The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Neighbors From Back When

DJ Gaspar had barely been home long enough to take his jacket off when the doorbell rang. The clock in the living room read 11:30, and he’d been planning on going straight to bed. It had been a long day, and as an extrovert it had been doubly long. Still, the time and the timing of the doorbell suggested it was something important. He opened the door, and standing there on his doorstep was the least likely person he could have conceived.

The hot little redhead girl from this afternoon.

“Uh…” he managed impressively.

“Hi! You’re DJ Gaspar, right?” She was grinning ear to ear. As friendly as she looked, it was nonetheless disconcerting.

“Yeah, that’s right… sorry, I forgot…”

“Tabitha, but I go by Tabby now. Hooper. From next door? You know, not actually, but kind of.”

“That’s it, yes, of course. Um… what can I do for you Tabby?”

She giggled, and though he’d spent all of twenty minutes of his life in her company, it was a jarring sound. Her whole aesthetic was pure goth. Or at least, it had been when they’d met this afternoon. That wine red hair streaked with purple on skin that looked to have never seen the sun; black t-shirt and black jeans over black boots, fingernails (and probably toes) painted black to match. It had struck him as a bit cliché, even somewhat anachronistic for a modern teenage girl.

Presently, she was still in all black, only the baggy t-shirt she’d been wearing was now form-fitting, encasing a pair of prominent breasts. DJ barely noticed that, however, once he realized she was wearing a pair of Daisy Duke style jean cut-offs, only these were black denim—like she’d been wearing this afternoon, only about two and a half feet shorter. Or, more aptly put, about six inches long. Her bared legs were two rivers of cream pouring out of those shorts.

“Can I come in?” she asked in response.

Warning bells reverberated around his skull. Her attractiveness had been noticeable when he’d met her and her family that afternoon; now, she was the very vision of a piece of gothy jailbait. “I’m actually just on my way to bed,” the man said guardedly. He could envision little good coming from a man in his thirties inviting a strange seventeen-year-old girl into his home with no witnesses. “Maybe you could just tell me what you’re doing here?”

“Oh, don’t let me stop you from going to bed!” She looked around, then spoke in a soft tone. “Do you want me to come with? You could, like, play with my titties!”

He blinked. “OK, I don’t know what kind of weird prank you’re pulling or who put you up to it, but it’s late, and I’m tired, so good night.”

Eerily, her smile didn’t fade as he closed the door in her face. “OK, so like, you want me to just wait here then?”

“Sure. do that.” DJ locked the door and retreated into his apartment. “Kids these days,” he grumbled as he went around closing the blinds and, just to make sure, double-checked the window locks.

What a weird girl. What was her game? Was she a thief? A hooker? Was she just off her meds or something? How had she even found him? Considering how quickly she’d rang the doorbell after his arrival, DJ wondered if she’d followed him home. What the hell?

As he slipped out of his clothes and into hisbed, DJ tried to make sense of it. Today, he and his parents had gone to spend some time with their neighbors, the Whitleys, from when he’d been a kid. The two families had been really close, and now that Mom and Dad were retired and had moved back to the area, they’d decided to reconnect.

It had been surreal, seeing the old neighborhood, the house DJ had grown up in. The family the Gaspars had sold the house to had since resold it, so the they didn’t even have that flimsy pretext to knock on the door and peek inside at their old home. The Whitleys still lived right where they had since before DJ was born. The elderly couple had gone out of their way to introduce his parents to the family on the other side of his childhood home, as they had some common interests with his parents.

That was where he’d met that girl. Tabby, he thought she’d said. Or Tabitha? She’d said something weird about her name, he was pretty sure, but he was tired and had been too surprised to take it in. Regardless, she’d been the bored teen who looked annoyed at the intrusion on her facebook-browsing, and had probably said three words to the Gaspars and Whitleys in their brief visit.

Then they’d gone back to the Whitleys, had dinner and drinks, and finally he’d come home. That girl hadn’t been a blip on his radar, and if she’d crossed his path more casually, he doubted if he would have even recognized her.

So why had she followed him home? Why had she said… that?

“Good morning, DJ!”

“GHAAAAAAA, FUCK!” he screamed in a much higher pitch than he would like to admit to, dropping his briefcase and quite nearly jumping out of his skin. It was 7:30 the next morning, and there she was again! (Still?)

“I’m sorry, did I scare you?”

“Ya think?” he groused, picking up his briefcase. Still, DJ decided; she was wearing the same goth-skanky outfit. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I wanted to, you know, talk to you. Could we… in private?” Her sparkling eyes darted to his front door.

“Look, be straight with me. Are you trying to rob me or something? Case my house?”

She giggled, and again it sounded strange. This girl did not look like a giggler. “No, of course not!”

DJ waited for her to offer more, but she didn’t. “Look, don’t you have, I dunno, school or something?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m a senior at JFK.”

“Go Panthers,” he said half-heartedly. “You better hurry up. Doesn’t school start soon?”

“I’ll go if you want me to,” she said gamely. “Could you give me a ride?”

He gritted his teeth. It would make him late to drop her off, but he was honestly too curious to pass up. It wasn’t the titties. Erm, breasts. It wasn’t those. “Fine. But we need to hurry. You’re OK going to school in… that?” he said, gesturing to her outfit. It definitely would have violated the hell out of the dress code back when he went to JFK.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she said with another giggle, giving a slow twirl for his benefit. Holy shit those things were cut short in the back. This girl had one hell of an hourglass figure, and that ample behind of hers was spilling out the bottom enough that he could see the bottom of her cheeks. “Don’t you think I look sexy?”

What the hell was her game? “Look, let’s just go, OK?”

She clapped her hands giddily and skipped—literally skipped—along behind him to his car, sliding into the front seat. He couldn’t be sure if she crossed her legs like that just to better show off her thigh or if it was just habit.

“So, you got me all to yourself. Mind telling me what in the hell is going on? Why you followed me to my home? And did you sleep on my front doorstep, by the way?”

“Oh, I slept in my car,” she said, pointing to a little black sedan parked just down the street. My foot was moving toward the brakes to throw her ass out when she went on. “And I was just coming over to serve you, Master.”

DJ impressed himself just then by not careening through the intersection and killing them both. “What the hell did you just say?”

She laughed. “I said I slept in my car, and I came over to serve you, Master.”

He took a few deep breaths before proceeding across the stop sign. “What do you mean, ‘Master’? Are you… are you all right?”

“I’m great, Master! Better than ever, in fact. Before you, I was so angry and sad, but now I know what I’m meant to do with my life. Yaaay!” She clapped her hands giddily.

“Before me? We just met yesterday—barely! Why are you… just why?”

She shrugged, weighty breasts bouncing in her skintight top. “I dunno. I just heard your name, and then I realized… you’re the man I’m meant to give myself to.” Her voice took on a dreamy quality. “My heart belongs to DJ Gaspar. My mind belongs to DJ Gaspar. My body belongs to DJ Gaspar.”

He drove in silence for a few blocks. Those words… why did they sound…

“Why did you wait until we were in the car to say something? Why didn’t you say anything last night?”

“When we are in private, DJ Gaspar is my master. I… I guess I thought maybe you didn’t want me to serve you out in the open.”

“What do you mean by serve? You don’t mean, like… serve serve, do you?”

“Of course, Master! What else would I mean?” She giggled, but then her voice went back into that dreamy, rote tone. “I serve my master with my hands. I serve my master with my mouth. I serve my master with my cunt. I serve my master with my titties. I serve my master with my ass. I serve my master with my heart and my soul.”

Dammit, why did that sound so familiar?! But they couldn’t be. Those words were… they were crazy.

Then she started repeating them. On loop.

Frankly, it disintegrated his will to continue the interrogation. He drove toward his old high school, mesmerized by this teenage girl repeating in detail which parts of her belonged to him. Which, it seemed, was any of them he might conceivably want to make use of, and a couple he hadn’t even considered.

Soon—too soon—he pulled into the JFK High School parking lot. “You’re sure you want me to go to school? I’d be happy to go with you to work, or wherever you’re going. I could kneel under your desk and suck your nummy ummy cock all day. Or you could take me back home and I could lube up my cute little titties and you could titty-fuck me and come all over my face and my tiny titties and—”

When the light bulb suddenly went off, his foot slammed on the brakes so hard she nearly hit her head on the dashboard, and the car behind him very nearly rear-ended him. “Sorry, sorry—are you OK?”

“I’m fine, Master—just surprised is all. Are you OK?”

“I… we’re going to your house. OK?”

She smiled. “OK. Mom and Dad will already be at work, so we’ll have the whole thing to ourselves. I can’t wait to see how you use my hot slutty body, Master!”

The mismatched pair left JFK High School at a race. Succumbing to the temptation, he told her to remind him how she serves her master, and with a broad grin she dove right back into it. The girl was still repeating it when they pulled up in her driveway, right next door to his childhood home. “Oh goody, we’re here! Would you like me to change into something more pleasing to you, Master? Or to strip naked, show you my itty bitty suckable titties?”

DJ couldn’t help looking over her nubile young body, then made himself get out of the car without another word. It had been, in fact, her references to how small her boobs were that had jogged his memory. Those boobs of hers were probably DD’s. No reasonable person would call them little, or tiny, or itty-bitty, or whatever else she had. DJ had realized… she wasn’t describing her boobs at all.

She was describing Brianne Levett’s.

Tabby skipped along behind him as he made his way to one of her house’s side windows. Behind him, across a few dozen feet of lawn and behind a tree that had done far less to obscure is view twenty-some years ago when he had lived there, was the bedroom window he’d had as a boy. Now it was someone else’s, just like the one in front of him.

As the waters of this river of nostalgia threatened to pull him under, he let those dusty memories guide his hands. There, underneath the window, a loose panel of siding that, with a little jiggling, popped right off. Underneath was a layer of particle board, but there was a small piece only held on by friction, cut away from the main board when the window had been installed, apparently. Behind that, a layer of insulation, and when he pulled that out…

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” DJ said to himself.

As a boy, he had always been into techie stuff. He’d flown rockets in 4H, built simple robots for science competitions, gone to state for Science Olympiad. Decades passed and he’d turned his hobby into a job working for an industrial lab and had normaled out socially. But back then, he’d been a geek to the core. Like most geeks, he had only two things on his mind: his subgenre of geekdom, and girls.

There, still fastened to the back of the drywall was an old mp3 player. The recharging plug ran a short ways to where he’d long ago spliced it into the house’s electrical system. The screen still showed the sound file it was playing: brianneismine.mp3, and an icon showed it was still on loop.

“Um, what’s that?” Tabby asked behind him, her breasts pressed against the back of his arm as she peered over his shoulder.

“It’s… nevermind, probably better you don’t know.” Was that ever an understatement. He’d read something about subliminal messages in eighth grade, and hatched this insane, perverted scheme. It was the exact kind of blunt-force tactic a pubescent 13-year-old would apply. A half hour’s worth of subliminal commands, several of which he’d just heard Tabby repeating on the way over.

It was a little bit clever, at least. One week while the Levetts were on vacation, he’d patched the thing into Brianne’s speakers, which were built into the walls. DJ was now pretty sure those speakers had been left behind when Brianne’s family moved away, shortly before his own had done the same, during freshman year. He’d disabled the speakers’ ability to power off, and made it so whenever they were in the off position, they played his mp3 on loop at a level too quiet to make out. He remembered his own tests, and with his ear pressed against it, he could just barely hear it.

Nothing had ever come of it. Young DJ had been a mixture of terrified that the Levetts would find it and he’d get in huge trouble and tell everyone at school, and hopeful that one day Brianne would knock on his bedroom door and… well, say exactly what Tabby had been saying. Instead, it went nowhere. He figured he’d messed it up somewhere, or that the science behind the subliminal programming was bogus. Before long, he’d forgotten all about it and moved on, content that he couldn’t use such simplistic tactics to create the perfect woman out of his pretty next-door neighbor.

At least, perfect as he’d imagined it when he’d been 13. When Brianne Levett and her tiny titties had appeared nightly in his dreams.

Tabby smiled at his dismissal. “You’re soooo right. Boys are so much smarter than girls.” She giggled again. Ugh, there was some nice misogyny to go with the enslavement. He winced.

“This is your bedroom, I take it?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Wanna see? I got a nice big bed.”

“Have you ever… had problems with the speakers?”

She made a face. “Speakers? Those things were, like, glued into these little holes in the wall when I moved in. I use ear buds for music, so they just kind of sit there. I think my dad said the people who used to live here had promised to remove them and patch the walls, but they didn’t. He was mad.”

“Of all the… Tell me, Tabby. What’s your cup size?”

“Double D,” she said, smile brightening. She was obviously happy he was finally beginning to show interest in her offers.

“And what do you call these?” DJ pointed at her chest.

“My mini-titties! Wanna see?” Tabby grabbed the hem of her shirt and readied to lift it.

“Not yet. So tell me, why mini titties? They’re not exactly mini.”

She shrugged, letting go of her shirt. “I dunno. That’s just how I think of them. My cute little tiny titties.”

DJ stroked his chin. What the hell else had he put in that sound file? How many ways might he have broken this girl’s brain?

“Brrr, it’s chilly out here. Can you see how hard my nipples are?”

Like that, he was fully back in the present. He could indeed see Tabby’s nipples. Just barely, he could see in her bedroom window to that big bed she had mentioned. That bright hopeful smile on her face, just waiting for him to take advantage of her teenage body.

Not ten feet from where he was standing, he could see her bed through the slats of the blinds. A bed in which, he was utterly confident, this walking talking set of T&A would give herself to him in any way he could imagine, and after what her brain had been through, she could probably come up with a few ways he couldn’t. This, right here, what his adolescent self had dreamed of from Brianne Levett, he could fuck, now, and whenever he wanted. He closed his eyes, dredged up the memories of her, imagined her offering himself to him just as Tabby was.

Only… in his memory, Brianne hadn’t aged. She was still the same fresh-faced fourteen-year-old she’d been when he last saw her. DJ, however, was no longer a child himself, and the imagery—coupled with Tabby wondering aloud if she could fit both nipples into his mouth—reminded him of what exactly he’d been so close to doing.

This girl was, for all intents and purposes, a child. Whatever her physical maturity, in the eyes of the law she was still just someone’s kid. She was ditching school, abusing her mom and dad’s trust, giggling adorably… because those were what children did.

“I… I have to go.”

Tabby nodded. “Cool! Where would you like to go, M… Mr. Gaspar?” Her programming must be prohibiting her from calling him “Master” out in the open like this. Because she thought of herself as his sex slave. His nubile, curvy fuck toy. His warm, wet, willing place to shove his cock. The stream of gutter-talk he’d programmed into that mp3 were coming back to him.

He shook himself out of it.

“I’m going to work. You… we can’t do this. Don’t come after me again, understand?”

She frowned. “So, like, wait here then?”

But DJ was already running back to his car. As he started the engine, he could hear her calling out to him. “OK then! Look forward to seeing you soon!”

“Hello, is this DJ Gaspar?” a strange woman’s voice asked on a drizzly evening two days later.

“This is. May I ask who’s calling?” He didn’t usually answer unknown numbers, but it was the local area code, and he was always nervous he’d accidentally ignore an emergency.

“This is Susan Hooper.”

DJ nearly dropped the phone. Hooper.

Tabby’s mother.

“Oh. Err, hello Mrs. Hooper. How are you this evening?”

“I’m fine,” she said coolly. “I was hoping you’d be willing to meet me to discuss… well, just to meet with me. I’d prefer to talk face to face, if that’s all right.” Her tone conveyed that he would soon be meeting her face to face, like it or not.

“Oh. Can I, ah, ask what this is in regards to?”

“My daughter.” She said nothing further. He got the impression she wouldn’t even if he asked.

No sense playing stupid, he thought. “I see.”

“So, can I meet you?”

“Yes, I suppose I could. When is a good time for you? I’m free—”

“I can meet you right now, if that’s all right. I’d really rather address this sooner rather than later.”

“Oh. Um…” DJ racked his brain for an excuse, taking so long to do so that she had to have realized that’s exactly what was happening. “Sure, I guess. Where should we—”

“My daughter told me your address. I can just come there.”

“But wouldn’t you rather…” She’d hung up. “Well shit.”

He ran through the downstairs on a cleaning rampage. Not that a tidy living room was apt to make Mrs. Hooper feel better about having a brainwashed sex slave of a daughter. If that was why she was coming. It could be… or, um…

He refocused on cleaning, still at it when the doorbell rang. He knew how long that drive was; Mrs. Hooper must have come straightaway to have arrived so soon. He set down the throw blanket he’d been folding and went to the door, mentally preparing himself for the most awkward conversation of his life. And wondering if any of his friends could recommend a good lawyer.

He ushered Tabby’s mother in immediately once he saw she was standing out in the rain, her overcoat nearly soaked just from the short walk from her car. “Thank you,” she said, shaking her umbrella and leaning it on the wall near the door.

“Let’s have a seat, and—can I take your coat?”

“Again, thank you,” she said, shedding her trenchcoat and handing it over. DJ almost dropped it in the transfer. He’d noticed she was a fairly attractive woman when they’d first met, but then she’d been wearing loose-fitting jeans and an old sweatshirt. And she’d been sitting next to her husband, which had precluded him from internalizing it.

Today, she was wearing the hell out of a blue and white striped house dress, tight across her trim mid-section and plenty tighter across her ample chest, cleavage in abundance in a square neckline. Aside from having chestnut brown hair instead of that deep red, Susan was indeed her daughter’s mother.

He didn’t let his eyes stray lower.

Such thoughts were mostly banished from his mind by the time they were seated in the living room, him in his armchair and her on the loveseat, prettily crossing a pair of slender thighs. “Let me just cut to the chase, if I may, Mrs. Hooper. I know why you’re here, and let me assure you that nothing happened between your daughter and I. The whole thing was just a bizarre coincidence, and I promise you I would never take advantage of a girl Tabby’s age. What happened was all because… well, it’s hard to explain, but it was something a long, long time ago, when I was just a stupid, misguided kid with a crazy science experiment that I was sure had never worked. To find out it was still operating after all this time, and more insane still, that it had worked… I was as shocked as I’m sure you were. If you need any help, erm, disabling it, I’d be happy to, though I understand completely if you’d prefer I keep my distance, considering. And again, just to stress the point, absolutely nothing happened between us. I never laid so much as a finger on her, hand to god.”

Finally, he stopped to take a breath, looking for a reaction from his guest. Anger, confusion, understanding, concern, whatever.

What he got instead was the sudden appearance of a bright grin and a vapid giggle. “So, would you like to lay a finger on someone?” She uncrossed her legs, leaving them far enough apart to make him certain she wasn’t wearing panties.

“Mrs. Hooper! I… no, I would not like to lay a finger on a married woman! Why would you…” He paused. This had happened already once this week, and he wasn’t entirely dense. “Say, the master bedroom wouldn’t by any chance share a wall with Tabby’s, would it?”

“It sure does. You wanna see? I’d be happy to give you a nice long tour of my bedroom, Master!” She giggled again.

I sighed. What on earth had he done to this family? Had it affected this woman’s husband, too? And if so, how? DJ imagined him fondling his nonexistent titties and begging him to take his ass. Flattering, but not exactly his scene.

Then Mrs. Hooper took her dress off.

There was no fanfare, no ceremony or seductiveness to it. She simply stood up, reached behind her to undo the zipper, and lowered it to the ground. She was stunning. DJ had seldom seen women her age—his age—who’d kept themselves together so well. Flat stomach, matronly—but sexy matronly—hips, well-rounded boobs… If they weren’t as perky as her daughter’s so be it; these at least were a woman’s boobs, not the practically pornographic impossibility that rendered Tabby practically a cartoon of femininity.

Like her daughter, her pussy was totally shaved. He had to wonder if that was a deliberate instruction from his recording.

When he didn’t answer, she just went on. “Or would you rather fuck me here? Just pick a hole—or my cute little titties!—and we can do it. My cunt belongs to DJ Gaspar. My ass belongs to DJ Gaspar. My titties belong to DJ Gaspar. My mouth belongs to DJ Gaspar.”

“What about your heart, mind, and soul,” he muttered dryly.

“Oh, like, totally those too!” And she proceeded with that aspect of the chant. The chant that had infested his dreams these past few days.

“You’ve definitely taken care of yourself, Mrs. Hooper, I’ve got to hand it to you,” he said, mulling over his options.

“Oh, just call me Suzi!” Her only other response was to giggle, fall to her knees and crawl to his feet. There she nuzzled at his rapidly growing erection through his pants.

He could do this. Hell, he owed it to himself, didn’t he? The thought of another man being given such an opportunity and turning it down was laughable. Insulting, even. It’s not like this was his fault. Not really. She was an adult woman, capable of making her own… well, not any more, but still. Not like she was a virgin. Tabby was evidence enough of that.

“Go on. Suck it.”

“Yaaaay! I can’t wait to find out how much I’ll love sucking Master’s cock all the time like the big dumb cock-sucking slut I am!”

“Yeesh, teenage me laid it on pretty thick,” he muttered.

Suzi clapped her hands giddily and tore into his pants. He was springing forth into the open air in mere seconds, and Mrs. Hooper—Suzi—gasped in delight. His cock was pretty close to full mast as it was, but she immediately gave her palms a couple thorough licks and starting jerking tenderly.

And somehow, when he should have been paying attention to a dozen other things—the rapturous delight on her face, the feel of her hot breath on the tip of his cock, the way her tits bobbled side to side as she worked—but no. He had to seize in on the least convenient detail of this whole glorious moment.

There, moving rhythmically up and down his shaft, was her wedding ring.

“Suzi, stop.”

She looked up at him. “Was I going too slowly, Master? I’d be happy to drag this out all night if you want. I practice on my hubby all the time so I’d be ready if I ever met you. I’m a very skilled cock-sucker, honest.”

“You’re a married cock-sucker. Err, woman. Come on, up up up.” DJ helped her to her feet, but she looked none too eager to be standing instead of kneeling.

“Oh, but it smelled so nummy ummy, Master!” she pouted. “You know, if you think I’m being a bad, bad girl, you could just bend me over and smack my bad little ass. Would you like that, Master?”

“Nope, we’re getting you dressed, and you’re going back to your daughter and your husband.”

Dressing her took more prodding and demanding than it seemed like it should for a mind-fucked sex slave. She kept offering to let him fuck the parts she was putting clothing back over, asking him to give her “a nice case of cum-breath to gloat to Tabby with,” and so on. Finally he got the dress and coat on, and held the front door open for her.

“But… a huge mega super slut like me needs to be fucked all the time!” She stamped her feet crankily, but DJ nonetheless whisked her out the door, almost forgetting to give her back her umbrella.

“When can I see you again?” she called through the door. Though she was more discrete out in public, like her daughter, he couldn’t miss that when she was asking to see him, her tone said she was asking to fuck him.

“Don’t call me; I’ll call you. OK? And for the love of god tell your husband I don’t want to see him either. Now go home.” There. Firm. He watched her walk back to her car, where she spent a few minutes not-so-subtly groping her breasts and quite possibly fingering herself. A bizarre enough sight, but a hundred times more so when he realized Tabby was sitting in the back seat staring at his front door with a look of raw lust.

Then the car drove away, and they each maintained their stare until the vehicle made a turn and they were gone.

DJ Gaspar didn’t get much sleep the next few nights. Never one to remember his dreams, he compensated by reliving his encounters with Suzi and Tabby. How eager they’d been. How generous. How fucking sexy.

He found himself going out of his way to drive by the old neighborhood, just to see if he could catch a glimpse of them. The most he saw was a light going out once in Tabby’s bedroom. Which presumably meant Tabby was in there. In bed. What kind of pajamas was she wearing? Any?

But he had done the right thing. He at least had that solace. He’d come as close as a man could come to having his will break, but he’d kept to the high road. It was probably the most difficult choice he had ever made. Maybe it had been twenty-some years since he’d hatched that scheme to enslave Brianne Levett, but he had come face to face with the truth that the things that had lit his pilot as a young man still did. One more lascivious offer, one more glimpse of those breasts, one more inane giggle… he would have broken, for sure.

So DJ did what he could to keep himself occupied. He worked late. He hit the gym. He reorganized everything in his house he could think to reorganize. Little by little, the passage of time allowed him to resume his normal routine, and the whole incident was on its way to becoming a memory. A very vivid memory, but a memory only.

(Had Tabby turned 18 yet?)

(No. No, it was still wrong. More or less. No.)

Then one Saturday afternoon, there was a knock at the door. DJ figured it was his neighbor’s kid with the girl scout cookies he’d ordered. Mrs. Wong had said she’d be by this weekend. DJ shuffled over to the door, wallet in hand, and opened the door. Where he was met with the visage of a total stranger, a redhead probably in her early 20’s.

But despite never seeing her before, he had no doubt as to her last name.

She had her little sister’s red hair but her mother’s hazel eyes, and the trademark Hooper hourglass figure. Curves for days, just like the rest of the family. They were much better concealed beneath a simple yellow sweater and beigeslacks, but he only glanced rather than stared.

After all, the woman had a gun pointed at him.

“Don’t say a word,” she said in a low voice. She gestured for him to move back, then followed him in and shut the door behind her. In spite of her command he found his mouth opening to ask for a chance to explain, but she cocked her gun, his jaw clicking shut the next instant.

“My name is Jessica Hooper. I think you know my family. And I think you know why I’m here, you son of a bitch.”

She hadn’t said he could speak, so he merely nodded. She was slowly advancing on him. Not knowing what else to do, he just kept backing away.

“I don’t know what you did to my parents and my sister, but you were damn sloppy about it. Imagine my surprise when I visit home, thinking I’ll surprise my parents and take them out to dinner, and instead find…” She shuddered. “At first, I thought I’d slipped into some alternate reality. Both of my parents fired from their jobs, Tabby dropped out of school… everyone perfectly content with it. I asked and asked what had happened, but they all just kept giving me the same vague bullshit about how they’d reexamined their priorities.”

She finally pushed him far enough that he fell backward onto his armchair. Where Suzi Hooper had crawled to him and begged to suck his cock. At least he’d die in the company of a happy memory.

“When I couldn’t get any details out of them, I started doing some sleuthing. I couldn’t get anything out of their bosses or from Tabby’s school, so I had to go with what we had on hand. And what do I find but an old letter from school about a truancy. My sister’s been a worse and worse student ever since we moved to this town when she was in elementary school, but she’s never been one to break rules or cut class. So I ask her what’s up. She turns bright red and gives me this bullshit lie about meeting some friends. Pathetic lie. Then she runs into her room, and I thought she was crying, but no. I listen at the door, and she’s in there…”

Her glare intensified, and DJ worried she might pull the trigger than and there. But she took a deep breath and continued. “So I ask Mom and Dad about it; Mom says she dealt with it and not to worry about it. Except I point out that she obviously didn’t, because Tabby got kicked out of school two weeks later, and I tell her how when I asked Tabby about it, she slammed the door in my face so she could jill herself off. You know what my dad said to that?”

DJ shook his head.

“Nothing. He just laughed, like it was nothing unusual. Mom just said not to worry about it, and changed the subject. So by now, I’m in full-on pod people paranoia mode. Only as I think about it, something clicks about her saying she dealt with it, so… I go to her car, check the GPS history, and see that two days after, Mom made a visit to a residential address I’ve never heard of. I asked her, as casual as I could, who she knew there, and you know what she does?”

“Run to her room and…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Hot, yes, but also a potential trigger for the trigger lady.

“Penny for the smart fellow,” she said sarcastically. “So now I know I’m on to something. I couldn’t find anything online about who lives here, but one of your neighbors gave me a last name. I run a search. Not from my phone, but from my mom’s. You’re not connected, I find, but I see another friend by that name, recently added. Maggie Gaspar. Your mom, right? I call pretending to be a debt collector, and she insists her dear Dwayne would never fall behind. Seems your mom thinks a lot of you, eh Dwayne?”

He winced. That sure sounded like his mother.

“So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to fix whatever you did to them. Then I’m going to let them decide what happens to you—and if they need my gun to do it, I’ll happily provide it.”

“You’re not really giving much incentive,” he said as boldly as he dared. His mouth had never been so dry.

“Or you can refuse, and I can blow your fucking dick off and let you bleed out here and now. Sound better, Dwayne?” She lowered her aim to his crotch.

“DJ,” he mumbled.

“What was that, Dwayne?”

He cleared his throat. “It’s DJ. You talked to the only person in the universe who calls me Dwayne.”

She frowned. “Wait. So you’re… DJ Gaspar?”

DJ nodded, cautiously looking for something he could use as a weapon if he got the chance. The lamp was probably a bit heavy, plus it was plugged in so he might fumble it mid-swing…

Then she dropped the gun.

And giggled.

“Master! Oh my gosh, this is SO embarrassing! I’m, like, SO sorry. You don’t even know. I was totes ready to shoot you and stuff! Is it cool if I take these stupid ugly clothes off?”

DJ was too stunned to respond, so she did just that. Mind reeling, he stared in stupefaction at yet another big-titted fair-skinned redheaded woman stripping for him. Another.

“Much better!” she said once she was naked. “Is it cool if I do some jumping jacks? I need to warm up my little titties if I’m gonna be able to fuck you with ’em!”

“Uh…” was as far as he made it before she commenced with the jumping jacks. It was incredible how the display quickly calmed his nerves. (He still set the pistol in a drawer and turned the safety back on, just in case.)

“I. Like. To think. Of ways. To shake. My itty. Bitty. Titties. For D. J. Gaspar,” she said slowly, staggered between each bounce. And what bounces.

“Hang on a second… I’m sorry, what was your name?”

“It’s Jessica, but you can call me Jessi! Or whatever else you want!”

“Hang on a second, Jessi.” She halted her bouncing, watching him excitedly. “Did you, by chance, have a room next to your sister’s?”

“Nopers! She was down the hall from me. But then when I moved out, she took my old room.”

DJ slapped his forehead. Of course. He vaguely remembered that Brianne Levett’s little brother had had a room down the hall. Per tradition, the older kid got the bigger room. “How many years did you live in that room?”

Jessi counted on her fingers—slowly—and arrived at six years, then shared that figure. “And now Tabby’s been in there for, like, four. Why?”

“I don’t suppose you’d object if I told you that I did something to that room that slowly brainwashes anyone in it or near it into being my sex slave, would you?”

At that notion, Jessi giggled hysterically. “Like, why would I be against that, Master? You totally deserve me as your sex slave. You’re the smartest, handsomest, coolest, sexiest, hottest, fuckablest—”

“I get it, I get it. And you don’t mind that I did that to your family?”

She shrugged. “I think being your fuck toy is totally the bestest. Tabby might suck sometimes, but not so much that I’d be mad at having to share you with her.”

“Now let’s get another thing clear. Do you have any other siblings? Anyone else at all who would have slept in or near that room on a regular basis?”

She shrugged, then a few more shrugs when she saw he liked how it made her bare boobs jiggle. “We had sleepovers and stuff, if that’s what you mean. But nobody else lived there.”

“Thank goodness.” He sighed with relief.

“Would that be a bad thing?” She looked confused. It was as if learning his identity had drained 40 points off her IQ in an instant.

“Of course it’s a bad thing! Your sister’s seventeen, and your mother’s a married woman! To say nothing of the fact that brainwashing people into being your sex slave is just… well, I never meant to do it to you guys, but the less it happens, the better.”

Jessi nodded along with him. “Right, right. I never thought of it like that. I wonder if that’s ’cause I just became your sex slave, or because my stupid fluffy girl brain doesn’t work too well.” She giggled. “For what it’s worth, coming from a girly girl like me, I’m super happy to be your fuck toy, Master. Just the way you’re looking at me, it makes all the years of diet and exercise, just in case I ever met DJ Gaspar, totes worth it. I’ve, like, never been this happy.”

“You… for years…” He struggled to make sense of it. No wonder Suzi was in such amazing shape for her age. “Still, you’re only happy about it because I made you feel that way. On accident.”

“Accident, Master?”

“Yeah. I built the device that brainwashed you when I was barely into puberty for a girl who used to live there, and I had no idea it was doing anything. You and your family are the product of the hyperactive and apparently intensely misogynist libido of my thirteen-year-old self. So if you’re happy about it, it’s only because some horny kid twenty years ago hatched a plan to make women happy being stupid, submissive sex objects.”

Jessi weighed his words, but it was obvious nothing was getting through. “Like… so? Would it be better if I was less happy but you’d taken me to dinner and bought me, like, jewelry or whatever?” She made a face at the notion of being treated with respect. “I’d totally rather be my sexy master’s fuck slut with a family full of fuck toys than be a lame, gross, smarty smart girl with a gun. Like, who would wanna fuck me holding that thing?”

“Not me, that’s for sure.”

“See? So, like, who cares if Mom has a husband or Tabby’s like, what, half your age? And she’s totally eighteen now anyway, if that bothered you. I bet she was super sad you didn’t fuck her on her birthday. I know I’ll be super sad any day you don’t use my hot slut body.”

The logic was absurd. Only a total piece of shit would be seduced by this rubbish, these ideas that were just his own depravity coming out of someone else’s mouth. Someone totally selfish, totally devoid of responsibility for the way his pursuit of pleasure affected others. He absolutely couldn’t take advantage of these women like this.

“Come on, Master. Don’t you, like, owe it to yourself to pursue your childhood dreams?”

DJ’s cock was utterly spent. He was laying on his sofa with his head reclining on Jessi’s lap and his feet in Tabby’s. Both girls were softly stroking him, gazing down adoringly at their master. Their mother knelt beside the couch, lapping at his flagging shaft. She didn’t expect it to get hard again, not after spending the day fucking the living daylights out of her and her daughters. She just felt better having it in her mouth.

“Thank you for spraying me with your nummy ummy cummy, Master,” Tabby said with a dreamy sigh, scooping another half-dried blob off her cheek and sucking it off her finger, eyes closing in rapture.

“Thank you for fucking my cute little titties, Master. I hope they weren’t too teensy weensy for your big, fat, delicious, throbbing dick,” added Jessi, one of whose massive boobs were currently resting on his forehead.

“Tmm lmm fm fmmm mm smmlmm ngumm nummfumm, Mmfmm,” added Suzi. She never let his cock out of her mouth. She never wanted to.

“I can’t help but feel it’s me who should be thanking you girls. And Mr. Hooper for giving up his claim on you.”

Tabby giggled, setting off an echo from her co-sluts. “Oh, Master. We could only ever belong to you. I just feel bad you never got to fuck the girl you built the brainwashing device for.”

He smiled. “I guess you really can’t go back home again.”