasure spilling through the young woman’s body. She was dancing on that rigid length as it impaled her.

Nichole loved to dance.

She’d come from a nightclub.

It was all she could remember.

She almost forgot that as she came.

She mewled as the black length was withdrawn, lying there panting as Angela cleaned herself up and got dressed.

Then Angela crouched down, her tongue tracing Nichole’s entire length, the young woman’s body spasming, her muscles out of her control.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime,” Angela smiled, kissing Nichole. Nichole was tasting herself and it was so good. “Will you be at the club next week?” Had the woman’s smile turned to a smirk? That couldn’t be right.

“Yes,” Nichole breathed. Of course she’d be at the club. The club was all there was. She had a pretty purple dress and she loved to dance.

“You better get dressed now,” Angela said.

Nichole didn’t want to, but she couldn’t stop herself doing whatever the gorgeous woman wanted.

Somehow it felt so good to obey.

That didn’t stop her frowning. She couldn’t see her purple dress. Or her matching underwear. All she could see was some white, frilly bra and panties. Like a teenager might wear. And the grey pleated skirt of a school uniform. And the blouse and the blazer.

Of course that’s what she should see. Those were her clothes. She was in high school, doing an internship with Ms. Henderson.

Her boss had fucked her. Taken her virginity. It was so good. She’d been face down. Nichole had a vague memory of being face up as well. But that wasn’t right. Maybe it was just imagining how it might be some other time.

“We’ll continue your lessons tomorrow.” Ms. Henderson had said other things. It didn’t matter. Nichole knew she’d paid just the right amount of attention.

She was good schoolgirl.

“Slut,” Clara hissed from behind her desk as Nichole made her way past.

Nichole didn’t care, almost skipping back to her desk.

She couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

(To be Continued)