The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

THIS EVENING

Meteor Maid slowed to sixty miles an hour as she entered the exhibit hall, then came to a full stop as she confronted Madame Molecula.

“All right, Molecula! Time to surrender!” The words were the same ones she’d often used before, but her tone and posture utterly lacked the no-nonsense demeanor that sometimes convinced her opponents to do just that.

The villainess grinned. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

She opened one of the pouches of her belt and took out a length of cord. After taking a moment to wiggle it around, as if she needed to get the feel of it, she tossed it toward her opponent with a casual flick of the wrist.

Meteor Maid should have been able to dodge that even without using her superspeed. She should have been able to dodge that even if she were in her civvies as Astrea Aron, feigning slowness and clumsiness to protect her secret identity.

But she did not. She did not move as the memory-plastic entangler wrapped itself tight around her, binding her arms at her sides. Nor did she make any attempt to vibrate herself free or otherwise escape.

The heroine watched as her captor brought out another restraint— a black leather collar and leash. She stood passively as they were affixed to her neck.

“Come along, darling.”

She kept pace with her Mistress, the leash hanging slack between them.

LAST NIGHT

Astrea woke with a gasp.

In her dream, she’d been out on patrol and run into Madame Molecula. The villainess was naked, body-painted in the pattern of her costume. The next thing she knew, she’d gotten wrapped in one of Molecula’s entanglements... and then she was instead being held tight in Molecula’s arms. Her own costume was nothing but body paint, and the two of them were lying naked in bed. Their bodies drew close, breasts pressing together, feet stroking each other’s calves, eyes closing as they leaned into a kiss. Their lips met, and then their tongues. Their legs and hips maneuvered into position to rub pussy against pussy... just a little closer... almost there... yes!

That was the moment she’d awakened, with her panties down her thighs and her hand between her legs.

She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

For the past week, she’d been increasingly affected by such thoughts. Every time she’d seen Molecula’s picture, she’d imagined it as a naked body-painted version—just like her dream—and it had taken a conscious effort to dismiss the mental image. Sometimes she couldn’t bring herself to make that effort. She’d been feeling horny a lot lately, too, even more so than could be accounted for by a three-month dry spell. The relief she got from jilling herself off was gone almost as soon as the orgasm subsided. She needed somebody to give her satisfaction. It was getting more and more obvious that what she craved was somebody who would take the initiative and... just simply grab her and do her.

And this dream was just the latest indication that she wanted that “somebody” to be Madame Molecula.

There was only one way to deal with this. She had to find Madame Molecula and settle things between them once and for all.

FOUR DAYS AGO

She was all suited up and ready to go on patrol, but she paused to take a good look at herself in the mirror. No harm in that... it should be easy enough for someone who can run at the speed of sound to make up for lost time.

What should be easy enough, but somehow wasn’t, was getting laid. It wasn’t anything wrong with her. She had a good trim build, nice perky boobs, well-shaped legs, and... she turned and looked over her shoulder... a perfectly nice ass, if she did say so herself.

Of course, being a superhero did make it a bit difficult to keep up a social life. Maybe what she needed was for the right person to simply... choose her. No head games. No wasted time. No crossed signals. Just someone to find her, take her, and have his way with her. Or her way with her. Whatever. She didn’t think she swung that way, but she had keep thinking a lot lately about how interesting Molecula looked. “Interesting”, my perfectly nice ass, she thought. Molecula looks pretty damn HOT....

Shaking her head, she forced herself to focus on business. She needed to head out. Maybe she’d run into Molecula again for a rematch....

SIX DAYS AGO

Astrea gulped her morning coffee as she turned on the news. She barely avoided doing a spit-take at the picture of Madame Molecula that accompanied a report of last night’s museum robbery.

The villainess was wearing a see-through version of her usual costume. What the hell...? She tuned out the news reader’s voice and stared at her nemesis. The FCC is going to come down on that station like the wrath of God, she thought as she thumbed the “rewind” and “pause” buttons of her DVR to freeze-frame on the image. It’s practically pornographic, and not so much as a warning... oh, my God, she’s not even wearing a sheer outfit! She’s naked—the “costume” is literally painted on!

She blinked, and the image shifted somehow. Molecula was actually wearing her usual costume, but somehow it had looked painted-on. She could see both images at once, line one of those optical illusions.

Vaguely, she wondered if the news report said anything about her unsuccessful attempt to capture the villainess. She didn’t really want to know. Truly, she didn’t care all that much. Instead, she continued to watch the freeze-frame view of Molecula, her gaze focused on the nude vision in her mind rather than the reality.

Her old habit of drinking coffee while thinking kicked in. She took another sip—and spit it back into the cup. Old room-temperature coffee was just foul, especially when her taste buds were expecting it to be hot and fresh. As she poured the rest of it into the sink, she caught a glimpse of the time. Dammit! I’m already late for work, and I know I got up on time!

Hurrying out the door, she didn’t stop to wonder where the time had gone.

ONE WEEK AGO

The roof of the museum didn’t look quite right.

Meteor Maid stopped in her tracks, going from a hundred fifty to zero in the space of a few yards. She took another look... but now there was nothing out of the ordinary. Shrugging, she started running again... and the oddity reappeared.

A few more starts and stops confirmed that there was something there. She could only see it when running past it at high speed, and could barely see it then, but it was definitely real. Circling the building at speed, she looked over her shoulder to take a good look. It was a sort of blurry spot just above the roof, situated near the rear wall of the building.

Dashing up the fire escape, she jumped up and pulled herself onto the top of the building. Now that she was at close range and knew where to look, she could see it even while standing still. It was a faint shimmer, like the air above a fire, in a space about the size of a small truck.

She picked up a bit of loose shingle and touched it to whatever this thing was. There was a solid invisible object in front of her.

Carefully, she reached out and touched it, ready to jump back at full superspeed if anything happened. Nothing did. Feeling her way around, she confirmed her suspicion that it was an invisible vehicle. She grinned as the “Everybody remember where we parked” line from Star Trek IV ran through her head.

The heroine’s expression became more businesslike as she began searching for the vehicle’s driver. It didn’t take long—a nearby skylight had obviously been forced open, and as she peered down into the atrium she saw a flashlight beam shining through the fog.

Fog? Inside the museum building? Meteor Maid thought about that a moment. None of her foes had any particularly weather-related powers, but every so often a new one would show up or an old one would move to a new territory. Then she caught a glimpse of a figure in charcoal grey and crimson. It was too indistinct to be sure, but it looked like Madame Molecula. The fog would fit her chemical-gadgets M.O., and so did the targeting of an art museum.

Well, I can handle her. She lowered herself into the opening and dropped to the floor below.

That was a mistake, she realized just as it was too late to undo it. The legs that propelled her in superspeed sprints would absorb the four-story drop easily enough—she’d landed from a lot higher and been off and running a split second later—but the fall would take her just as long as it took anybody else. She should have found another way in, one that didn’t waste nearly two whole seconds while warning her opponent of her approach.

It shouldn’t matter, but it was careless. Better wrap this up fast once she got to the floor.

As she straightened up from the landing, she could see her quarry standing about twenty feet away. Her view was still shrouded by the fog, but at this somewhat closer range she could tell that it was definitely Madame Molecula. She raced across the room, holding back a bit for fear of accidentally knocking something over in her wake but moving more than fast enough to catch the thief before she could react.

Her view of the room shifted in ways that didn’t gibe with her movement. Suddenly, Molecula was beside her rather than in front of her—and then her footing gave out from under her. It was all Meteor Maid could do to keep upright as she skidded across the suddenly frictionless surface. She slid into a double velvet rope at fifty miles an hour and tumbled over. The next thing she knew, the ropes were winding around her, pinning her arms and legs. She tried quick-thrashing her limbs to shake off the bonds, but all that accomplished was to roll her onto her side.

The “velvet” was actually Molecula’s memory plastic, she realized. This whole setup—the vision-distorting fog, the slick floor, the disguised entangle—was a carefully arranged trap. And she’d charged right into it.

“Looks like I’ve caught myself a falling star,” Molecula quipped.

“Clever. Finally get bored with the ‘Meter Maid’ line?” That was a cheap shot—Molecula had never stooped to using that tired old gibe—but Meteor Maid needed to keep her foe off balance if at all possible. Molecula’s memory plastic was resistant to her vibrations, but would give way if she kept at it long enough—if her opponent gave her long enough....

The villainess slowly approached. She stopped about three feet away, and reached out to search by feel. Apparently the visual distortions affected her, too. Maybe that’ll give me enough time to break free, the heroine thought as she desperately pushed her powers to the limit.

Meteor Maid felt a hand against her butt. It stayed there for entirely too long a moment, then slid up her body and finally settled into place on her jaw. “Ah, there you are!” She saw Molecula unfold a little dust-screen mask from a pouch on her belt, and a moment later felt it pressed over her mouth and nose. There was a little “pop” sound and droplets of liquid spattering against her lips as her captor pinched the material.

She held her breath as long as she could. That wasn’t very long, not while using her powers right after having the wind knocked out of her. The last thing she knew, she was being picked up and carried in Madame Molecula’s arms.

ONE WEEK AGO, CONTINUED

She was standing up somehow.

As her head began to clear, Meteor Maid could feel something under her arms and around her upper thighs. Opening her eyes, she saw that thick black bands were looped over each shoulder and leg, with support lines running up toward the ceiling. She tried to reach for them, and found that her arms were bound behind her back.

Well, that shouldn’t be a problem. Even ropes made from Molecula’s self-repairing materials would give way after twenty or thirty seconds of super-vibration. She took a deep breath—through her nose; there was something the size of a golf ball stuck in her mouth—as she shook off the mental fog and prepared to literally bring herself up to speed.

Idly, she wondered how a non-powered hero like Vindiatrix got out of these situations. Of course, she kept all sorts of gadgets on her, but how did she get at the hidden ones from her gloves and boots when she got tied up like this?

Meteor Maid did a double take as she realized that she wasn’t wearing her gloves, or boots, or anything else besides the leather bands and the gag. She hadn’t noticed that at first because her skin was painted in the colors and pattern of her costume. Dammit, she was on display like some kind of porn model! Never mind that now, she told herself, just get out of here and worry about getting dressed later. If worst comes to worst, I can run home at top speed and nobody will really see anything. And then when I get my hands on that Molecula... the bitch probably took pictures to sell to some scummy tabloid....

The heroine threw her fury into action, working her arms and legs and rocking her body back and forth at superspeed. Soon, she’d get free, find her enemy, and give her a richly deserved ass-kicking....

Suddenly, she jerked to a halt as she felt something spray into her mouth from the ball clenched between her teeth. It tasted sour— Dammit! She knew I’d try vibrating my way out of this, so she filled this thing with soda water so it’d squirt out when I shook it up!

She tried harder than ever to break loose, not knowing how long she’d be able to keep it up before whatever she’d been dosed with took effect. It was harder than she’d expected; there was a layer of padding under the leather that damped out her vibrations more effectively than anything she’d ever encountered before. Worse, she felt herself beginning to falter, her efforts becoming weak and uncoordinated.

Finally, Meteor Maid’s body slumped, though she was still held almost fully upright by the cords and straps. Her head hanging low, she desperately thought, What am I gonna do? Somebody... somebody tell me what to do!

It didn’t occur to her to wonder why she wished for that, instead of for somebody to simply cut her loose.

She finally looked up as she heard a door open. Molecula strode into the room, closing the door behind her.

After taking a look at the ball gag, and staring into the captive’s eyes for a moment, she said, “I see that you’ve had your drink. By now, you should be relaxed enough to give up on attempting to escape... and suggestible enough to listen to what I have to say.”

Meteor Maid yelled a muffled protest into her gag.

“It’s a simple matter of brain chemistry... and no one does chemistry better than me.”

The superheroine’s eyes glanced at the stylized benzene ring on her captor’s breast... and then she blinked as her gaze moved a bit further down. Nipples? She put nipples on her bodysuit?

No, it wasn’t her bodysuit. Molecula, like Meteor Maid herself, was nude and body-painted in the pattern of her usual outfit. It looked the same at a quick glance—even her belt pouches were shaded to seem three-dimensional—but the difference was obvious when she looked at the other woman’s breasts and pubes and feet. Uncomfortably, she kept her eyes down and focused on the last of those sights.

“I see that you’ve noticed the body art. And you’ve realized that you’re also wearing paint instead of your usual outfit?” Without meaning to, Meteor Maid nodded confirmation.

“It would be perfectly understandable if you’d overlooked it. Really, the differences are so subtle. Allow me to show you.”

Molecula stepped to the side and thumbed a little device in her hand. A curtain at the side of the doorway rose to the ceiling, revealing a floor-to-ceiling display screen.

“Pay close attention.” The viewscreen began to shimmer, in a pattern of colors that drew the heroine’s gaze. “Watch the pictures. The pictures will tell you what you want to know... what you need to know....”

The shimmering colors resolved into a pair of life-size images showing Molecula from mid-calf upwards, as seen from behind. One showed her in costume. The other showed her as she appeared now, wearing only body paint, apparently taken a few moments ago by a camera in this room. Both displayed similar poses; the most obvious difference was that the painted image showed all the curves of her butt.

“You see? It’s so very easy to look at this...” An arrow indicated the costumed image “...and see this,” she continued, as the arrow flipped to indicate the painted one. “The fabric hugs most of the curves anyway. It’s trivial to fill in the rest in your mind’s eye—after all, you know perfectly well what a trim athletic female tush looks like. The difference between a costume that looks almost painted-on and one that is painted on isn’t very much at all.”

Meteor Maid stared at the displays. She wanted to look away... she could tell that this was leading somewhere she didn’t want to go... but somehow she simply couldn’t.

“Take a moment and concentrate on what I’ve told you and what I’ve shown you. Since we began here, have I told you anything that isn’t true? Anything at all?”

The bound woman stared even harder at the two depictions of her captor. No, she couldn’t deny that it took very little imagination to look at a spandex-clad butt and picture the fabric clinging a bit tighter until it followed even the inner curvature... to visualize the costume literally rather than figuratively painted on. Thinking back, she knew that Molecula wasn’t boasting when she claimed to do chemistry better than anyone else. She was simply stating a fact.

Was it simply a matter of brain chemistry? There had to be more to it than that! Her strength and determination had to count for something, right? Or could Molecula neutralize that as easily as she could neutralize a vial of acid by adding enough alkaline solution? Did she still have any real control over herself? Could she... could she take her attention away from where her captor was directing it?

“Does anything about those pictures show you that I’m wrong?”

Her thoughts went in circles... she had to look away to prove that Molecula was wrong... she had to look more closely to prove that Molecula was wrong... no, she had to look away... trying to look away made her feel like she was doing something she shouldn’t... trying to look closely made it harder to think....

“It’s the same with you,” her captor finally said, breaking that endless loop of thoughts just when she thought she might break out of it herself. Eventually. Somehow.

Now she was looking at costumed photo of herself. She recognized it as a publicity still from a fundraiser where she’d auctioned off a dinner date. She was leaning forward and to a bit sideways, in a way that showed off her boobs and hips and legs and even a bit of her rear. The image was paired with a front view of herself as she appeared now, naked and painted and bound.

“This is how you’ve been presenting yourself to the world, darling. Wearing an outfit that shows off everything. Really, this painted-on costume you’re wearing now is hardly any different. You know that people look at you and undress you with their eyes every day. All they have to do is visualize a few small details that are perfectly familiar to anybody old enough to take an interest.”

Molecula’s voice became especially compelling. “You know that it’s true.”

And she did.

“Look at yourself in that getup. You’re inviting people to visualize you naked.”

That was also true, she had to admit. She managed to focus her thoughts enough to tell herself that it was in a good cause, to encourage a gathering of mostly middle-aged men to open their checkbooks for charity... but that didn’t change the fact of it.

“Whenever you dress like this...” A half-dozen arrows blinked around her costumed image. “...you encourage people to see this.” Animated pulsating arrows now surrounded her naked image. It might have been her imagination, but to Meteor Maid it seemed that most of them pointed directly at her nipples and pussy.

Molecula continued in this vein, directing Meteor Maid’s attention to pairs of costumed and painted images. Over and over, she was reminded of how the two were very much alike, that the former was just as revealing as the latter.

She was unable to deny it. Then she was unable to remember why she was trying to deny it. At length, she accepted it.

After a while, the usual alternation between pictures of Meteor Maid and pictures of Molecula was replaced by an exclusive focus on the latter. These images were accompanied by new suggestions, describing how she would react to the other woman. Whenever she saw Molecula in costume, a naked and painted image would appear in her mind’s eye. Whenever she thought about Molecula for any reason, she would feel erotic desire. Molecula would appear in her dreams, and her daydreams, as a desirable sex object.

That didn’t seem quite right. Wasn’t she supposed to react that way to men, not other women? It was so confusing....

The images returned to their pattern of alternating between Meteor Maid and Molecula. Both were shown in costume and in paint, two trivial variations on their respective sexual displays. The voice stopped belaboring that point. What it focused on now was the distinction between two types of sexual display... that of a forceful and seductive conqueror, and that of someone offering herself as a conquest.

Specifically, that of Molecula the conqueror, and that of Meteor Maid the conquest. Additional suggestions reinforced this theme. Meteor Maid wanted someone to capture her, bind her, and take her for a lover. That was what she had always wanted. That was her most powerful sexual fantasy, secret even from herself. There was no reason to continue denying it, no reason to continue denying herself. She had put up a good fight, as much as anybody could expect from her, and now she was free to relax and let it happen. Letting it happen was so much easier than playing the complicated ever-shifting game of interpersonal relationships.

These statements were much less confusing than the previous ones, somehow. She accepted them without question.

Finally, the screen showed an image of the two women in costume— or was it body paint? Meteor Maid realized after a moment that the picture did show them in costume, but she preferred to visualize it the other way. It looked like artwork rather than a photograph, anyway. In the picture, Molecula held a leash, which was attached to a collar around Meteor Maid’s neck. There was no sign of struggle or conflict... just mutual acceptance of their respective roles.

Even before the new round of suggestions began, she understood. It was Molecula who would select her, take her, bind her, and make love to her. Actually, it was Molecula who had already done all but the last of those things... and surely that was only a matter of time. Her confusion returned: yes, this was her fantasy... but Molecula was a woman... she wanted this... she was straight... Molecula was attractive... making love to another woman would feel strange....

Then the voice in her ears made the turmoil in her mind subside. The desire to submit was her true sexual preference. Whether she submitted to a man or a woman was not important. In fact, switching her former gender preference would be the perfect way to make a new beginning as she embraced her submissive nature.

The last bit of uncertainty vanished as she understood that Molecula had been the one who had taken the initiative to bind her, and thereby liberate her to be her true self. What mattered was that action, that force of will, and the gratitude and love and obedience that she owed—and would gladly give—in return.

It all made perfect sense now.

Finally, the display screen shut off, and she closed her eyes. She let the voice continue to wash over her, reiterating comfortable thoughts that no longer needed any reinforcement:

“This is what you’ve always wanted, even if you’ve never realized that until now.”

“It has always been your secret fantasy to attract the attention of someone who would capture you, bind you, and take you as a lover.”

“It’s so difficult to find the right person. It’s so much easier to let the right person find you.”

“Just relax and let Molecula give you what you crave, what you need.”

She simply listened and absorbed. She was no longer sure whether the voice was in her ears or inside her own head. She could open her eyes and see if Molecula was still speaking to her, but it seemed like too much trouble.

“I’ve seen how you look longingly at the symbol on my chest... or, let us be honest, how you look longingly at my chest. That is why I wear an emblem that draws eyes to my bosom.”

This time, she could tell that it was Molecula’s voice, not her own musings. It didn’t matter all that much. Now that the confusion had gone away, the two were in perfect harmony, anyway.

Fingers traced the stylized meteor on her left breast. “And so do you. Each of us drew the other’s eyes there, and looked into those eyes to find what we’ve been looking for. The perfect seduction and conquest, for me. The perfect submission and surrender, for you.”

The fingers slid down to trace the lines separating two shades of blue. Those lines formed a “V” that extended from just below Meteor Maid’s bustline to a point just below her navel. “And to highlight your craving for sexual surrender, you wear a huge arrow pointing directly at your snatch, advertising the grand prize you offer to your conqueror.”

Molecula’s hands met at the vertex of the “V”, and then slid down just a bit further. Fingertips tickled and teased the bound woman’s freshly shaved pubes, a mere inch or so above her opening.

“And now the conquest you’ve been waiting for is almost complete. Your greatest fantasy is so close to being fulfilled. Deep down, you have known it ever since our first confrontation. Step by step, you have seduced me, driven me to make you mine, and finally delivered yourself into my clutches to helplessly await my pleasure.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, but became all the more intense for that. “I am your Mistress. You are my pet. That is how you want it to be, now and forever.“

Yes... yes, that’s what I want. It was the first completely clear thought in her head since the gag-ball spritzer had gone off.

She arched her body, raising her crotch to place her sensitive spots under Mistress’ fingers.

The fingers lifted away. Her eyes snapped open, and she grunted a protest into her gag.

“Soon, darling, soon. But not quite yet.” She stepped around behind her captive and reached for something hanging on the wall. “In a few moments, you will go to sleep. When you wake up, the last thing you will recall will be our confrontation at the museum. You will have no conscious memory of this encounter... but every word and image and sensation will remain with you. Every time you put on your costume, your desire to be sexually dominated will come closer to the surface. Every time you think about me, your attraction to me will grow stronger. You will accept these thoughts, and believe that they are your own idea.”

Madame Molecula gazed into Meteor Maid’s eyes more intensely than ever. “When we meet again, you will give yourself to me.”

Meteor Maid nodded.

“Very good.” In one smooth motion, she pressed a paper mask over her companion’s nose and mouth, not bothering to fasten the elastic band around her head. “Take a deep breath.”

The last thing Meteor Maid knew was the touch of their foreheads as she slumped forward.

ONE WEEK AGO, CONCLUDED

It shouldn’t be this drafty inside a museum was her first clear awareness.

Meteor Maid opened her eyes. She was outside, on a hard surface that sloped a bit.... After a moment, she recognized it as the roof of the museum, not far from the skylight where she’d entered.

Something must have made her drop me and run for it. She made a mental note to see if other local supers or her police contacts knew anything about that, and began vibrating herself free of her bonds. The memory plastic kept re-tightening itself every time she loosened it, but each time it did so a bit more slowly and less effectively. After fifteen seconds or so, she was able to shuck off the ropes.

She picked herself up and sighed. Molecula was long gone. All she could do now is go home, send out a few inquiries, and get some sleep. Better luck next time.

Somehow, Meteor Maid just knew that the outcome would be different when they met again. She looked forward to it.

LATER THIS EVENING

She paused at the threshold while Mistress did something to the memory-plastic coil looped around her body. It went slack and fell away, freeing her hands to remove their boots and set them in the hall closet. Following a gentle but irresistible tug on her leash, she then accompanied Mistress into her bedchamber.

A king-size bed dominated the far side of the room, but she was instead led toward an object resembling a mechanical-bull ride without a saddle. She stood at one end of it as her outer briefs were removed. Her tights were pulled down, but not taken completely off. Instead, they were turned inside-out around her calves, and each leg was wrapped around her ankle and clipped to the undercarriage of the structure.

She followed Mistress’ hand before her leash actually went taut, draping her upper body across the top of the leather-padded cylinder. There were handholds near the front; she grasped them and immediately looked up at Mistress with a worried expression—was she supposed to have done that?

Mistress just smiled and attached cuffs around her wrists. Apparently she was indeed supposed to grasp those handholds, and forbidden to let go of them. Then her leash was looped under the cylinder and clipped back onto itself, and supplemented by a couple of additional lines at the sides of her collar.

That left her just enough freedom to lift her head in response to a touch under her chin. In her other hand, Mistress held a long tubular object with a little knob at each end.

“Open wide....” She did, and took one end of it into her mouth. Mistress slid it back and forth a bit, and then pulled it back. “Now lick it all over... get it nice and slick and wet....”

She did, licking it from tip to Mistress’ fingers. She covered every bit of surface her tongue could reach, three times over—in about half a second.

Mistress’ eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets.

She was glad that Mistress seemed pleased with her performance, but it bothered her that the job wasn’t done. It wasn’t her place to speak, of course, so she explained her problem by glancing at the rod and doing a sort of sideways turn with her head. Mistress blinked, and then shifted the rod, rotating and flipping it until the bound woman’s tongue had moistened its entire surface.

Then, the middle of the rod was placed across her mouth, clamped between her teeth like a dog’s bone. Mistress stepped closer, and closer still, until her entire field of view was filled with crimson outer briefs and grey-clad upper thighs, just barely far enough away for her eyes to focus on them. Mistress hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the briefs and pushed them down until they fell down her legs. Her gaze lowered to follow them.

“Hello? My snatch is up here!”

Abashed at the chiding, she quickly lifted her head, giving a quick apologetic glance and then getting her face precisely level and pointed directly forward. She heard the sound of a zipper to her left, and then to her right, and then saw the grey fabric fall away, but kept her eyes firmly front and center. Her entire attention focused on a little triangle of sheer black fabric, the damp spot at the middle of it, and the plainly visible contours behind it.

The thong began sliding downward, inch by slow inch. The waistband lowered to reveal freshly-shaved pubes, and eventually exposed a bit of cleft and brighter pink within. She remembered how often she’d been irritated at how the world seemed to move at a snail’s pace compared to her superspeed, and now felt that frustration worse than ever... but of course it wasn’t her place to protest. Mistress would set the pace, and she would follow, and the pleasure would be all the greater when it arrived.

Finally, she had a clear view of Mistress’ pussy. Her gaze focused on her clit, visibly aroused and awaiting attention. She took a deep breath of musky scent. Mistress was so very excited... she must have iron self-control to refrain from simply taking her immediately.

Her own self-control was long gone. If she weren’t holding this thing in her mouth, and if Mistress gave the slightest hint of permission, she would strain her bonds to the limit trying to reach the target.

It wasn’t her decision. She didn’t have to worry about what to do next. Mistress would take care of that. Remembering that made the tension go away while keeping the excitement sharper than ever.

Any remaining temptation vanished as Mistress stepped back. The rod was taken from her mouth and bent into a wide curve, and then she was again sucking on the tip of it. Slowly, Mistress maneuvered the other end between her pussy lips and then wriggled her body closer as it slid into her.

“Work it with your tongue, darling... faster... harder....”

She did, licking and sucking and wiggling, applying her superspeed to the job until the staff quivered. Before long, Mistress’ hips began to quiver as well.

“Ohhhh... don’t... stop....”

Unsure whether she was being told to stop, or to not stop, she paused for a moment and then resumed her oral manipulations.

“Stop.” She did. Mistress took a deep breath, “One last slow lick to get it good and wet... now, open wide....” Mistress slowly backed away, taking the rod in one hand to be sure it stayed firmly in place within her.

She watched out the corner of her eye as Mistress walked around her and stood directly behind her. Fingers briefly caressed and squeezed her butt, and then moved down to her legs, silently but insistently urging her to straighten her knees and lift her rear end. With that done, a hand reached under her, tickling her week-old regrowth of pubic hair and then settling into place to stroke her folds. A moment later, she felt her pussy lips spreading apart and a hard object— obviously the tip of the staff—probing at the space between them.

“This is it, darling. Just one firm thrust, and I shall make you completely and irrevocably mine. If you feel any reluctance, any resistance at all, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

She didn’t feel any such thing. She felt only desire for Mistress to get on with it. If her submission had cracked at all, it would have been to complain about being kept waiting. As it was, she allowed a low moan to escape her lips and nudged her hips downward just a bit, sending a hint and also maneuvering that big hard rod a bit closer to her clit.

Hands took hold of her hips. “Hold still....” Nothing happened as seconds that seemed like minutes went by, and she wondered if the delay was a punishment for her presumption.

And then she shuddered as the rod penetrated her, fast and hard. She gasped as it was pressed home, Mistress gripping her hips firmly and pressing their bodies tight together.

Mistress chuckled. “Now, darling... shake your booty!”

She obeyed, working her hips and thighs at normal speed for a moment, and then beginning to use her superspeed, cranking it up until her body and Mistress’s body and the leather support vibrated. Most of all, the rod within her vibrated, and she began to pant with excitement.

There had been other occasions when she’d tried using her superspeed during sex, when one of her boyfriends had been bold enough to suggest it or brave enough to go along when she suggested it. It had never worked out, though. She always had to hold back for fear of injuring her partner—and she always did, right in his ego. Every time, she’d get herself revved up to a certain speed, the vibrations would start to hit the right spots... and his erection would soften and collapse under the soft but rapid pummeling. She’d considered trying to seduce one of the local super-strong heroes, but decided it wouldn’t help—she’d heard that those particular muscles generally were no stronger than normal... and if they were, she’d have worse problems than frustration before it was over.

And so she’d given up on the idea, except in private with her toys. They stayed hard long enough for her to cum, but afterwards she’d always felt the need for something more.

As she cut loose with full-throttle vibration, she knew that this was how to make it work. Her and another woman, sharing a good strong double dong. It had just been a matter of finding the right woman—one who wanted her, understood what she needed, and was forceful enough to drag her out of her comfort zone and give it to her. She was glad that Mistress had done that for her.

Her train of thought dissolved as the physical sensations hit her more and more intensely. She was aware of nothing but the need to keep the motion going, occasionally punctuated by a shift of the hips in a futile but still irresistible drive to impale herself even more deeply onto the rod. Her world was all shaking and thrusting and breathing and moaning. The closest thing to a coherent thought in her head was Ohhh... Yes... Mistress... Fuck me harder!

A sudden jolt drove the staff a bit deeper into her, and her body trembled as it rubbed hard against a trigger spot. She was going to cum any moment now....

Mistress screamed, and lurched into her harder than ever. That sent her over the edge.

It was the most spectacular orgasm of her life... nothing but pure joy that seemed like it had always been there and always would.

Eventually, she started floating down from the climax. As the afterglow washed over her, she wondered if she was so drained that she was simply going to lie draped over this thing for the rest of her life. If so, it would be worth it.

And then somehow she didn’t feel drained at all. She felt all right now... no, she felt much better than “all right”. In fact, she felt like... like she had to speak up, whether it was her place or not.

“Again, Mistress?”

There was no reply for several seconds. She felt the rod being pulled out, and then Mistress’ body draping over her own. Hands took hold of her boobs, and lips kissed her ear.

“You... you could do that again? I mean... right now?” Mistress sounded... awed. She felt a warm glow of satisfaction.

Finally, Mistress climbed off her and stood at her side. She began undoing her restraints, and finally lifted her to her feet, swept her into her arms, and carried her toward the bed.

“Thank you, but no. Strange as it may seem, for the rest of the night I’d like to try taking it slow.”