The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Isn’t It Good, His Morning Wood

by Only A. Passenger

Chapter Nine

Mark had given little thought the other night to whether people would see him racing to his building with Karen Corso. He’d have become the center of many peoples’ attention if there were even a whiff that he was bonking the girl with the most opulent rack on campus, but almost everyone he knew had been in the auditorium he and Karen had flown from, taking notes on Robert Motherwell’s art.

Today, in bright sunshine, he had the sense that his mad dash towards home with Natalia Gorodina was being witnessed. He felt a stab of fear that they might run into Karen—harem, bad, even when people were in their right minds, and clearly neither woman was. He didn’t see anyone he knew; even so there might be plenty of people around who’d take an interest in the imported dance star hanging onto his arm, her light steps a complexity of forward motion and sideways pivoting that brought her pelvis against his thigh, every fourth or fifth stride a form of hit and run dry-humping.

Natalia didn’t help matters by heaving out impassioned phrases that sounded like they’d been forged in the stoves that heated Siberian brothels on cold winter nights. Nearing his building, finally away from eyes that might care whom he was or she was or what date-rape drug he must have administered to have this galloping gazelle’s legs trying to open for him even as they ran, he made his first offensive move by bringing his left arm down to intercept her pelvis on one of her dry-hump side-thrusts. His positioning was perfect, which brought the crotch-seam of her jeans hard against his hand. Mark wedged his fingers against her, rubbing and finding the denim saturated with her juices.

Natalia went berserk, crying out something that sounded like, “Yebalth meeenyaaa!” several times while trying to pull him down onto the sidewalk. She was as strong as a lioness and he definitely would have gone sprawling if the attack hadn’t come in stumbling distance of his front porch, where he could stretch his arms and take hold of a wood column to keep his balance.

She screamed out a series of “Yebalth meeenyaaa”’s, the sounds distressed enough to have someone calling the cops. He broke free of her—didn’t want anyone to be able to say he was forcing her inside—quickly unlocked the door and raced in, and up.

Natalia must have gone into leaping dancer mode because she caught up to him before he’d reached the top, tearing at his shirt and pants from behind as though she’d become one of those Hindu goddess statues with multiple arms. The landing in front of his door was usually quite dark, even in the day, but today it was illuminated with a jumpy cold light that threw bizarre shadows every which way, like a film crew had followed behind, capturing every moment.

He didn’t investigate; he just wanted in, whatever they were to be together taking place with no one to see it. He managed to free his keys from his pocket before his pants were dragged down to his ankles, and together they tumbled into his apartment, and down onto the hardwood floor.

“Yahhh!” he cried out, as soon as his head went up and he saw her. It was an instinctive reaction and no wonder, because the woman’s skin had become iridescent, shimmering to the point she actually seemed to be giving off light, all of it a grey-blue like winter moonlight, or like her pale Russian eyes.

With dynamic swiftness she was on her feet, a leg kicking out to slam the door shut. Standing above him, she peeled her blouse over her head and the eerie glow brightened with more exposed skin. She unpeeled her jeans next, finally totally naked, a woman with the hardbody exterior of a warrior dance goddess, sprinkled with radiant moondust.

This had to be the blue, the dream blue he’d semi-remembered. She ought to be screaming or freaking out about it, but she seemed to take no notice, like her glow was so attuned to the color of her eyes that maybe she couldn’t even see what she’d become.

“Siex scarlay,” it sounded like she said, the tone trance-like, part here and part somewhere else, maybe on the moon to steal some of its light. Then, “I model. I be.”

All the things that had happened so far, with three different women mesmerized or half-lobotomized into screwing him, their bodies sexed-up and juiced-up like they had mountain streams bubbling up fresh lust inside... All of that he’d thought of as the impossible becoming real, but until now had any of it transgressed what he knew to be physical laws? Somewhere on this earth women did have multiple orgasms, some smaller number from nothing more than nipple-play, and surely there were women who felt compelled to fall for guys or bed them without being quite sure why. Couples had simultaneous orgasms and scores of pussies did get sheet-soakingly wet, and one or two women might even write out hefty personal checks for being shown a really swollen time.

But a woman’s flesh being made to glow like she had colored lightning bug juice infusing her skin cells and hair follicles and everything else? It could be a trick of vision, just the way he perceived her, but even with midday sun filtering around the shades of his windows, he could see that objects and surfaces, including his own body, were catching Natalia’s light. He kept wondering, how? And also, why? What purpose did a blue glow serve, other than to look freaking awesome? Was it nothing more than a dream weirdness special-effect, or might there be something to come called a glow-job?

She sank down with her knees to either side of his hips, the fingers of both hands parting her labia like she wanted him to see how her blue-light special of a pussy could shine even in its depths. And just like that the forgotten dream that had birthed this insanity flashed, was there, remembered.

“Holy crap,” he muttered, knowing something of where their fucking would lead, and how it made the miracle of her glowing skin seem small by comparison. Which begged a question he hadn’t felt the need to consider with any seriousness up to this point: Was there anything that couldn’t happen, as long as he dreamed it or imagined it with his dick having gone all morning wood?

* * *

Cynthia had expected to feel self-conscious or even embarrassed in a sex shop, but nothing of the kind happened. She was focused, determined, and used her sex appeal to flirt with and maybe even break the heart of the sales guy who helped her pick things out.

She came home with a bag of goodies, or naughties, feeling far more satisfied than she ever had when scoring great clothes or even rare art books. Today, possibly the most important day of her life since being born, she had a collection of all kinds of bottles of lotions and oils, and an assortment of toys and training items that had her pulse racing and her pussy feeling swollen just thinking of them.

For training her mouth in the arts of love she had a “Fat n’ Long” realistic squirting dildo; for her anus she bought a beginner’s bag of dilators, plus two dildos, a smallish one to begin with and a thicker and longer one with the expectation that she’d eventually be able to handle it. But her pussy got the most toys: Moonlight Nights squeezable pleasure pearls, and Lady Lust polished stone exerciser eggs, and Concubine’s Secret strengthening stones. And for the whole of her body and mind, two excellent books: “From So-So To Sexpert In Thirty Nights You’ll Never Forget”, and “Woman As Snake Charmer—Becoming the Ultimate Wedding Gift”. Plus, eventually, a treasure of a book on back-order, “Behind Extremely Sensitive Walls; Penetrating the Secretive Concubine Arts”.

So it was art, which also meant it was art history, the field she’d decided long ago to excel in. No wonder she felt so driven to succeed at turning her body into a completely capable pleasure-tool.

She almost didn’t know where to begin. Reading and absorbing and eventually mastering every single position or skill in all three new books, of course, but why not multitask by strengthening her vaginal muscles while she read what she had now? In fact, why do anything from now on, like study or go to classes or eat dinner or watch movies or anything else without having something inserted somewhere inside, training her body to perform secret sexual pleasures?

It was just this way, with two pleasure pearls inserted in her vagina, that she walked to the school cafeteria in the bright warm sun. They gave her a sense of fullness between her legs, and she was surprised to be able to feel each orb just so, not a vague, “there’s something in my vagina”, but two rounded objects of a specific size, held in place by a specific amount of tension.

She thought she could feel that Karen was already in the dining hall. While choosing items from the salad bar she scanned the big room looking for Karen’s tits, and as usual they were impossible to miss. Karen sat with three other women at a table by tall windows, the neckline of her blouse cut low enough that a ton of soft billowing flesh glowed yellow-white in direct sun. Cynthia felt a surge in her body, like a cocktail of adrenaline and electricity and need.

It wasn’t necessarily that she had to have Karen’s huge breasts in her hands; no, that would be fine or better than fine, but the need she felt was less direct than that. Karen was like a key, or maybe even the doorway, what she had to go through to get...

Mark fucking Mitchell, that’s what she had to get at. Mark with his song-revered cock all thick, thick-dick Mark, Mark the shark, fuck him after dark. There, that was her contribution to the world of song lyrics: Thick dick MArk, I’ma gonna fuck you after dark.

Cynthia’s eyebrows worried themselves, and without even thinking about it her vaginal muscles tightened, squeezing against the pleasure pearls. Hadn’t the books said she’d be lucky to have any tangible contact with her vaginal muscles before two or three weeks of practice? She was wetter than before, needing more muscular pressure to keep the balls from slipping out, and she could do what she needed to do, even when fighting gravity while standing like this, keeping them gripped, holding them in place.

She glanced over at Karen’s breasts, glowing in the sun like actors framed in a spotlight. She’d bet anything they were star performers, too, trained to perform the ol’ soft-boob on Mark’s cock. She’d never seen all of Karen’s tits, the entirety including her nipples, and in a strange way she yearned to touch them, but she wasn’t sure if that was desire for Karen’s pair or a wish to know something of what it would feel like to have more of her own. Because Mark fucking Mitchell had to be into big ones; it would be crazy to hook up with Karen if boobs weren’t your thing.

“I’d never get a boob-job,” she said, and only realized she’d spoken the words when another woman at the salad bar looked at her and snorted.

“That’s like a fish in the sea asking for more water,” she might have said, walking away, head shaking.

Cynthia’s cheeks blushed—busted thinking about her bust, and good to know people sometimes noticed she had a decent pair, even if they were only three and a half feet above the floor. She laughed lightly, and almost felt comforted by having a secret life, tangible and active, right between her legs. No one else knew, and they certainly wouldn’t understand how she wasn’t yet... Something, needing to let Karen go first at something, probably Mark fucking Mitchell because she desperately needed to be next in line so... so... Something, not exactly clear but the order had to be restored, she knew that.

Excitement, muscles she’d never really known were there squeezing the pearls inside, wanting to gasp from how good it felt and how strong she felt and how she could already do a little, squeeze some and even move the objects around a tiny bit like she had a degree of talent to begin with, so much to learn but also not starting from zero.

Cynthia considered asking Karen to move and sit with her at a private table, but chose instead to join the group, now five, by sitting on the bench diagonal from Karen, next to a fashion design major named Kari. She made her helloes to the others, and as she dug into her salad she could feel Karen looking at her, taking her in. When she raised her eyes to meet those of her friend, there was a curiosity, or a laser focus in Karen’s gaze, enough that you could almost see wheels turning in there, thinking or planning or plotting.

Cynthia felt fire and liquid brimstone heating the pearls inside her pussy, and wondered if the others could smell her excitement. Thing was, could she smell Karen’s excitement, the same scent that had been all over her sheets? Her pulse raced and her ass wanted to squirm, but she kept it all still, and scratched that itch by focusing on interior movement instead, clamping tighter around the pearls, releasing, muscle-grabbing to move them deeper inside, clamping tight, releasing, muscle-grabbing again, moving the twin objects out again towards her wet opening. All of this while she calmly, to anyone’s eyes, worked at her lunch.

Hmmm, the shape of whole endive, or better yet whole cucumbers, which might be an inexpensive way to try out all sorts of lengths and widths in her vagina or up her ass, or to use for practicing blowjobs. How many objects were there out there, never considered, never seen as belonging to her sex life, that might be of some use?

Blah blah chatter, the girl to the left of Kari, Donna something, chattering about Roger being cute for an older guy, and how so-and-so, who plays Don Draper, is such a hunk. Without trying or caring she was able to assess that the other girls had been talking about the latest episode of Mad Men.

When Kari asked Cynthia if she’d seen it, an idea was there, a way to engage Karen the way she wanted to engage Karen. “I’ve been studying so hard I barely know what the show is,” she said, stretching to truth. “I know it has that character in it, the secretary with the absolutely enormous boobs.”

“Her name is Joan,” one of the other girls said. “The character, I mean.”

“Her boobs aren’t so enormous,” Karen said with quiet assurance.

A couple of beats of silence before Kari said, “Maybe to you they aren’t. To we mere mortals, it’s a little different.”

Some giggles. “I wasn’t bragging,” Karen said, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Or if I did I didn’t mean to. I’ve been kind of... I’m probably not all here. I’m having some trouble sleeping these days.”

Cynthia could feel the question that no one was willing to ask—not getting sleep because of insomnia or stress, or because her huge knockers were being put to good use at night? Cynthia knew the answer to that, and even the lucky recipient and the songs composed in his honor, and thinking of him brought a goosey-juicy spasm inside that almost had pleasure pearls shooting out into her underwear.

“Huuisss!” she drew in a breath, one of the pearls touching a spot, a particular red hot touch-it-all-day-please spot she’d never had touched before. Her G-spot? She didn’t think so, because a second later the pearls found another one, and yet another one, and the G-spot was not subject to pluralization—at least according to the books.

“You okay?” Kari asked.

“Sure, sure.” Mama mia, another one! She held on, her practice expanding to include control of the muscles of her eyelids and mouth and especially her dancing eyebrows, all of which wanted to beam discovery and delight. “But I was just thinking, on the subject of that big-boobed character, Joan, or anyone else like that...” Cynthia waved her fork vaguely, only somewhat pointing at Karen’s big bright sunlit chest. “In bed, does it really matter how big they are? I mean, they’re mostly decorative, right, like plumage for a bird? Brighter color or more elaborate patterning on a bird might be designed to attract a mate, but it’s not like a bird makes love with its feathers. They’re just for show, for luring someone into bed, but after that you can’t molest or stimulate someone in an effective way with boobs no matter how big they are.”

Dead silence, the others looking between Karen and Cynthia like this might be the beginnings of a falling out, or even a cat fight.

Karen didn’t jump at the bait in a tit-for-tat way—or in her case, tits for tat? But she did begin to smile, and an energy appeared at the table that was tangible enough that it had to be felt by all the women present. Something secretive, or knowing. Something almost indefinable, yet growing in substance every second.

“You might be surprised,” Karen finally said, her voice low and... interested?

* * *

“Ah gyaa! Ah gyaa! Ah gyaa! Ah gyaa! Ah gyaa! Ah gyaa!”, Natalia hump-panted above him, propelling her pussy up and down his rod with the leg-drive of someone who lives and breathes movement and fitness.

Mark was on his back on the floor, pretty much in the same spot where he’d gotten his first tit-job from Karen. Every down-thrust brought a brighter reflection of Natalia’s eerie glow upon his groin, like she’d perfected a wholly new form of blue-balling. Seeing that, her sapphire shine reflected upon his abdomen at high speed, meant they were just now inside the parameters of his dream, which meant... Jeeeezussss.

He hadn’t remembered it before; now that he did, the question was whether such a thing could actually happen? His dick said yes though his instincts said no, and since she was glowing, which also couldn’t be happening but was, his head-brain voted with his dick.

With her legs spread wide and her pussy practically set to a cock-frappé setting from above, he didn’t have to do any fucking thing but watch and “endure” being rod-rocked senseless.

He took in the whole of Natalia’s body, her abdomen and leg muscles contracting like crazy to keep up the pace, her eyes wide open but shining opaquely, as if they’d become stained glass orbits seeing nothing but the light of the liquid friction inside. But his real focus was on her pert breasts with the super-erect nipples, wiggling just the littlest bit from all the other movement. The next miracle, the miracle straight out of a sci-fi sex show, started as slightly more jiggling and the beginnings of real cleavage, and a sudden shift in her steady “Ah gyaa!”s, now interrupted by a more forceful and more guttural, “Unnh gozzz”!

He knew this sound from the dream, had heard it in his sleeping brain. He watched the movements of her tits just as he had in dream-o-scope, marveling as every “Unnh gozzz!” was accompanied by a surge of mass beneath her collarbones, her breasts moving around more because there was more to move.

Having witnessed her tits surging in volume in his sleep was not the same as seeing them growing right in front of him in the real world. Her tits, growing. The Russian girl’s tits, they were growing. Her fucking tits were growing!

Mark’s dick felt like it might be growing a second erection, too, because all of Natalia’s velvety up-down slip-sliding seemed to actually penetrate his dick now, like her juices were vodka-infused and giving off vapors that could seep in through his pores. He bellowed out a reflexive, “Oh gaa!” just as she exhaled, “Unnh gozzz!” again, and everything that made breasts breasts responded, like her in-breath was an inflation-breath, not of air but of swelling warm tissue and gland, taking what she had on her chest and multiplying it or pumping it wider, longer, deeper.

He knew they were both getting so close, should have been gone already but were somehow having it kept together for her grand finale, her body-shaking inhalation that would swell her breasts as much as all the other times put together. In the dream he remembered seeing it, the sudden expansion of her boobs, and he knew they would both explode as a result. Although, curiously, his actual orgasm had been skipped over in the dream sequence, maybe to keep his dick hard so he could conjure or morning-muse more sexual insanity.

It showed in her body just before. The muscles of her abdomen tensed, rippling like a subterranean earthquake’s effect on the surface of the sea. Just like that she gasped, a mouth-twisting shock of a gulp that forced her shining eyes closed.

Which meant that his were the only eyes to see the rushing miracle of a pair of pale Russian tits doubling in size in a matter of two or three seconds. They burst outward in every direction like a blooming flower in time-lapse film, her areolae and nipples also broadening in perfect proportion. Big to full, full to really full, nice perky tits to Holy Headlights, Batman!, all in the space between two eye-blinks.

“Mercy!” he cried out, and only after the word was out did he remember he’d said that exact same thing in the dream. Because sweltering sweater-puppies, the sight of those things growing, the reality of the impossibility of it... It was way too much for his dick to endure and he felt a swirling swelling surge that might have begun in his witnessing eyeballs before plummeting into his other balls, shooting up until his cock became a corked and shaken bottle suddenly released. At the instant of his detonation Natalia was no longer up-downing, her body in stasis like growing a set of super-tits in seconds allowed for no other body functioning. That was Natalia on the outside; inside, just as his cock became a high-pressure firehose, somebody dropped a juicy cluster-bomb inside her vapor-locked pussy. When it hit her, Natalia’s blank eyes rolled back and her mouth dropped as far as her jaw could go, and pussy walls wobbled all around his dick with spasmodic contractions and undulating length-long muscle-riffs.

He was already cumming when her pussy let loose, meeting him in mid-spurt and coaxing him to keep going. He thought for a couple of seconds that the rippling ride of her pussy all around his cock was going to re-cork his bottle and shake it into a fresh round of exploding all over again, but then her grip loosened and she fell backwards between his feet, her legs kicking, or perhaps it was more like twitching.

Also visuals from the dream, and if the next remembered images took hold, he knew this part, or the beginning of this part, and what she would do and what he needed to do fast, even with his heart pounding and his spent dick aching like mad.

He scrambled away from her on the floor, found the heap that was his pants and pulled his phone out. It only took a few seconds to have the camera function ready to go and just in time, because her limbs stopped jerking and wham!, just like that, just like she’d practiced it for hours, her hands were raised as if in a desperate attempt to shield her eyes.

It was the first position he’d sketched out of Michelle Morris in the hurricane, instinctively protecting her eyes from debris coming at her with enough force to drive a twig through a brick wall. He quickly stood on wobbly legs, framed her on the camera screen and snapped the shot.

As if the sound of the camera function acted like a switch on her central nervous system, she took the next pose in the sequence, the one where the winds scour his character’s clothes away. He moved his viewpoint just slightly, and held the camera in a bit closer. It was just incredible, all of this. She knew the poses, or something did, and some slice of magic had given her tits the exact size he’d always intended for Thunder Woman, several cup-sizes less extravagant than Karen Corso but still well into the big-breasted super-babe range.

He snapped that photo and her body took the next pose, the transition from one to the other fluid as poured oil. It wasn’t just limbs that moved; it was all of her, down to the curl of her fingers or the way her hair spilled away from her scalp, not quite floating in the air but appearing as though gripped by invisible winds and somehow held in place for him.

“I will be,” he remembered her saying, pointing at the Thunder Woman images in his drawing pad. And here she was, enveloped in the strange ether that flowed from his dreams into the waking world, a beautiful and perfectly proportioned mega-mammaried magic model, posing for him right down to her irridescent hair follicles.

He snapped the next photo and she assumed the next pose, just as it had happened in the dream. Natalia was there in a physical sense, but her mind appeared to be elsewhere, perhaps swimming in the seas that were the easing tide of her orgasms. Did she even know where she was anymore? Did she know she was posing for him, or that her tits had grown? And undoubtedly the most important question, would they stay grown, and need to be explained?

All questions not known because he hadn’t dreamed the outcomes to remember. So for the moment he went with the continuing flow, which as he remembered it would end when he had all the references he needed to complete the sequence for his independent project.

He had to adjust his position many times, going up high or low, once with the camera practically on the floor. There was no question of whether there was enough light for the pictures—Natalia was the light. The final pose he needed required her to stand, and with cat-like quickness she came up onto her feet, arms raised as though mimicking the attitude of an orchestra conductor. He positioned himself behind her and slightly to the side, the same kind of back-boob view he’d seen so many times while ogling Karen Corso’s tits in class. Only here the view was intended to show the tornado in front of her, being commanded by Thunder Woman’s awesome new powers.

When he clicked the final picture he was in no-man’s land, because his memory of the dream ended there. Just as he lowered his phone, mission accomplished, Natalia collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and the lights went out on her body, too, just as if someone had flipped a switch. Mark rushed to her, lifting her head and shoulders. She moaned softly, not unconscious but definitely not alert. Not knowing what else to do, he lifted her up and carried her to his bed.

He sat beside her for a time on the mattress, just admiring her physique. She really was all cut and built like a superhero, and now with those boobs. He’d been so astounded and caught up in their sudden growth and the sex and the posing, and only now did he study Natalia’s tits with a critical eye. They might not be quite as huge as he’d first thought, but they sure were a matching pair. It struck him that her areoles were flawlessly round and uncannily identical, like they’d been drawn up as symmetrical twins in his mind and copied that way into life. And something in the shaping of the breasts as a whole—they had a way of thrusting out even with her lying on her back, like they were ready and eager to take on the next adventure. How did they do that? he wondered. It didn’t quite look possible; at the same time it made them just right as Thunder Woman’s tits, illustrated superhero tits, because if she could command barometric pressure enough to fly, wouldn’t she use some of that talent to keep her boobs from sagging?

Mark felt a new stiffening, even though he was nervous about how people would react when they got their first look at Natalia’s chest, transformed by however many cup-sizes in a matter of hours. She wasn’t glowing any more, thank God—must have been a slow fade, as he’d hardly noticed—but it wasn’t like the foreign dance department protegé could grow a set of wonder-whoppers over lunch break without it creating a stir, or even launching some kind of investigation.

He eventually lay beside her, and she turned on her side to cuddle into him. She was warm and smelled really nice, like cum-flowers and pussy n’ spice. He shut his eyes and it hit him how he’d always had a problem when it came to deciding where the light came from in so many of his Thunder Woman illustrations. Her stormy powers often made everything go dark, and unless he resorted to having her conjure lightning bolts everywhere, he ran into the problem of illogical shading. But it was no longer an issue if light emanated from inside her. When her gorgeous superhero body was the light source, he could work the shading any way he needed, even using the character to illuminate other people or objects.

Natalia shifted her position, and he found himself thinking about dreams sometimes working as a form of problem-solving. It had happened to him before, a flash of insight when awakening from some dream that dealt with a particular problem in his life, like the subconscious mind had been busy at solving a puzzle all through the night. Last night’s temporarily forgotten dream had not only given him the ideal model for completing his independent project, it had also enlarged her tits so he wouldn’t have to make them up. And, real kicker here, had even mastered the puzzle of the lighting for Thunder Woman’s adventures. It made his dick feel so good to know his dreams could work like that, so warm and wet and so hard, so wet and so exciting and oh yeah, that tongue of satisfaction licking at the underside, so...

“Gah!” he blew out, opening his eyes and looking down his prone body, to see Natalia there with his cock inflating her cheeks. Saliva swirling hotly, like a wet blizzard of mouth and tongue and her cheeks puffing out, then hollowing, and puffing out and hollowing, and puffing hollowing puffing hollowing puff...

“Ahhh!” he groaned as his ass clenched and the flood came, and he came, filling the concavity of her cheeks.

Everything buzzed and he heard her lips smack, and when he looked she was open-mouthed over his cock like a wolf after a kill. She saw him looking and smiled a broad lusty grin, her blue eyes shining with an intensity that could cut a passage through arctic ice.

“Is good,” she said.

“Yes, it sure... Um... Natalia...” He’d been about to say that her tits weren’t so big any more, but he managed to choke the words down. They looked to be more full than when she’d arrived, but only modestly. Had they been shrinking back ever since the acting out of the actual dream sequence had ended? Did she have any idea they’d ever gotten so big?

“I needed,” she said. “You needed. Was like magic, no?”

“Magic, yes. Very much yes.”

“I sex you good.”

“You sure did.”

“I go. I thank.”

She was up on her feet and into the other room in a flash. Mark was propped up on his elbows when she appeared in the doorframe to blow him a kiss. She was clad again in the jeans that outlined the topography of her privates, making them not really so private, and he thought the thin blouse had more punctuating projection than earlier in the day. Still noticeably bigger, like the last inch or so didn’t want to go poof.

“I see you, class,” she said, and was gone.

* * *

The others had left the cafeteria, because classes were due to begin in just a couple of minutes.

“We’re going to be late,” Cynthia pointed out the obvious.

Karen waved a hand dismissively. “We need to talk, just you and me.”

“We sure do.”

“I feel like you’re trying to get under my skin today. Or...”

“Or?” Cynthia had something under her skin right now, or inside it, her pussy all wet and continuously working at the pleasure pearls. Even being so wet and feeling like she could eject the pearls and grab a banana to fruit-fuck herself, she could tell she had more control over her new training toys already. A firmer grip, and more ability to move them around.

“Or inside my pants,” Karen said with eyes that smoldered.

Cynthia’s pussy heard the words and flared all on its own, feeling like it could almost crush the beads. She licked her lips, and didn’t know if she’d hissed or gasped. “Maybe I want to get inside your bra. I could almost fit in one, after all.”

“You are a tiny thing,” Karen said. “Though a real beauty, as I’m sure you know.”

Getting there, getting there... “How are things going with your mystery man?” Cynthia asked, taking this conversation where it fucking needed to go.

“Amazing. Astounding. I saw him again last night and I was so in lust, I can’t even tell you. It’s the way I feel when I’m doing him, or he’s doing me, just... just oh God yes kaboom!” Karen’s eyes had gone so expressive, her mouth twisting a little like she couldn’t talk about it without a piece of a climax grabbing hold of her facial muscles. “And then this morning... I don’t know, Cynthia, have you ever just gone, oh my God, something’s different at the core of who I am and suddenly I’m thinking in ways I’ve never thought before? Like a button being pushed or a switch thrown, and all of a sudden you know things about yourself that weren’t close to being clear before?”

“Maybe,” Cynthia replied, moving her beads backwards and forwards with more assurance now, really getting a grip and controlling them. Her vagina had been a training ground for less than an hour and she could already feel progress. “So anyway, this guy... This is no fleeting thing. Yesterday you weren’t sure you wanted it to continue.”

“Yesterday feels like so long ago. So much has happened... It’s almost like today, for the first time ever, something let go in my heart? Like today is the day I finally know what I’m supposed to do with my feelings?”

“And what you want is?”

“I want to be different with this one. More giving, more romantic. I had a certain fascination with pin-up art when I was a teen, and maybe I’d like to dress up that way for my man. More blowjobs, too. He definitely deserves more blowjobs.”

“That’s pretty specific.”

“It’s almost scary, but I want to please him, give him surprises, gifts, anything that makes him happy.”

“I would think that you can easily make a man very happy,” Cynthia said, looking right at the deep crevice of Karen’s cleavage.

“I sure can,” Karen agreed. “Though there could always be more.”

“More what? Come on, Karen, if those things got any bigger you’d need scaffolding.”

Karen licked her lips, and gave Cynthia a look that could almost melt the pearls squeezed inside her vagina. “More woman, then. More options, like twice the fun. I think he’d really like that. I know I’d like to give him that.”

“How would you...” Cynthia began, hoping, praying, that she knew exactly how.

“Let’s call this new relationship a romance with great benefits,” Karen said, and the way she was rapidly breathing made it look like her chest was getting a little bigger with every breath. “Some of the benefits I bring are obvious, but others might be less so unless seen a certain way. And let’s just say, for the sake of argument...”

“Yes?” Cynthia was so wet now that it felt like her tunnel muscles had to squeeze like a coordinated rowing team, all working in tandem, to keep the pearls from squirting right out in a puddle.

“Let’s just say that you found this guy, my guy, pretty tolerable. Maybe even more than tolerable. And let’s just say that one of the benefits that comes with me, or the presents that I want to give, is... you.”

Cynthia definitely gasped this time, her pussy doing a muscle cheer that came closer than ever to ejecting the beads into her panties, along with enough fluid that she’d have to go home and change. She almost said what she thought: “Oh God, finally, I thought you’d never ask!”, but managed to check that outpouring as well, saying instead, voice trembling but at least not babbling, “Tell me exactly what you have in mind.”