The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Nami was in the salon chair, getting done. Yumi had disappeared. Jon was at work making exciting decisions, talking to lots of people.

As a homemaker and mother Hitomi had faced these empty hours many times—waiting around for other people. People with more important things to do than she did.. During Yumi and Nami’s teenage years she’d watched the entirety of Grey’s Anatomy, and that was before streaming, when she’d actually needed to figure out rebroadcasting schedules. She’d read books. Nearly literary books, books about conflicted women running from thrillingly bad situations. She’d cooked dinners. Hundreds of them.

The home was waiting for her but... she did have one more chore.

Hitomi checked her makeup again. It was already done—they’d done her up in the salon. Despite their total inexperience with Japanese faces the girls were eager enough to learn. The key was very deep eye mascara, but with a subtle downward cast. Just short of goth, they were instead silly panda eyes. And then somehow they’d made her hair longer? She was a little unclear how that had happened.

The entire salon trip was hazy—hadn’t Nami started moaning, and then squealing, at some point?

She’d dressed with care. Although she had teenagers Nami and Yumi had shot down any involvement by their mother in fashion decisions from the age of 14. But she figured—knee-high socks were welcome in any era. And then the white skirt.

And then, most of all, the Sailor Moon t-shirt, her new most prized possession.

No one would look at her and think—Mother of two. She licked her lip gloss again. It was as sparkly as she could manage. Her lips looked like a galaxy. Then she walked, in white sneakers, into the thrift store.

To run her errand.

“Hiiii!” she called out. “I need to make a return! I mean—a reverse return, since I need my stuff back!” She tittered. It was surprisingly easy to capture that part of being a fun, flirty teen. She felt electric in the socks, especially. They had purple-blue stripes.

“In the back!” a male voice said. She tittered again, for good measure.

The front of the store was a dusty and decrepit mass of aging sweaters and stacks of books. The back was that but more so—all types of oddball items. Bookstands, exercise equipment in a jumble, fairly new bicycles, even a heavy stack of cookbooks. Lots of magazines—The Economist predominated, warning about issues with Iran. And Henry and Tre.

“Oh shit,” Tre said, eyeing her. Perhaps. It was unclear where his eyes actually focused.. “Super real and in the actual flesh.”

Henry stepped in front of him. “Hitomi! Wearing...” he swallowed. “Yeah! That’s... uh... classic sailor. I’m not up on my 90s so.. Sailor Moon.”

“Red bow AND moon insignia,” the friend said. “You can barely tell she’s a M—”

Another friendly kick towards Tre. “Tre and I were actually thinking of—what brings you in? More stuff?”

“Um—actually—” Hitomi said. What a relief, her voice kept tuning upwards, with a very normal vocal fry. Hormones screeched at her. There were two guys eyeing her. Two men. “I kind of need it back? That stuff I gave you? For my—” she narrowly avoided husband. “For me? For little me? Please?”

“What? The stuff?” Tre said, horrified. “The stuff? You want back ALL the stuff you donated? No, Henry, tell her, we’re starving out here, it took me two years to get a set of twenty-sided dice, a complete set of Gundam DVDs fell into our laps and—”

“Shut UP, Tre,” Henry said. He turned back towards her. “Sure, Hitomi, just take a seat and have a glass of milk while I look for it...”

“Henry, come ON!” Tre said. He pushed his glasses well up his nose. The man had frizzy black hair and orangutang arms—sinewy and tendon-rich arms that looked strong enough to rip a door off a car. He slapped a cardboard box that, Hitomi figured, looked a lot like her cardboard box.

“Looks like that box?” Hitomi said. She cocked her head to the side, and flipped her hair back. The salon had put a lot of work into giving her arched eyebrows, and she raised one, slowly.

“Alright,” Henry said, putting up his hands. “Here’s the thing. We actually kind of need it. We’re opening....” he stopped, to raise the tension, before belatedly realizing that Hitomi didn’t care. “...a game shop. The first one in Stork or Calving or any of the towns.”

“We need the inventory!” Tre insisted, hands clasped, pleading. “New Arrivals is every three months. We’re on coffee for two weeks around it. So for two and a half months instead of watching these VINTAGE Yu Yu Hakusho episodes I’m balls-deep in some stupid—”

“AHEM,” Henry said, raising his voice. “Pastor Flynn said we could do it! We’re gonna have Magic Cards! And Dungeons and Dragons! And we really, really, really need all your anime stuff. Please.”

They needed her. Hitomi stood back. What was the right thing to do in this situation? That was an issue with having twins. Nami would roll her eyes, Yumi would smile and look away. What would Hitomi do? The options were overwhelming—she could toy with her hair, she could smile softly, she could be flustered—

“And we were gonna ask if you could ask your daughters about working there!” Tre said.

Hitomi’s options collapsed to: disappointment.

Crushing and fierce.

“Box,” she said, holding her arms out. Her voice wanted to be coy and kittenish, and it took all her Mom talent to make it flat and menacing.

Henry stood, wooden, and dropped the box into her arms. It was easiest to rest it on her chest. “Thank you.”

She turned and marched the other direction, only half-aware of the argument behind her. “Tre—you—you are done talking. You can go into the bathroom if you want to talk. No. Find an entire—”

“She’s leaving! Do something!” Tre had reached pure panic.

They watched her rear end ambling off.

“Get me the camera.” Henry ordered. “The prototype one.”

She’d been—what was she doing? Hitomi regarded herself, bewildered. Why was she wearing lip gloss, why were her nails done up in colorful patterns? Why were her legs bare, and recently shaved down, and why was she wearing lacy panties? Why was her hair, so rigorously styled into shoulder-length chore hair, falling halfway down her back? She reached the car.

All these questions could wait until she got home, and put away the clothes, and returned the anime box, and made dinner, and then cleaned up dinner, followed by an hour of TV dramas and then bedtime.

“Hitomi, turn around,” a male voice commanded her. “Right now.”

She turned, into a bloom of yellow and white light, and a very old-fashioned click.

Henry held an old 80s-era camera. Not an oversize one, but the kind of point-and-click Canon in serious black and silver no one made anymore. The flash still stuttered in her vision.

“Wha—”

The box fell from her grip, and hit the pavement.

“We wanted to ask,” Henry said. He pointed and clicked again. “if you could be our—mouthpiece.”

“The—” the lights still dazzled.

“When people—sorry, men. Male people—when they walk through the door, they don’t want to see us.” CLICK. Was the flash less strong, or was she getting used to it? “They want to see a big smile, someone who knows the merchandise.” CLICK. “Looking cute and friendly and approachable.” CLICK. “Maybe bring them tea.” CLICK. “You’d be our model. Giving head at the store.”

“What was that—last part?” Hitomi said. “Head of the store?”

“Maybe!” Henry said. He smiled at her. “Lets talk about it!”

She took a step forwards. The shutter made a click.

FLASH.

“Okay—okay,” Tre said. “Miss. And thanks again. So much. So very much. You’re so japan and right here and female and—” he broke off. Hitomi was pretty sure he was crying. There was definitely some leaking going on behind those glasses. “You’ll know this one, since you’re, uh, basically our age. Which is... young. You’re not a Mom. Anyway. One Piece. Blue and white striped shirt, yellow skirt.” He handed the outfit over.

“It’s a two piece?” Hitomi said, examining the clothes.

“Haha, yes, very funny,” Tre raised his hands and made a click motion with his fingers. Henry sent another warm bolt of light at her. “Go get changed.”

They’d taken a dowdy bedsheet and tossed it over a brass pole, over by the register. It was still very gauzy—she could clearly see the boys, didn’t that mean that they could see her? Hitomi squirmed her way out of her skirt and pulled her shirt over the top of her head.

Her tits bobbled high and large on the top of her chest. She wasn’t super sure when they’d gotten that bold and swollen, but Hitomi didn’t feel like complaining. They made changing clothes fun. “What’s this one’s name?” she called out. “The girl?”

“Uh—don’t worry about that,” Henry said. “Lets see! I bet you’ll look great!”

She was in a hurry. There was just something special in the moment of tension around the click of a camera. Specifically, that camera, the one Henry kept squeezing. The click seemed to resonate, right between her legs. And there was a thrill, that whatever pose she was in, at that second, was locked in for the rest of time. Every warm curve and carefully chosen expression. A reasonable insurance against time. She’d be that young, that fuckable, forever.

And the burst of light was—it felt like—it was odd, but there was no denying it—

It kinda felt like the rush and light of a nice little cum.

“Love it,” Henry said, as she trotted out. “God DAMN.”

“Oh god,” Tre looked legitimately overcome. Probably because of how hard she’d worked to fit her boobs in the scanty t-shirt.

“How should I pose?” she called out. The boys looked at each other.

“Sexily,” Tre said. “Very sexily.”

Hitomi rolled her eyes. She cocked her hips and was rewarded with a flash. She had done good. “I need more than THAT, guys,” she told them, shifting her butt back and forth. “Am I—what?”

“Adventurous. Daring. Intrepid. Mischievous. Uh. I’ll—I’ll check the wiki,” Tre said. Hitomi tried to look—brash? She flashed an imperious look at Henry, who obligingly took the shot. Her whole body tingled. She’d always been the one wielding the camera. There were big albums full of sullen twins. Why had no one taken shots of HER?

It would’ve kept her young.

“It’s not enough DIRECTION,” she whined. “What does she DO? Not that I—I mean, remind me guys, okay?”

“She’s one of like, two girls, on a boat full of men,” Henry said. “Kick your legs apart a little and look like a pirate. That’s good.” Click click. Flash. Shiver.

“Do they want her?” Hitomi said. “Do they wanna fuck her?”

“Actually, despite the suggestive art style, the overall horniness level—” Tre broke off as Hitomi decided to keep her legs spread, turn around, and bend over. She traced one hand on the back of her right knee, and looked over to the camera.

Click. FLASH.

Now it was forever.

The prompt was one she could work with. Waking up on a ship of boys, every single day, knowing that they’d gotten good and hard overnight. That they were going to wake up wanting to fuck her. She was going to spend all day in the custody of their eyes, in close quarters, climbing up and down ropes and giving them every opportunity to look. And maybe also touch.

“And she’s a slutty little flirt for them anyways? Skimpy clothes like this? Around all those bad boys?” Henry’s finger slipped, and the shutter went: click-click-click. “Slutty little flirt” seared deep inside of her. Hitomi’s whole body jerked. The boys looked at each other.

Tre opened his mouth and then closed it. Finally he couldn’t help himself. “Depends if we’re pre or post-timeskip,” he said, hoarse.

Hitomi bit the shirt and pulled it up. There, her boobs were showing. A lot of underboob. It couldn’t be her cheating because it was the pirate girl doing it. Plus she didn’t even have tits to show. Hitomi didn’t have big boobs. Therefore it was fine, and in fact, she could pull them all the way up over her nipples.

“Yarr,” she said.

The camera flashed at least a half-dozen times.

“You’re a daring little minx,” the boy with the camera said.

“Do I—do I use my body to get what I want?”

“Oh—yeah,” Tre called in. “Often!” The click was a drumbeat, now. Hitomi was trying to pose, but her body kept spasming. Her eyes were so wide...

“Do I get in trouble because I’m just a girl around all these big, strong, men?” Hitomi called out. She teased her hair out—right, the salon had given her long hair, how had that happened?—and arched her back. What a tightrope she walked, keeping big sailors on the edge, eager to fuck her, to pick her up by the wrists, punish her for bending over by the sails and the ropes..

“Yeah. Sure.” Flash. Flash. How much film was even in the camera? There had to be so many pictures of her, always leaning back, potentially submissive. Her pussy juiced and spasmed.

“And she’s a teenager, right?” Hitomi sat down heavily in a chair. Her legs were wide open, and her mouth just as much. Her shorts rode up her legs.

“Absolutely! Young as fuck!” Henry said. Hitomi shuddered.. The lights were all she could see.

She was getting kinda dizzy. The boys had done their best to keep her hydrated, plying her with water and milk. They had lots of both.. But it was still a lot of booming, blaring lights. Hitomi had lost track of time—this errand was definitely going to go long. She’d have to tell Jon she was super-duper-wuper sorry. She’d been bad, instead of good.

“And her name is—what?”

“I’ve only read it,” Tre confessed, embarrassed. “I don’t know how to pronounce it. Tat-su-maki?”

They’d put her in a scanty black-green bodysuit-dress. And that was after she’d fought off a bikini look with a lot of gold, and just one black stocking. The bodysuit wasn’t the teenybopper slutty look Hitomi was really looking for, but it worked on a sort of “Going to Prom” level. And it was perfect for poses. The boys already had a dozen pics of the upper expanse of her thighs. They’d waited, politely, while she’d shaved down her pubic region with an old electric razor.

Now she was nice and bare.

“She’s very... I’ll just say it... bratty,” Henry said.

“Bratty,” Hitomi repeated.

She liked the sound of that.

The words pooled around in the new, big, and empty craters of her mind.

Bratty.

“Her powers include—” Tre said, before Henry cut him off. “PURE brat,” he said. “Whiny, needy, completely spoiled little brat,” he called out, punctuating each word with a flash. “And yes, she’s a teenager.”

“She’s twenty-ei..” Tre had gotten used to the warning glances.

HItomi licked her lips. “I bet she.. and, guys, just tell me if I’m wrong, I bet she likes to sneak into her boyfriend’s room on a weeknight. I bet she does her math homework bent over with her ass in the air.” The camera followed her demonstration. The outfit was clearly semi-homemade, and did not fit over her body at all. It was made for someone skinny, not a lush girl like her, completely fucked up by puberty and her own eager sex drive.

“I bet he can smell her,” Hitomi said, to the clicks. She could barely see the guys through the flashes, but she was pretty sure they were hard for her. For this silly little brat. The prototype camera drove it deeper and deeper. “I bet she waits until Dad calls him to dinner, and then she just wraps her hand around her boyfriend’s cock. She likes that he’s gonna get in trouble.” Hitomi made sure the camera saw her licking her lips.

And she was being bad too, wasn’t she? She was kinda married or something? But it occurred to her—maybe being in a little bit of trouble would be fun. Maybe Jon could have a nice time yelling at her while she squirmed and shifted on a chair, juicing it up with a puddle. Maybe he could take his time deciding how to punish her. There were no wrong answers. Maybe he’d yank her forwards, feeding her every inch of his dick...

“And... yes. She rubs herself. Just like that, sure,” Henry said. Hitomi collected herself. She was—the briefs made it so easy. And they nearly flossed her newly-shaven slit. Her cheeks burned. A Mother of two didn’t just rub herself—and definitely not on camera. But—was she that, or some sort of needy troublemaker? It was getting harder to remember...

FLASH

“I mean, this is Kagome, not that you care,” Tre said, surprisingly sulky. He was annoyed she’d gotten away from the plot in something called Attack on Titan. Hitomi couldn’t even really recall the outfit. They were going through them very quickly. She kept soaking through them, after all..

“Oh!” she knew this one, didn’t she? It was all the way back around to the start. A sailor suit school outfit, with a teeny green skirt. She’d taken off her panties by accident several outfits ago, and neglected to put them back on. “From—Inuyasha!”

“Yes!” Tre pumped his fist. “Yes, you got that one!”

“She’s a REAL minx,” Henry said. “A complete sexpot with boys and trouble on her mind, and nothing else.” Flash flash flash. She was drunk on flash, overcome with flash. It was all there was. She was a brat, one of nature’s whores. She was a teenage slut. She had been born to fuck...

Hitomi licked her lips. Right, she was... all of those words. They were burning in her, topmost, displacing facts about baking. She was a princess with a needy cunny. She walked forwards, one foot in front of the other.

She didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter.

“Tre,” she crooned. “Tre, baby. You wanna see my titties? You wanna see them?”

His shock was very gratifying. Hitomi reached out to stroke his chest, then pulled his shirt off him. He nearly knocked his own glasses off. Underneath his ICHIRAKU RAMEN shirt was an iron mass of a body, just like she’d known he would have. “Ooh. You work out.”

She sat him down, and then sat on top of him. It felt—good, to touch a man.

So good.

Her body craved it, craved their heat, their strength. There was something about her that wanted to feel that exact moment when they made the decision to fuck her. When the last ounce of self-control, doubt, and social disapproval drained away, and what was left was the masculine urge to bend her over. She wanted to see exactly what it took to reach that moment, what the tipping point was—her tits in their face? Rubbing chest hair with her fingers? Maybe even just the scent?

And if they wanted to fight it, fight her, all the better. Her pussy wasn’t going anywhere. She could smell their desire. Ultimately they would give in—she was a needy stupid slut with a trimmed cunt, and male biology only dealt with her one way. It wasn’t like Hitomi was able to fight her own DNA. She’d spent every minute of her teenage years breathlessly hormonal and helplessly expanding. Now she was there for enjoyment. It was all of her.

“Fifty bucks and you can see my tits,” she whispered, in Tre’s ear.

“Fifty dollars!” He startled. She hovered right above him, waiting. A single droplet of pussy juice dripped onto his navel.

“Sixty,” she said.

Click. Click. “Are we—we still doing the camera?” Tre said. “Do it too much and—”

“I switched,” Henry said. He had a new iPhone out, now, and was walking around to get better angles. “Give her the money.”

“I—fine. A hundred, but you’re gonna get me off,” Tre said.

Hitomi only briefly worried what Daddy would think. A hundred dollars was worth a lot of trouble. A bunch of new outfits, a nice new vibe, nights getting drunk... she could hardly say no. Besides, they both knew she’d do it for five.

He wore baggy cargo shorts. Hitomi had figured it for gamer gear, until she undid his fly, slid them down, and was immediately confronted with the largest penis she had ever seen. It was big enough to have a visible underside, under the tip, and a cat’s cradle of blue and red veins.

“Did you get her expression?” Tre said. “When she saw it?”

“Classic,” Henry said. “Baby, the good news is, it doesn’t get any bigger. Biggest dick in town.”

Hitomi put both hands on it. This felt even less like a betrayal of her husb—to Jon—to Daddy. This was more like operating equipment. She ground her pussy into him, sopping wet, and jacked on his cock. It all felt perfectly right. And she was getting an entire one hundred dollars out of it. Maybe more if she offered to lick him clean. Then off to the mall, in cum-sticky clothes, to see what other boys there were to tease...

“Hitomi, suck it,” Henry said.

He’d pulled his own dick out, and put it right up against her face. It was nothing like Tre’s, which was nearly a kind of tree, but it was meaty and long, and smelled like orange and cloves. He was filming the entire decisionmaking process on his phone.

“Umm.. I’m...” she laughed, nervously. She wasn’t about to just suck on a dick. Handjobs were one thing—handjobs were handshakes with extra goo. DIcksucking was reserved for... she tried to think. There was a glint of metal light on her left hand, now that she thought of it. She was wearing a ring. “Aren’t I... um... am I married or something?” she said. “We’re just... isn’t this just play-pretend?”

“You’re the biggest eighteen-year old whore I’ve ever met and if you don’t suck my cock I’m showing your Daddy about seven hundred photos,” Henry told her. Tre, still getting his dick fondled, had the sense to stay quiet. “You can see pussy in at least six hundred.”

No that wasn’t—Hitomi shook her head, confused. Wasn’t she some kind of wife and mother, underneath it all? Or was it a variety of pirate queen? Or—was she fucking SAILOR MOON? She’d been through a dozen outfit changes and personality overwrites. DIdn’t she have KIDS? The dick practically growled at her.

It wouldn’t hurt at least to begin sucking on it. He did have her cold about being a drippy stupid slut.

And it was kinda hot he’d threatened her.

“That’s good, slut,” Henry said, encouraging. “I know your type. I mean, shit, you told us. Lot less haughty with a cock in your mouth.”

It was true. That was the big secret in the game. As much as she teased and primped and flirted, if a guy was smart enough to stick his fingers down her skirt, it was all over. She sucked on the very enjoyable penis in her mouth, grinding as hard as she could on Tre’s chest. Two at once. She’d have to pay Tre back. This was worth one hundred dollars. The first droplets of precum slid into her mouth, and her eyes nearly rolled back. It was kind of a curse, having a libido set to stun, and a breeding-only body, but it was also a lot of fun.

She was—kids? No, obviously not. Sisters, that worked, didn’t it? What was the most fun, most sexy answer? Was there two? Two younger—no, OLDER sisters.. Exasperated and secretly admiring their fun-loving sis in equal measure. What were their names again?

What was HER name again?

“Do you remember your name?” Tre asked. She looked at him, confused. “I know that look.. Henry, do a name check. We went too hard on her.”

“C’mon, man, she’s busy. She’s my first new arrival,” Henry objected.

“You clicked her a lot. Do you remember your name?” Tre said. “Henry, take your dick out of her mouth. Just for a second. We got kinda carried away. What’s your name, baby?”

There it was—her Daddy called her it. When he was happy, or unhappy, or horny. “Hitomi,” she said. She wanted that nice big dick back in her mouth. She’d coated it in her lip gloss, and that made her happy. Every boy in town was going to have her brand before the summer was over, at the very base of their dick.

“How old are you, Hitomi?”

“I’m eighteen and four days old, silly!” She dove back onto Henry’s cock. BRAT played, in neon pink, against the most shadowy recesses of her mind. It flashed and flashed. It felt good.

His hand was still wet and tingly from spanking Cora. A good tingle. He’d given his palm a good workout, and it was red and hot. Moist, too, all over. By the final few slaps it had been like smacking a soaked tarp, feeling the spray and mist all over his fingers.

“She’ll be with you in a bit,” Pastor Flynn said, walking them back to their office suite.

“She committed office espionage,” Joy said. She had a slightly dazed expression, which Jon enjoyed looking at. He had been the one to properly discipline a wayward employee. Right now, if he wanted to, he could taste that particular employee’s pussy. And he had an erection—after some debate, Jon was okay with that. There was a kind of power that came with a fully erect cock.

A good manager could harness his aggression in a positive manner.

“Oh, sure,” Pastor Flynn said, shrugging. “It’s her first day. Second, if you count the meet and greet. We’ve all had tough starts.”

“She stole important—” Joy kept licking her lips. Her hair was curled at the tips, journeying back up from her shoulders. She took careful strides, one in front of the other.

“Yes, yes, financial blah blah. Don’t worry. The real question is why she’s got a day ten body and a day two hundred girl brain. Probably a greek thing. Anyway. I’m counting on you two to keep everyone in line. I have a management manual for the both of you.”

He held up a wire-bound book, one for each of them, and gender-coded. A dark blue for Jon, a shiny pinky-pink for Joy.

“SO YOU’RE MAN-AGEMENT,” Jon read. It had a picture of a man on the front, on the top of a pyramid, with what were obviously exaggerated women on each step below him. Dozens of women. He reached out to take it.

“Do you mind if I take the boy one? I think I could use the... energy,” Joy said. She neatly stepped in front. “Jon has plenty already, obviously.”

Her eyes flickered: first his wet spanking hand, and then the outline of his dick, pressed into his khakis. Jon waited for a spark of discomfort, and felt none. Of course she noticed the bulge of his dick. All girls should. Not—he swallowed—not necessarily ALL, of course. Casual acquaintances, no.

Daughters...

“If you think its for you, then go ahead.” Pastor Flynn said. He held up both. The other book read “GIRLS CAN LEAD?” It was pink. The girl on the front was surrounded by clip art question marks. Blue and pink. Joy reached out for the blue one. She hesitated. Stopped.

“I’ll take... the boy one. It’s not just a...” it wasn’t clear who Joy was arguing with. Jon waited on Flynn’s word. This was the example to copy. Control. He was a man, he had to be in control of the situation. It was a big responsibility. “Even though I’m.. I’m a girl... I can... I can take the boy one. Even though I’m a girl. It’s just—it’s a book—and I will—”

Her fingers shook. She was so close to touching the blue. Her eyes were wide.

Joy picked up the pink book. She let out a breath, her shoulders sagging. “Thank you, sir,” she said, defeated.

“It’s a better color for you,” Flynn said, sympathetic. “Well, alrighty. Best of luck, you two! You may not believe this, but I’m learning as much from you as you are from me!”

Jon took the blue book. He thought about putting it in front of his persistent erection. He decided against it.

“Jon, can you... uh... help me with this?” Joy said.

She’d found time to adjust her outfit again. She’d had to, or it wouldn’t keep her breasts in any sort of workplace-friendly pin. She’d pulled on a blazer that—if Jon remembered right—was the one Cora had arrived in. By securing every button the wool kept her cleavage tightly bound. It seemed unlikely even a crisp dollar bill could fit in there, now.

“Help?” Jon said. He’d hung back to read his new management manual. It had so many good tips and hints. Every so often he emerged, breathing hard, to try and think: why was it telling him facts about the female menstrual cycle? Did he really need to use corporal punishment on, as the book called them, “correctable females”?

Although it was interesting to learn the three most reliable signs of a breedable woman.

Management books always had their quirks. WHO MOVED MY CHEESE? had strange recommendations too.

“It says...” Joy held up her own book. She’d folded back a number of the pages. “Ask boys to help you? Not that... I need...” her eyes fell on the book again. She read the same page at least a half-dozen times. Jon let her. “PATIENCE, THEN CORRECTION,” was one of his instructions.

“It says I need help from men,” Joy concluded, deflating. “So... I guess... I need help. From men. It’s Casimir and Jesse. They just aren’t taking me seriously.”

“You did the right thing asking me,” Jon told her. She perked up, eyes shimmering, basking in the compliment. Her lips parted, and her eyes fluttered. It was a little unnerving. Jon shook his head—what was going on? He was just complimenting a coworker. He was just some guy with two daughters. Not an aggro alpha who could stand to spank a little discipline into them.

Maybe both at the same time...

“Alright, boys,” Jon said. “I need a little discipline out of the both of you.”

Jesse and Casimir sat next to each other in the conference room. Right up against each other. Casimir wore short white shorts, and had pale white legs matted with dark black hair. Jesse had dark black hair blown back into a mane.

“I think I’m getting a lot done,” Casimir said. He slapped Jesse on the thigh. The other man wore khakis and a polo, which he, at least, had definitely worn that morning. The real question was where Casimir had found 8-inch shorts during the workday.

Jon consulted the book. It was a little difficult to read, blue text on a blue background, and a lot of the words had a strange blur, like the printer had fallen asleep. But if he concentrated hard, the advice seemed to shine through.

“YOU ARE AUTHORITY,” he read. It burned in his head, a lighthouse. His dick bobbed around in his pants.

Jesse and Casimir were a tough two to start with. Jon wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but they seemed... bigger. Heavier and hairier, like they both had lumberjack ancestors. The room swirled with their mixed scent, a masculine blast Jon had to push through. He was in charge. The book urged him onwards.

“Men,” he said. Book tip: RESPECT IS MUTUAL [OTHER MEN ONLY]. “I know we’re all... excited... to be here.”

The book assured him: some horseplay was right and normal in the office environment. It was right there on... one of the pages. They were animals in suit and tie. Man was both the suit and the animal.

“SUPER excited,” Jesse said. He reached his hand out to tickle the underside of Casimir’s leg. Of course Jon could see the bulge of their cocks. If Casimir shifted slightly, and wasn’t wearing underpants, he was pretty sure he could see the man’s dick. As big as his? He had to act like they weren’t.

The two men shifted towards each other, losing track that they were in for discipline.

Jon and Joy had returned to an office environment with no cohesion at all. Sita and Anand making out on the couch, Sean giving imperious instructions to Drana and Maria, instructing them on how to clean up, mostly by bending over in front of him. They were supposed to be designing labels and promotional materials.

Jon dropped the book onto the top of the table. It made a satisfying THUNK, and jerked the men away from each other. They looked guilty.

“Are you men?” Jon asked them.

“YES,” both said, immediately. It was pulled out of them, involuntarily, with a choked bark.

“Can men control themselves?” he said.

“I—” they faltered at this. The book had advice for this, too. SELF-CONTROL IS JUST A START. Control of others... that was what made men special.. Jon pointed his finger at Casimir. “Top,” he said, then at Jesse. “Bottom. For the first two hours. Then switch.”

“No need to switch!” Jesse said, quickly. Good. Jon nodded. He felt a warm glow. Men in accord was not quite sexual, but it was nonetheless—good. “The top is working twice as hard,” he warned Casimir, who flexed his biceps in acknowledgement. That, too, was good. The book had told him about this—there were many, many rewards for being Management. “Get out of here, you two.”

“It’s just—I really need to get home. My sister is supposed to get in soon and... and... I feel... like I should be there?” Maria said. “Also it’s five thirty?”

Joy and Jon were handling this one jointly. Jon sat calmly, in a chair, so she could see that he had a big erect dick. The book had made very clear that this was a key point in calming and correcting difficult employees: they had to see his cock. Otherwise it was just his face. He took another drink of milk.

“Sean says he needs your support,” Jon said. He glanced over at Joy, who was almost frantically paging through the instructions in her adorable girl manual. She’d made a few notes on it with a pink gel pen, but they just blended into the overall bright pink pages. Her eyes blazed back and forth. She was sitting on her hands. “You can give us this support, right?”

“But—Drana said—she said she can sit in his lap all day and... Jon, isn’t it all very odd? I’m... I didn’t fit in the clothes I came in, but there were new ones waiting in the bathroom, and I thought, WHY are they getting us new clothes?” Maria said, pathetically. She was wringing her own hands. Jon’s didn’t move at all. He felt good about that.

“New clothes always makes a girl feel better!” Joy chirped. She seemed surprised she’d said anything, and put her hand over her mouth.

“Pastor Flynn wants the mockups done tonight, and a full set of shooting scripts,” Jon said. Did he? He wasn’t totally sure.. But he had to be strong, in front of these women. “You’re gonna get it done for me, right, baby?”

He sniffed. He was too busy being management to process the fact that her open, drippy legs were telling him a lot. Maria was anxious, and nervous, and nowadays that meant her libido was at peak pitch, spraying pheromones and hormones to everyone around. She wore a girlish romper in baby blue, her breasts spilling out of either side of the straps.

Instead of working she’d been putting on makeup, and yellow-gold bangles. According to Joy there were now makeup kits in the ladies restroom. “So weird, right? Don’t you think so?” she’d attempted. Jon had just shrugged, and she’d gone right back to reading.

“I’ll come back, but she’s not picking up her phone and...” Maria trailed off. She chewed on a snip of hair. Jon adjusted his underpants for the hundredth time. He wasn’t totally sure what to do next. The book would have answers, but he couldn’t check it in front of her, right?

“It’s normal to forget stuff you no longer need!” Joy read, out loud.

“So... I’ll... just... go, real quick?” Maria said. She stood up. Somewhere she’d found white heels. She pointed at the door. “I’ll be back in like twenty minutes, sir? Mr. Jon? I don’t—I don’t know your last name. I don’t think you ever said it.”

She stumbled to the door. Jon cleared his throat at the archway.

“Maria,” he said. “I didn’t give you permission to leave.”

“THE DEEPER THE VOICE, THE MORE THE MAN,” the book had said. This, at least, made some sense. The book had clear ideas on disobedience, and he’d read them, and read them, and read them. In fact he’d cum at one point. Or had he? It was all hard to recall. “Please sit down on the chair.”

Maria moaned, but nearly shimmied to the chair. Her boobs bounced around. Of course, he was a happily married man. With two legal daughters.

“No, face down,” he said, when she hunched in the chair again. “I never said you could go. You know that was wrong, don’t you?”

“It—I mean, yes, of course, of course, but,” Maria trailed off. He tapped his fingers on the desk. “Sir, you’re... you’re gonna spank me?”

“How many do you think you deserve?” Jon said. This was also from the book. It was all flowing nicely now, step by step. It was going just as he’d read.

“How m-many spanks?” Maria said. “Sir, uh, I’m.... sir, I’m like thirty-five or something? I don’t... you’re gonna spank my butt? Really? Right now?”

“How many?” Jon said. “And add two to it.”

“Four!” Maria said. “No. Um. One! I mean... I don’t know. Six or seven!”

His hand tingled. Maria arched her back as he approached. Her arousal was practically visible, a spray in the conference room air. Already her skimpy jumper was sodden.

Jon drew his hand back. He noted, with approval, that she was already flexing her toes.

“Jon, are you about to HIT her?” Joy said. She was looking at him, confused. Her right hand was still flipping pages.

“She—” was he? His hand was still reared back, open palm.. “It’s not—I mean—”

What was he DOING? He was a middle manager in a brand new job, about to land firm strikes on the inviting rear end of some girl he’d just met? He looked around, wildly. What time was it? Why was he sporting an enormous erection in front of everyone?

“When you’re ready, sir!” Maria chimed in.

Joy had lost her train of thought, and resumed flipping pages. She’d found a wad of bubble gum, and blew a big one. Her nails had no trouble with the big pink pages. “No—no,” she said, closing her eyes hard. “I—Jon, do I have a sister, too? I do, right? Joyce?”

“Joy and Joyce? I mean, it sounds made up,” Jon said. He backed away. This was too much. Maria shoved her ass further up in the air, in case his hand was there. She wiggled it around, trying to find his palm.

He put his hands behind his back. “Eight is okay too!” she said. “No more than ten though!”

“Joy, what’s going on?” he said. It violated the book. He felt uneasy about it. He felt uneasy about everything.

Joy stood up, shook her head, and pinched the top of one of her tits. Her eyes seemed to clear. “Jon, I need your help, mkay? Because girls should always ask men for help whenever they—” she squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Lets... we should go. Lets just go.” She cleared her throat, trying to lose the bubblegum affect.

“Go. Right,” he couldn’t leave, right? He was in charge. Left to their own devices the girls would fiddle with themselves and do their hair. It was his job to sternly point to proper activities, possibly with his cock. But—no. Jon pinched himself as well. This wasn’t him, voice raised, eyes cold. He was just some boring Dad, with two hot daughters.

“Jon, please, while we still can,” Joy whispered. Her eyes were scared. His probably were too.

“I’ll—yeah. Okay. Maria, wait here, or—I don’t know. I’ll be—I have to make a phone call.” Hitomi. He needed to call his... wife. Right. There was no one more normal than Hitomi, who enjoyed crime dramas on CBS and criticizing the advertisements. Just to tell her that—what? Just to hear a normal person say normal things. Let her know he was leaving yet another job.

They walked out together, both clutching their manuals. Joy held her hand out, and Jon took it. Women needed to be calmed. That, at least he was good at.

He emerged into the main factory and was immediately lost. There was a color coding system painted on the walls, that he had never learned, and the rest was concrete pillars and dun-colored walkways. The hallways hummed with a catchy pop tune, one that bounced oddly off the exposed piping, overhead.

His cock bobbed as he walked. When had it crept nearly down to his KNEE?

Next to him Joy kept pinching herself. She’d gotten noticeably worse at running as the day had gone on. At some point she’d switched to the tightest, shortest skirt yet—or was her butt just that much thicker, putting that much more duress on it? At any rate, with that, plus her overloaded chest, she ran in mincing half-steps, clutching the overloaded pink book of girl advice. It looked heavy.

“Lets make an agenda, sir,” she said, panting. “We’ll... find my sister. Yes. And then... are you married?”

Was there a hopeful “No” in there? But yes—yes. He was married.

“Yes,” Jon said.

“Oh. Oh, okay. And then—we’ll dunk our heads in water, and then we’ll feel better, and then we’ll maybe fuck a little—” Joy frowned, then pinched herself on the top of her tit. She sighed. “Oh god. That feels good now. We really need to go. Jon, I’m a journa—”

“Oh! Mr. Masuda!” A new girl voice.. He whirled, full of fight-or-flight.

It was—it took him a minute, but he was getting used to telling apart different girls with oversized tits. This one was—the receptionist, the one in the orange dress, the one in the big poofy sweater. Flynn’s receptionist. The sweater was gone. Now she was strapped in to a navy ruched dress, with several cross necklaces. The only business-like aspect of it was a loose black belt, and all it did was amplify the outrageous tilt of her curves.

Jon’s blood beat in his ears. He was still holding the management book. The girl sashayed up to him, careful to keep eye contact. Joy took several steps back.

“Pastor Flynn sent me,” she said. “He said he’s super busy so you’d have to handle my discipline? Because I was a bad girl? We can do it right here in the hallway, if you’re busy.”

“We’re... busy,” Joy said, defiant, but put her back to the wall. “We have to.. we’re leaving.”

“Shhhhh,” the receptionist said. She walked over to Joy and put a finger to her lips. “What do good girls do when a man is thinking?”

Joy couldn’t stop herself from opening the book. It turned right to the page she wanted, and she read it off, to all of them.

She whispered: “they stay very quiet.”

“What—what’s your name?” Jon said.

The girl smiled. “My name’s Myra. I’m ready for discipline! I’m super sorry for whatever it was I did!”

“D-discipline,” Jon said. No, he—“Actually, I had to—we were going to—run.”

“I was SO bad,” she said, apologetic. “I broke—oh, I’ll just show you! I’m not getting any more in trouble!” she produced a small pencil—Jon wasn’t sure from where. Then she dropped it. It tinkled on the concrete. Joy moaned, as quietly as she could.

“The tip broke! And that’s the most important part!” Myra said. There was a watery suspicion of tears in her eyes. “I broke all sorts of rules. Just FYI, you’re supposed to recite them when you’re... you know. Disciplining me.”

“No—” he was just the very epitome of a middle-aged mediocrity. Replacement-level worker, unremarkable husband and father. About as meaningful as the pencil, with a less-used tip. He had to go. All this was above his competency.. “I’m—leaving. I’m headed out.”

“Really?” Myra slid closer. She had a new kind of smell, one he hadn’t sensed in all the bewildered, hormone-laden girls he’d been around.. A straightforward, indiscriminate, keen, lust. She was available. “I didn’t take you for a quitter. Pastor Flynn said—he’s not leaving, is he? See, on the camera? And I said, oh no sir. Mr. Masuda isn’t going to quit on us. Are you?”

“Yes,” Joy managed, at an almost-normal tone of voice. Her knees shook. “We’re—we’re quitting. We, uh, we re-sign.”

Jon stood up straight. The book had an answer for this, and he had no choice about it. It was just telling him what he, deep in his heart, already knew.

“I’m not a QUITTER,” he told the girl.

The memory passed through him.

He’d relived it many times, in many low moments. They were both nineteen, and he wouldn’t hit twenty for another four months. Hitomi was bedraggled and wet from the walk over. She’d kept the pregnancy test dry in her sweater pocket. He stared at her and thought: I don’t know this person. They’d dated for two and a half months, with a three week interlude where his parents vacationed in Arizona.

“I’ll just go,” she’d said, miserable. He hadn’t been able to string together coherent ideas.

“In the rain? By yourself?” He’d stood up, automatically.

Her eyes widened...

“Already lined up another job,” he told Hitomi. The girls were bought off on one of his few kid-appropriate shows, or, at least, close enough. Bootleg Trigun, in the original Japanese. “Slightly longer commute, that’s all.”

“Slightly LONGER?” Hitomi said.. She’d cut her hair short, and he hated it. He hadn’t said anything. “It’s already halfway to Battle Creek. Where are you going? Lansing?”

“A little country called... Canada,” He’d told her.

“Dad—can you—” they both gave him the same look. Please go away? Hitomi had been informed that the third ticket was his. Instead it went to Yumi’s good friend, Elizabeth. The three of them looked so excited, especially Liz. They’d worn matching shirts.

“But don’t go, okay?” Nami had said. She was still sixteen. Jon had, quietly, pegged her as the sensible one.

“Yeah. I’ll be here. Okay, you know where the car is,” Jon said. He waved them off.

“Listen, slut, I’m not a quit—oh,” he said.

Myra had both hands up against the wall, her feet spread. He was right up behind her, and had one hand against the wobble of her chest, to steady her.

The other hand was enthusiastically spanking her senseless. “Quitter. Alright. I think you learned your lesson about the pencil.”

Joy was gone.

How much time had passed? It wouldn’t be hard to find her—there was a patter of puddles down the corridor, big ones, glistening under the lights.

Myra couldn’t put any weight on her feet, and there was a wet spatter on the floor where she’d squirted. He held her up while she panted.

“Myra?” he said, when some minor amount of intelligence sloshed back into her eyes. She was able to stand up, at least. He wiped girl juice off on the back of his pants.

“Uh...” she thought about it. “Oh! Sorry, I’m—” Myra giggled. “I useda call it rebooting. Umm. Mister sir. I was supposed to give you something but I think you cummed it right out of me. Mr. Masuda. Is that your name?”

“Mister Masuda is correct,” Mr. Masuda said.

“Ooh. Okay, I sort of remember. No, I don’t. Oh! I have something for you. Ooh, my butt is gonna be nice and sore tomorrow, sir! Thank you very much!”

Maria hadn’t gone anywhere. She had waited, bent over, on the chair, in the conference room. Not that she had been completely motionless—Jon could scent that she’d cum, once or twice. There was the obvious clue that her romper had been shoved aside, turned into a type of bikini.

“Alright. I’m back,” Jon said. He plunked the box Myra had given him on the table, then stuck his head out the door. “Team. I need you in here. You have a minute. Heads out of holes. Lets go.” His voice boomed. Heads popped out of the top of cubicles. Because man-agement meant benevolence he gave them an extra minute—a lot of team members had to get dressed.

He surveyed his crew.

Every single girl, as well as Jesse, was in a lap. Including Maria: he made a point, once they were all assembled, to spread her across his own lap. It wasn’t the most powerful position—standing was—but having Maria supine and spreading made an important point about his leadership going forwards. He stroked gently between her thighs.

“Team, I apologize personally... for failing you today,” he started. “I’ve been—distracted. We all have. We’ve let our personal concerns distract us instead of driving us to better things.”

“No complaints!” Sean said. He had Drana in his lap, holding tightly onto him.

“I’m complaining,” Jon said. “Our efficiency is LOW. Our work output is NIL. And our cohesiveness is BAD.” He punctuated each with a solid smack on Maria’s ass. She absorbed them without complaint, although she did make a noise when he stuck his fingers up her slit, right in front of everyone.

“From now on,” Jon said. “We’re a FAMILY. We hold each other accountable. We have discipline. You do good things, you are rewarded.” He withdrew his hand from Maria’s slit and stuck it in her mouth. She slobbered all over his fingers. “Bad things... well, my office door is always open, and I’m inside the office, and my palm is attached to me. We’re splitting into pairs. One team member works, the other motivates. And I got everyone something.”

He opened the box. Inside was a set of black leather chokers. The girls gasped. They were all stenciled with a name, the words “IF FOUND”, and, beneath that, a phone number.

“Jesse, yours is coming, I apologize for that. They didn’t have your size. Maria, sit up.” He gently helped her up. The collars had a latch on the other side.

It slipped easily onto her neck.

“What about us guys?” Sean said. Even though he was already snapping one shut around Drana’s throat. Sita shuddered as hers went on. “What do we get?”

“You get privilege and you get responsibility, thats what you get,” Jon said. Sean could only meet his eyes for a moment. Jon nodded at the man, once he dropped his gaze. Good.

“But yes, I did get you something. I expect all of you to use it properly. I will be checking in, with every girl. And, uh, Jesse. Team, are we clear? Are all of you clear?”

He pulled a leash out of the box. They were made out of the same slick black leather. They weren’t very long. Jon took the first one over to Maria, who bared her throat to him, without even being asked. There was a small hook for it, hard to see in the gloss of premium leather. Jon snapped it in. And tugged it once, just to check on it.

“Lets get a Team Milk on three. One. Two. Three,” he said. They all duly chorused in. Except for Maria again, who had her mouth full of his fingers. She couldn’t get enough of them.

He wondered where Joy had gone. There was a collar with her name on it.

“Everyone understand what to do?” Jon said, turning around.

“Yes, sir,” chorused the men and women. Except Maria, who answered “yes, Daddy,” in a small voice. He gave her a special smile of approval.

“Good,” Jon said. “Maria, stick around.. I still owe you eight smacks.”