The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was past midnight when the three friends decided to leave the pub. They crossed the pub’s front garden, moving between black wooden tables covered with bottles and glasses and benches covered with droplets of dew that shone like wolves eyes under the flickering light of torches and lanterns. Unlike the rest of the town, the pub still kept its rock walls; they were old and could easily be broken with a well-placed kick, but they added to the beauty of the place along with the torches and lanterns stuck to their old stonework.

Sadly, two of them were too drunk and the third too preoccupied by her own musings to truly appreciate the beauty of the place. So the three walked away from the garden without so much as a look and began their interesting walk home.

As usual, Amanda Rose was dressed to thrill, all in black: black tights, a black dress that covered just below her knees, black heels, and a black bonnet on top of a crown of long golden hair. A pearl necklace and bead bracelet broke the image, but not as gravely as the way she tried to pass drunken blabber as learned discussion. So drunk was she that all of her sentences were slurs of unintelligible sounds. Thus her sharp-minded friend, Bor (no relation to the Asgardian deity), who dressed as plainly as homeless people with bad taste, was the only one fit to understand her, for he was as intoxicated as she was.

The third companion, Melanie Lore, ignored how her friends made fools of themselves and skipped ahead, hands clasped behind her back as she sang a tuneless song. She was wearing a red t-shirt under a black leather jacket, and a pair of long, brown trousers that would’ve looked better on Bor. Lore was not someone who cared much about how the world perceived her; she was perfect without that cumbersome attitude.

“What are our plans, oh great battle maiden!?” Amanda managed to slur at Lore before she tripped over her own feet.

Lore stopped singing to turn and look at Amanda throwing her shoes at some bushes while Bor helped steady her. Lore flashed a satisfied smile—all night long she kept on telling Amanda that her choice of footwear would not see daybreak. Obviously, Amanda had denied this.

“Amanda!” Bor said a bit too loudly. Suddenly noticing he was standing under a streetlight, he retired into the shadows. “Amanda!” He repeated in the usual drunken fashion. “You are t—” A pause as he tried to bring the sound out of his mouth. “...too drunk to do anytang- ahnating... anything but go home.” His index finger explored Amanda’s plump face as if he was kneading dough.

“Oh, you two are horribly drunk.” Lore said. “We are going to go home right now, drink some coffee and then go to bed.”

“But I want to do something!” Amanda jested.

“We have nooothing left to do but retire to our cavern, ‘manda!” Bor said in a dramatic way. “Everything’s closed, besides.”

“Call it a cavern again and your paintings suffer.” Amanda said, managing to stand without wobbling in place. Bor fell silent as soon as he noticed Amanda was regaining her faculties.

“Very well,” Lore said with a nod. “Should we cross through the graveyard? I really am not in the mood to round up the park with you two as drunk as you are.”

“I be not drunk, drunk. Drunken drunk drunk!” Bor started singing and, as quickly as he began, stopped. “Okay, I am drunk.”

Amanda laughed and then added, “And I am not going to walk barefoot around the park. Too much broken glass.”

The areas of the park they were referring to were often called The Yard of Bleeding Soles. The reason for the name was because people used to make a sport of throwing glass bottles from one end of the park to the other. Why they did this is anyone’s guess, but the end result was a park that had tiny specks of broken glass hiding in the grass waiting to lick at your soles and draw blood. Luckily people no longer practiced this sport, but the remains of it still preyed on people’s bare feet.

“Then, onward, to the graveyard!” Lore turned on her heel and started to her right and on down an alleyway, singing yet again her made-up tune.

Walking under the artificial glow of neon lights and the occasional lamp, watched by stars and the curious person with sleeping issues, the three friends walked a sidewalk overgrown with brush.

Lore zipped up her leather jacket—the night was starting to get as chilly as she was willing to stand. She was fond of her black leather jacket; so fond that she always took an hour a week to take care of it, but she was not entirely comfortable when she had to zip it up. The jacket was, as it was appreciable, a couple of sizes too small—it had been the last one left at the store and Lore could just not go on knowing she might’ve never see one again. She was stubborn that way, but her dislike of chilly weather always won over her stubbornness to wear tight-fitting clothes.

It took them no more than ten silent minutes to get to the gate that was closest to the graveyard, a high arch with numerous carvings of gargoyles, ghouls, witches and other such creatures of the night; a set of bushes on either side of the arch were starting to claim the stone as their own, obscuring the base of the archway and its imperfections from the world.

Here the three friends stood and looked at the yard beyond and then at each other as if daring one to go in first and see that, indeed, the ground wouldn’t swallow them whole. Time and time again had the three walked this way, at dawn, dusk, evening, noon and night; and time and time again the three would hesitate. Why would they be nervous of a park and the graveyard therein? Simple: For the same reason anyone would fear electricity after accidentally sticking your fingers into a power socket.

“Okay, this issssss,” Bor began and then got stuck in various S sounds before he managed to get his tongue to agree with his mind. “This is ridiculous.”

“Says the guy wearing lycra trousers and a woolly shirt.” Amanda said, arms crossed and toes wriggling.

Lore looked back and laughed for what could be the fifth time in the night. Perhaps it was the place where she stood, or perhaps it was that one shot of vodka she had taken, but seeing Bor dressed in tight-fitting trousers, a woolly shirt and a pair of sneakers, was indeed a sight to chuckle at./ What was the guy thinking dressing like that?/ Lore wondered, but then remembered it was Bor—he always did things like this.

“Oh, shush it, ‘manda. It’s a comfy outfit.” Bor said, standing akimbo. “Though, I do not have pockets.”

“Yes, that is the one problem with your outfit.” Lore said sarcastically. She was fidgeting on her spot. “But yes, this is ridiculous. I mean, we cross this park almost every day and yet we always hesitate to cross it from this side.”

“Maybe it’s the archway—it is a bit creepy.” Amanda added, looking at a set of carvings to the upper right, on which some ghouls performed what looked to be a sacrifice of goblins. “Very, very creepy.”

“It’s like that time when we were, what, six?” Lore added, studying for the millionth time the various carvings on the stone as she slowly walked away from the archway.

Suddenly the three fell silent. Amanda steadied herself by planting her feet apart, her eyes wide and somewhere else. Bor did likewise, but his attempt failed as he fell backwards on his bum. Lore kept her cool—it was easy, since she was the only one that was not seeing the ground spin like a turntable under her feet. Seconds later the three returned to the waking world, shaking their heads.

“So, time to get home!” Amanda suddenly yelled and started walking, head down, shoulders slumped, feet stomping, through the archway and into the park. Once on the other side the girl visibly relaxed.

Staring at her friend for a second, Lore decided she would not be easily bested. Bracing herself for... nothing, the girl crossed the archway, feeling a weight being lifted from her shoulders. Amanda and Lore stared at each other for a second, and then smiled to each other; turning their heads towards Bor, those smiles turned a shade mischievous.

Before they could say anything, Bor walked through the archway, hands in the air, and eyes closed. “There!” He said loudly as he continued walking.

The two girls stared at each other, dumbfounded looks on their faces, and then shrugged. Out of the three, Bor was the only one who could, no matter what lay beyond the park, cross the haunted archway on his own.

“Move it!” Bor yelled from some distance away as he didn’t reduce his pace.

Lore and Amanda were about to say something, but decided against it, quickly.

At night the park was deserted. Not one person walked its paths and jungle gyms, not one cricket sung its penetrating chirp. And it was always like this. No matter what, past the midnight mark, the park would go utterly silent. One more reason why the three friends were always reluctant to cross the archway.

Bor walked through the shortest path, a white gravel road lined with thigh-high bushes and lamps sticking out from the concrete separating gravel from dirt. Once he knew he was far enough to not see the archway, he slowed down and allowed Lore and Amanda to catch up. For a while the three walked in silence.

“Have we finally beaten our irrational fear of that archway?” Lore said, her arms wrapped tight around herself. She had an annoyed look on her face; her jacket felt tighter than usual and she suspected that it might’ve shrunk the last time she worked on it. She made a mental note not to use such a procedure in the future.

“I seriously doubt that- ouch!” Amanda cringed her face and quickly pulled her left foot from the ground. “Cursed late-night park drunks.” She cursed as she noticed a piece of glass stuck to her heel. Luckily, it didn’t draw blood.

Bor looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow; he did as if to turn around and help Amanda, but when he saw her walking as if nothing had happened he simply kept on walking. “I seriously doubt that we’ll ever change our minds about that archway.” He said, turning his head forwards and slowing down as to walk between the two girls.

“Maybe.” Lore said ominously. She raised her head and, yawning, said: “Oh, there’s the graveyard.”

Amanda’s lips formed into a thin line of a smile. “Now, that is a place I don’t have problems crossing.” She pointed.

“Because you know everything in there is dead! And there are security cameras in case people get mugged!” Bor yelled nervously. “The archway on the other hand...”

“Very true.” Lore said as the three friends finally crossed the small metal gate that was there simply to keep kids no taller than a stove to go into the graveyard.

The graveyard was all in white and grey, cross-shaped slabs pointing out where some were buried while mausoleum and concrete boxes hid entire families from the world. During daytime you could appreciate the several bushes of rosebuds and the sunflowers planted between every grave. It was truly a beautiful place, constructed and maintained by an artist architect. Amanda, Lore and Bor spent a lot of time in this graveyard, simply enjoying the place. Sometimes they would sneak into the graveyard to have picnics. Other times they would use the place as a location for Lore’s old films, back when she used to fancy herself a filmmaker.

Amanda closed the gate behind them and gave a silent thank you to her personal deity for the gift of soft, grass-covered ground. Sticking to the muddy, black soil instead of the pavement road, Amanda placed her hand on every grave she could, trying to keep herself from tripping over as she was still feeling quite tipsy. From her perspective, the world was spinning. Bor, recovering from the same ailment with twice the speed—he was known to resist the effects of booze—decided to walk next to Amanda, just in case. Lore just kept on whistling her made-up tune.

“What’s with that sooonng, Lore?” Bor said as he kicked a stone out of the way. “You’ve been sing- singin’, singing singing... singing the same mess of words over and over since we left the pub.”

“Maybe she had some drinks and we didn’t notice,” A pause. “the liar.” Amanda slurred, her head bobbing up and down.

Lore turned her head to look at her drunken mates, both eyes wide open, her mouth puckered, and one eye twitching. “Ha!” She said and then turned her head forwards.

The three closed in on the opposite gate of the graveyard, this one thrice as big and thrice as old. As the row of oak trees that lined the limit of park and street became visible, the three friends noticed someone walking into the graveyard from the old, rusty gate.

Amanda pointed at the person, noting that it was a girl.

Lore stopped singing and frowned, her keen eye and overly detail-seeking mind capturing everything. The girl had a long overcoat, thick and leathery, covering her from neck to ankles; she had it tightly tied around her body and she gripped at it with two small and pale hands. Shoulders slumped, chin touching chest, and an almost imperceptible shiver; tell-tale signs of either her mood or health. Regardless of the situation, Lore felt a desire to stop, ask the girl what she was doing walking around a graveyard so late at night, and if she was feeling okay at all.

Obviously, Amanda was the one to ask all of this, albeit in a cruder and more direct manner.

“Hey!” Amanda hurried towards the girl, wobbly steps steadying every time heel met stone. “Why the hell are you walking ‘round here so late?” She brought her hands around her mouth. “There are thieeeeves around. Nasty ones.”

Bor half-smiling face shifted from the cloaked girl towards Amanda. “We scared them away though, we are too silly for some people.”

Lore snickered and then grimaced.

The girl had raised her head, a faint smile flashed before her body collapsed. The overcoat completely hid the girl’s body from the world.

In the blink of an eye Lore was crouching besides the girl, pulling her to an upright position and pressing the back of her hand against the girl’s neck. Amanda and Bor walked closer but stood some paces away as to not scare the girl.

“Thanks.” The girl’s voice was a faint whisper, kind and weak. She managed to move her legs underneath herself and then stand.

“Hey, careful there.” Lore said, arm around the girl’s waist.

The girl recovered her earlier stance: slumped shoulders, wrapped arms. She looked at Lore, her eyes and mouth the only discernible features behind her hood’s shadow.

“Thanks, but I believe I can stand again.” She shivered and looked beyond Amanda and Bor towards the end of the graveyard. “Though, I doubt I’ll be able to walk all the way out of town.”

Amanda’s eyes went wide. “Out of town!?”

Bore pushed his elbow on Amanda’s rib, lower lip bitten. Amanda yelped.

“Yeah. I had to get there for something important, but it can wait since I won’t be able to walk anymore.” The girl shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and sometimes reclined on Lore’s body. “I should’ve rested the other day when I could.”

“You’ve been walking for long?” Bor interjected. The sudden scare had cleared his head.

“Three days, maybe. I don’t...” The girl dozed off for a second. “I don’t know.”

Amanda opened her mouth to scream something, but Bor silenced her with another jab to her ribs.

“We live close by. I think it would be best for you to come with us and rest, unless you wish to collapse and freeze to death when the real cold crawls up the hills.” Lore said as she held the girl tight.

The three waited for an answer for some moments before Lore shook the girl. A snore was all the answer they got.

“And she’s asleep.” Lore said, rolling her eyes. “Bor, help me carry her.”

“Why me?” Bor said, even though he already knew the answer.

“You know why.” Her voice was somewhat poisonous. “Now, help me here.” Lore said as she slowly helped the limp body to a kneeling position.

“So, we are just going to take a stranger into our house?” Amanda said, simply standing there as Bor single-handedly placed his arms under the girl and effortlessly lifted her.

“That is precisely what we are doing, it seems.” Bor said and then walked out of the graveyard.

“How chivalrous.” Amanda rolled her eyes and then followed him.

Lore smirked and wrapped her arms around her chest, feeling colder than before. “Of course... only after I forced him. Bloody oaf.” And then Lore followed her friends as they made their short way back home.

Amanda watched the sleeping and completely covered form of the girl like a guard dog baring its teeth to a burglar. She knew there was something odd about the young girl. Of course, the girl had said she had been walking non-stop for the past three days, but Amanda saw something weirder than that.

“Oh, stop that.” Bor walked into the room, two cups of steaming tea (they had run out of coffee) in his hands. He offered one to Amanda who didn’t even look away from the girl.

“How can I? I haven’t even seen her face and Lore won’t let me remove her cloak.”

“And she will scream at you from the other side of the house if you even get as close. How she does that, I don’t know. Sometimes I still wonder if she is a psychic of sorts.” Bor sipped the tea and looked down the single hallway that connected the living room to the restroom and bedrooms.

“Or an alien.” Amanda giggled, humming to herself as she sipped Bor’s delicious tea. One day she would spy on him and learn how he makes it taste so good.

“Or an alien.” Bor toasted.

The two were talking about Lore’s ability to always, no matter where in their small house she was, know what was going on.

The small house was an unappealing, cheap, single storey building constructed in an L shape. From front to back you had the kitchen, living room, single bathroom; the three bedrooms occupied the lower protuberance of the L, one next to each other. Bor occupied the one farthest down, since it had more windows and he liked sunlight. Amanda took over the middle space for no apparent reason besides that it was available. And Lore hated cold so she took over the warmest room in that house.

The two drank the tea in silence—its perfect taste needed such respect and concentration to fully appreciate its quality. Once done with his cup, Bor closed his eyes and dozed off, too tired from the night’s events to keep going, and too worried about the girl’s health to go away. Amanda, on the other hand, paranoid as she was, remained awake. She stared at the girl’s figure, her eyes finding only coarse clothing covering who knew what kind of body.

No one had dared remove the ugly leather overcoat, and they had laid down the girl on a couch and just wrapped the coat tighter just to ensure she wouldn’t be cold. Lore had said that it was for the best; Bor said that perhaps the girl might not be wearing anything under the coat, something he defended by the girl’s mention of being walking for days. “Perhaps she’s homeless,” he had said as he squatted in front of the black couch to lay her down. Amanda, on the other hand, believed that the girl was actually clothed, and plotting to steal their few belongings and stab them to death.

Amanda had a wandering mind with a penchant of going to strange places. It didn’t help she kept it fed with an ample supply of silly stories, internet’s strangest things, and a wide array of fetish art. Amanda’s conspiracy theories usually included things like chastity belts working along feather beds. She had no way of knowing if this was true, but still she thought that was a likely possibility.

Amanda placed her hands, still warm with the cup of tea’s steam, under her armpits and then curled her legs under her own weight. She never stopped staring at the girl. She tried to find an opening through the overcoat from which to see the girl’s face, but she only saw lips, which she had to admit looked nice even though they were cracked by cold, and fair skin. Amanda cursed under her breath and decided to focus on the girl’s body instead. This proved to be another distracting disappointment; the overcoat covered too much, leaving no discernible shape for the world to appreciate. And as usual, Amanda’s eyes drifted towards the girl’s chest and there they stayed.

Amanda had the strange habit of staring at girl’s breasts, both out of jealously and of hatred—her puberty had not gifted her with an ample bosom, and people never let her forget it. This quirk was a problem, since people who noticed this either called her a lesbian or a pervert; and she was neither. But the quirk endured, and so Amanda inspected the girl’s chest, finding, as she expected, that the overcoat gave away nothing. Or so she thought at first glance.

Looking again, she saw the smallest indication of breasts. They might be, she wondered, round and full under there. Amanda blinked, jealously forcing a sigh out of her. She looked again and this time they looked flat and unappealing.

“Strange,” Amanda whispered, blinked and then stared once more.

The girl stirred on the sofa, turning from sleeping on her right shoulder to sleeping on her back. It was a good position for Amanda to inspect the girl’s chest once more. It rose and fell with the steady torpor of dreamtime, a steady and slow movement that caught Amanda’s attention even quicker. Up and down they moved, and up and down her eyes followed.

“Perky. Decent shape.” She whispered to herself. Somewhere down the hallway the bathroom door opened, its loud, creaking filling the room. A cloud of steam escaped the bathroom as if the door led to a land of hot springs; Lore soon walked out. Amanda was oblivious to this. “Not so big as to sag in later years, but not small enough as to not catch an eye. Good breasts.”

I am going insane. Amanda thought and then continued starting at the mysterious forms. Her eyes followed the breasts up and down, and benightedness of her actions settling in.

She was starting to doze off when Lore walked into the room.

“That was refreshing and warm. So very warm.” Lore was wrapped in a black bathrobe and wearing the kind of fluffy slippers that made you look as if you had stuck your feet inside the mouths of a pair of cats. Her black hair was still wet, and it stuck to her neck like a shiny and beautiful leech. She walked towards the couch and stood behind it, sharing a glance at her sleeping guest.

Amanda jumped in her seat, feeling as if she had been asleep for a while. Bor snored into wakefulness.

“How’s our guest?” Lore whispered, one hand pointing at the girl below.

Amanda fake yawned. “Asleep.”

Lore’s brow furrowed in thought.

“Hmm... so... Who’s watching her in case she wakes up in the...” Bor looked at his watch. “... the middle of the night, not remembering how she got here, and tries to kick the front door open?” He stretched and lazily removed himself from the couch. “Because I am not fixing it a second time.”

“Or in case whatever she has is actually some nasty illness.” Lore added.

“I’ll do it.” Amanda immediately said. “I do not trust her enough to leave her alone. She might be faking it.”

The girl stirred in her sleep, probably feeling uncomfortable at the many voices interrupting her strange dreams. Amanda’s eyes quickly shot towards the girl’s chest and then moved to look at a very boring stain on the floor.

“Good.” Bor’s yawn brought Amanda back to reality. “Since you’re going to take care of that, I’ll be going to bed.” And with that he turned on his heels and headed towards his room.

Lore tapped the sofa’s cushion twice and then looked at Amanda. She frowned, her gaze inspecting Amanda’s lost look.

“Don’t stare at her tits all night.” Lore said and then began to walk down the hallway. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” Amanda said, eyes on Lore but wishing they were on the girl.

The sound of two sets of rusty, old bolts grind and then the click of locks let Amanda relax. She stretched on her seat, yawned slightly, and mentally prepared for a couple of sleepless hours of vigil.

She closed her eyes for a while, to rest them. When she opened them she let out a gasp; Amanda was surprised to see the girl sitting on the couch, hands crossed and resting on her lap, brilliant and bright eyes meeting her hazel pupils. She was dumbstruck.

“Hey.” The girl spoke, voice low and soft. A flash of a smile and Amanda felt like she couldn’t move. Amanda gulped, surprised and entranced at the same time. Why? I am surprised, Amanda rationalized.

“Hey?”

“What’s your name?” The girl said, head cocked to the side.

Amanda hesitated; her fists clenched. “I am Amanda.” She said, her voice tight on the back of her throat.

The girl looked at Amanda for a second, head lolling to the other side. She blinked and stared, as if trying to look for some dishonesty in Amanda. She might’ve found something, but the only thing she did was straightening up and said: “I am Cosette. I like bouncy things and butterflies scare me.”

Amanda nodded automatically. “Uh... Okay. Weird thing to say but... Hmm... nice meeting you.” She said, sinking into her seat and pulling her bare feet under her. Amanda’s upper lip raised slightly and she hissed; she touched a spot she had cut on her heel on the way back. Cosette tilted her head again, and then looked at the ceiling. Amanda stared, her finger nervously tapping the chair’s arm, vigilant to Cosette’s movements. There was something about this girl that just made her uneasy, and it had nothing to do with the strange overcoat she wore.

“So, what is your story, Cosette?” The silence was uncomfortable.

Cosette turned to look at Amanda. A smile flashed again; it was like a sudden burst of light from a star. Amanda couldn’t look away and found herself smiling.

“I’ve been walking for three days.” She said nonchalantly.

Amanda sighed, the girl was the difficult, minimal answers kind of person. If she wanted to know anything significant about Cosette, she would have to probe carefully. “Are you on a trip? Where are you going?”

“Yes, I am on a trip to wherever I have to.” A sudden dreamy look appeared on her shadowed face.

Amanda had to look at her face. She felt at disadvantage if she didn’t know the girl’s face.

“Why do you keep your face covered? I get covering your body—it is cold outside—but we are inside now.”

Cosette jumped in her seat, gasping slightly; it was like she had realized something. “Uhm... you are right. Sorry. I just... I li-like being covered.” She blinked fast and moved a hand on top of the other; Cosette seemed nervous and embarrassed all of a sudden, as if she had just realized she was wearing the ugly overcoat. Small hands appeared from the caves that were the coat’s sleeves; they had slender fingers with blue-painted nails. She reached for her hood and with a deep breath removed it. Shoulder-length hair cascaded down Cosette’s head, wet-looking blackness sucking the light from the room. A pretty, young face, not perfect nor astoundingly beautiful, was released from the bonds of leather.

Amanda came to the conclusion, then, that she would never forget that face.

“Hmm... you were right, Amanda. This feels better.” Lips moved slowly, as if they gave each individual sound a lover’s caress before they escaped her lips.

“You are... you are too pretty.” Amanda said, knees touching her chest. Why are my arms trembling? And why did I say that?

Cosette took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back, shoving her breasts forward without realizing. Amanda’s eyes found something else to stare at. “Oh, thank you.” Cosette whispered, but Amanda was already gone.

She mumbled something as she closed off the rest of the world.

No. I was wrong. She whispered in her mind. They are big, gigantic... perfect breasts.

Amanda was oblivious, yet again, to her own actions. She didn’t realize she had closed off the outside world and retreated into her own jealous, one track mind. Amanda possessed no understanding of anything but what she was staring at. The sight of those mysterious, covered breasts that seemed to change and morph, grown and shrink with every blink of an eye.

’Hmm... perky. Erect nipples.’

’Round, full. Is she pregnant?”

Amanda’s head was reeling with her own thoughts, hammered with shifting ideas and concepts she herself had no control over. It never occurred to her that she wasn’t actually looking at Cosette’s breasts, nor did it occur to her that the ever-shifting barrage of breast images was surreal. Too surreal. So consumed by her own psychosis Amanda was that she didn’t realize how utterly crazy the whole situation was. Well, such is the way of psychosis, one would guess. And such is the way of a psychosis that had never quite been as strong.

Her common sense was on vacation, and her imagination took a trip down a very insane lane.

“You like my breasts, don’t you?” Cosette’s voice came as if from deep in a valley, mountains away.

“Uh-huh,” Amanda said. ’No, all of that has to be wrong. She can’t be all that at the same time. I have to see those tits.’ She thought.

At least she found reason in her unreasoning and induced hallucinations. As good as that was.

Cosette leaned in closer, hand playing with the buttons on her overcoat, teasing. “Hmm... but you don’t know me, Amanda.” Cosette’s voice was a purr, full of prized innocent sexuality. “Are you sure you want to see my beautiful, trapped breasts? Hai.” The last sound broke the purr, turning into a cheerful shriek.

“Yes.” Amanda whispered. She really wanted to see her breasts. To know their true form and stop all the hallucinatory guesses.

“Haig...” The cheerful word got caught in her throat and she took a deep breath to calm herself down, shivering as she did. “Take a good look, Amanda.” She began unbuttoning her overcoat, slowly, one button at the time. “Get ready. Take a deep breath and just stare at the buttons.”

“I want to see them.” Amanda managed, eyes enraptured, following Cosette’s slow movements.

“Yes, you want to see my breasts.” One button undone. A finger drawing a circle on the other. “You want to know what’s underneath my overcoat. You just relax and breathe deeply. Just wait and you’ll see them.”

Two more buttons undone and Amanda sighed. She blinked slowly, the images of breasts disappearing from her mind. Taking one deep breath she allowed the nagging feeling of wrongness to slip away, but not her own voice. What the hell is going on here? The feeling had been clawing at her disappearing consciousness, whispering offensive things and mocking her actions in a desperate attempt to free Amanda from whatever thrall she had fallen under. This is why they call you a pervert!

Cosette smiled happily, glee guiding her movements as she began to feel warm all over. “Hai...” She was cut off by a sudden wave of peace and joy. She blinked once and continued. “So close, Amanda. Take a deep breath, free your mind, and prepare to look at my breasts.” One movement of her tiny fingers and a gasp escaped Amanda’s thin lips.

“Just watch, Amanda. Watch and wait.” Cosette whispered, fingers circling another button before it came undone. Amanda felt herself sink deeper into place. “Watch and go deeper.”

Look away, Amanda! Amanda made as if to speak, but no sound came. She blinked sluggishly, and then kept on staring.

“Deeper. Relax and go deeper.” Cosette whispered, circles drawn on plastic buttons. Fingers pulled at the plastic and the last button came undone. The overcoat fell on her waist with a huff sound.

A flash of bright, shiny orange blinded Amanda. Her eyes ached for the shortest of moments, her mind cleared; it cleared enough for her to appreciate the beautiful breasts before her. Like Cosette’s face, her breasts were sexy; they were just pretty. Pretty, normal breasts. The pang of envy disappeared from Amanda’s heart, and her jealously was replaced by fact, allowing her to come clear of her trance and properly concentrate on the beauty before her. And to properly see that Cosette was not naked under her coat.

“What do you think? Haig...” Cosette took one deep breathe and the arousal was kept at bay. “Do you like them?” She added as she removed herself from the couch; she stood up and allowed the overcoat to fall to the ground, a silent, swish sound filled the room as the leather caressed her body on the way down.

Amanda leaned closer and her attention slowly forsook Cosette’s breasts and focused on the strange garment the younger girl was wearing. It was the kind of orange so bright and loud that looking at it turned all your thoughts orange. It was colourful and painfully bright, neon even. And staring at it completely negated all other thoughts.

Cosette giggled and brought her hands to her waist, standing akimbo. “Haigure...” She said, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, as if the strange word had filled her with a deep peace. “Do you like my breasts?” Cosette moved a finger down her leotard-clad chest, guiding Amanda’s distracted eyes over the tight material and leading her to the visible folds of her sex. The orange leotard had a shiny, rubbery sheen to it that Amanda figured could be latex. It was high cut, showing all of Cosette’s legs and some of her buttocks; it had an open back, like a swimsuit, with two thick shoulder straps that covered most of the shoulders; her neck was also covered in orange.

Amanda simply nodded, finding herself at a loss of words and completely flabbergasted. She couldn’t stop staring at Cosette’s breasts and leotard, and all of a sudden she removed herself from her seat. Amanda walked towards Cosette, who just stood there, giggling and whispering the strange word and seeming that much happier every time she heard herself say it.

Amanda moved closer until her face was inches away from Cosette’s rubbery chest. Then, and only then, did she completely wake up from her trance.

“Hmmm...” She mused and blinked. “Cosette?” The only thing she could see was the orange.

“Yes?” Cosette cooed, moved slightly closer to Amanda, and then giggled gleefully.

“What is going on?”

“Ooh. Nothing.” A devious smile painted Cosette’s face. “Nothing short of marvellous.”

Amanda couldn’t look at Cosette’s face, but she felt a sudden dread fall upon her. It was like a hunter’s gaze falling on her back, clawing at her skin and leaving her open for further attack. This girl was crazy and she had to get away from her.

Cosette placed her hand on Amanda’s head, knowing that the girl wouldn’t be able to pull away. Amanda tensed and whimpered. Cosette began to feel a sense of peace wash over her and a sudden, aching need to whisper the word—haigure. Just thinking about the word made her conscious of her rubbery leotard, the way it kissed her sex and caressed her whole body. Both reacted to each other, leotard to word and word to leotard. Cosette decided to give in to the wonderful and familiar feelings.

“Haigure.” She said happily. Cosette felt the word course through her whole body and shivered. She felt how her leotard became slightly tighter, and she felt how her very skin grew more sensible. “Haigure.” She closed her eyes, feeling the peace and arousal wash over herself. “Haigure.” She shivered and her whole skin tingled.

“What? What are you saying?” It had not dawned on Amanda that she could not move at all.

Cosette flashed a smile at Amanda, moving closer and letting the girl see the light shine off her shivering, rubber-covered skin. “Haigure.” Cosette took a deep breath, “Haigure.” She closed her eyes, feeling pleasure wash all over her.

“What... what is going on? What are you saying?” Amanda said, clearly starting to grasp the situation. She tried to shake her head, but it wouldn’t move—she could not look at anything but Cosette’s orange-covered breasts. She tried to pull away, but her legs wouldn’t move enough. Amanda was practically frozen in place, held in place by Cosette’s power and her own fascination with breasts.

“Haigure. I am just repeating the word, Amanda.” Cosette whispered, eyes still closed. “Haigure. It feels yummy to just lay back and say haigure. Haigure.”

A pause. Only Cosette’s panting and Amanda’s increased heartbeat could be heard in the old living room. Somewhere in the house a bed creaked and a loud, male snore reverberated in the hallway. Amanda waited, her eyes blinded by the orange. She saw Cosette’s breast fall and rise, the steady movement a godsend distraction. Amanda breathed in deeply, and simply enjoyed the sight; she felt too freaked out at the situation to give it any more thoughts.

“Do you like my breasts, Amanda? Haigure.” Cosette whispered, her hand again stroking Amanda’s head.

“Uhmm... I.” Amanda had no idea how to answer the question; never had she been confronted about her silent obsession with breasts and now words that usually rained upon her tongue turned into air. She was disarmed. “I... Your tits. Yes. I... yes.”

“Haigure. Don’t you like how my leotard just—haigure—hugs them? How—haigure—it enhances them? Haigure.” Cosette was cheerful; it if was because of what she was doing of the effect the word had on her, none could tell. She was just happy and aroused.

“I... yes. The outfit enhances them.” Orange reflected off Amanda’s eyes. She was completely conscious of her actions, but yet she couldn’t stop herself—her strange kind of jealously returned, completely forcing her to stare at Cosette’s chest.

“It perfects them. Haigure. Outlines them. Makes them beautiful. Haigure.” Cosette giggled. “The leotard feels so good on me, Amanda. Haigure. It hugs me, touches me. Haigure.”

Amanda gritted her teeth, fighting with herself. Her legs budged a bit, knees bending slightly. That gave her a window of opportunity. She tried to concentrate on the movement of her knees; she needed to move them, to move away from Cosette’s breasts. Amanda tried and tried, but her body wouldn’t respond.

“Ooh... haigure.” Cosette cooed, stroking Amanda’s hair. “Don’t fit haigure, Amanda.”

That was all Amanda needed to break free. Stubbornness took hold and gave her willpower a boost that allowed her to move.

“Oh?” Cosette looked dumbstruck when Amanda darted to the side and made for the kitchen.

Amanda managed to get all the way to the doorframe that separated tile floor from wooden when she heard that word again. “Haigure.” Cosette whispered. “Haigure. Haigure. Haigure.”

Amanda had no idea why she turned around, why that word made her stop and look. No, go on. Run! She screamed at herself, but it was not enough. “Haigure. Haigure.” Amanda heard and slowly turned her head around.

Immediately she felt prey to Cosette.

Cosette was standing right in front of Amanda, her shiny leotard so conspicuous you could not look at anything else. She had her legs apart and bent at the knees and it looked like she was preparing to lift something very heavy off the floor. Her breasts were pushed forward, and Amanda had to fight herself to not lose herself there again. “Haigure.” Cosette moaned at the same time she straightened her arms, elbows at her side, and palms pointing toward her crotch.

“What... what the hell’s going on?” Amanda spat, her jaw trembling—she realized that, once more, she couldn’t move.

“Haigure! Haigure is what’s going on. Haigure!” Cosette moaned happily as she began to thrust her arms up and down her pelvis, every movement slightly rubbing her latex-covered crotch. “Haigure.”

Amanda stared, transfixed, horrified, scared, curious.

“Haigure, haigure, haigure.” Cosette matched her thrusts with her chanting. Each thrust turning her cheeks redder and redder, each thrust arousing her more and more. “Come, haigure.”

Amanda nodded and started back towards Cosette. “No... I don’t want to. Let me go!” She screamed, hoping to wake either of her friends. Only the sound of haigure filled the house as every step she took felt like a thousand years. Suddenly she knew no one was going to help her.

“Yes, Amanda. Come and enjoy haigure.” Cosette giggled. “Now,” She added once Amanda was standing right in front of her. “Kneel, haigure.”

Amanda gritted her teeth and clenched every muscle in her body, but still her body obeyed Cosette and kneeled. Amanda was back to where she started. The orange shine of the leotard filled Amanda’s world once more, drowning away everything but its latex beauty.

Cosette stopped thrusting her arms up and down, but remained in the crouching position. “My leotard feels so good, Amanda. Haigure. And look how beautiful it is,—haigure—how beautiful it makes my breasts. Haigure.” Cosette pressed her chest against Amanda’s face, forcing a moan out of the girl. “Feel it, Amanda. Haigure. Feel my leotard, feel the haigure.”

Amanda gasped; the moment her face touched Cosette’s leotard, her hands began to fidget, clenching and unclenching as if aching to touch the girl’s skin. She rubbed her face over the leotard, feeling its rubbery and sticky surface, moaning silently. Suddenly, most thoughts about breaking away dissipated like smoke in a windy day.

“It feels really good.”

“It will feel better if you say the word, Amanda. Haigure. Just say haigure and it’ll feel incredible.” Cosette shivered with pleasure—the more she said haigure, the more the heat within her sex sweetened. The more she said haigure the more her leotard vibrated and the more she wanted to just kneel and enjoy the peaceful sensation in gave her. But she had something to do first.

“But... no. It makes no sense.” Amanda sighed, her hands slowly reaching out for Cosette’s breasts.

“Haigure. It doesn’t need to make sense, Amanda. Haigure.” A pause, and a memory followed suit. Cosette closed her eyes, closed off the delicious memory; she needed all of her faculties to be in the moment. “You only have to say it, and feel how it changes your—haigure—life. Haigure.” Cosette allowed one of her hands to travel down her body and towards her aching, wet sex. “Go ahead, Amanda. Say it. Say the word and feel how good it is.”

She felt how happy and aroused Cosette was (she could even smell it); she could even feel the bliss of haigure seeping through Cosette’s leotard and into her face. Amanda wanted to close her eyes, to clam up and hide within her own mind, but she couldn’t. Something wouldn’t allow her to stop looking at the breasts and she knew exactly what it was. With a last breath of defiance she cursed her own jealously and stubbornness and gave in.

“I...” Had she been capable she would’ve looked down. “Haigure.” She said it with a mix of resignation and expectation. For a second nothing happened, but then she felt it. She thought it would be a wave of... whatever it was that would hit against her. But no. Slowly it crawled inside of her, a sensation akin to arousal, but different. “Haigure.” She tried again, this time with more power to the word and this time she felt it for sure: the delicious feeling of the word. It crawled at first and then took over her whole being; her skin shivered, her throat moaned, her fingers clenched at something, her toes curled, her sex sweetened with the lubricated need of someone who found the love of her life. Peacefulness and arousal washed over her like the first rain after summer. It was fresh; it was new; it was familiar; it was right. “Haigure!” She chanted, now.

Cosette closed her eyes, her left hand having reached her sex. She felt the power of Amanda’s words all over her own body; she shivered, moaned, and groaned. She felt how Amanda sank deeper and became one with her. The more Cosette heard Amanda say haigure, the more she felt her pleasure grow, the more she felt her very being grow happier.

All of a sudden Cosette’s leotard began to ooze, bubble and turn like liquid; a shiny, beautiful liquid. It kept its shape, but it became a sticky, tar-like substance that moved with its own life. It swirled over Cosette’s skin, moving from side to side as if a dancer moving to the tune of haigure.

“Oh... Cosette—haigure—your leotard. Haigure.” Amanda rubbed her face over Cosette’s leotard and her hands moved over the girl’s bare legs. “Oh, haigure. Haigure. I cannot stop. Haigure. I can’t stop saying haigure.” Her skin began to tingle and her mind began to break apart. Her mouth was not her own; it whispered and shouted without her control.

Cosette closed her eyes, feeling the wonderful caresses of her now tar-like leotard, feeling how it began to ooze over Amanda. She closed her eyes, seeing the girl smile in her mind as the single word echoed in her mind; Cosette felt it, tugging and calling, as Amanda joined into her fold. Her pleasure escalated and her hand pushed into her sex, reaching through the sheen of liquid latex and finding her treasure. She touched herself while she screamed the word that always brought her pure ecstasy; she touched herself while she heard Amanda whisper the word over and over, both in her ears and in her mind.

“Haigure. Yes! Haigure. It feels so good. Haigure! Oh, Cosette! Haigure. Yes! More!” Amanda yelled every word as the ooze of rubber began to move over her skin. It touched her face and travelled down her body, like dribbling drool. “Why does it feel so good?”

The question hit Cosette like a stampede of wild animals running through a mountain pass leading to a precipice. It was an obvious question, too obvious actually. Cosette opened her eyes and, momentarily, stopped thinking about haigure. It was a painful thing to do for one so connected to the glory of haigure, but she managed to think back to her first days as a haigure girl, and to her own conversion. It took all of her wavering willpower to not lapse into mindless chanting. In a second Cosette realized that she had never questioned it; she had never wondered, asked or thought about why haigure felt so good. It was a simple thing, really—why would anyone question perfection?

“Because it is haigure, Amanda.” Cosette whispered happily. It is so simple. She added in her now not-so-lonely mind.

“Yes... haigure; it is so simple.” Amanda echoed Cosette’s thoughts. She didn’t even question where the words, which she heard as a faint whisper in her head, came from. Right now, the only thing she cared about was the oozing liquid dribbling down her chest and slowly covering her body. She kept on chanting the word. Amanda felt the liquid material move down her chest, covering them, making them perfect; the orange thing kept moving, faster and .

Cosette smiled and took a step back to inspect her handiwork. With a hand soothingly moving over her leotard as if calming a beloved pet—the leotard immediately stopped bubbling and oozing and returned to its original form—Cosette began to probe her own mind. By experience, she knew that any new person she converted into haigure would soon start sounding in her head like the chirping of birds deep in a forest. Cosette couldn’t help but express her happiness: a big, content sigh escaped her body as she extended her arms as if to receive a shower of rain. It had been too long since she had had a companion.

Haigure. “Haigure. Oh, yes! So close!” Amanda moaned, the liquid covering her torso and part of her thighs starting to seep into her skin, bringing untold feelings to her whole being. Haigure. Amanda began to caress the liquid, cooing like a child when she saw that whenever she touched it, it would take shape; one touch and the liquid stopped bubbling and turned smooth and slick. She was completely oblivious to how her black dress began to be eaten—for there was no other way either of the girls would describe it—by the liquid. The dress’s hem began to pull into the liquid, the shoulder straps began to move and shift as if turning liquid themselves. Soon enough the velvet outfit transcended: it began to get tighter, formfitting to Amanda’s frame; the fabric covering her crotch thinned as the waist cut rose higher and higher until all of Amanda’s thighs showed; shoulder straps formed, baring her shoulders; her chest and neck were swallowed by the latex.

But it didn’t stop there. With the leotard now complete, the original orange hue began to fade, the black of Amanda’s dress leaving stains on the orange. As leftover liquid began to dribble down Amanda’s legs to cover the tights she was wearing, the black stains began to spread like drops of oil in a pond of water. Soon enough the orange was eaten away by the black. Amanda let out a loud moan of haigure as her leotard got tighter, intruding into her lady’s sweetness, encasing her body like a lover, trapping her in it.

“Oh, haigure! Yes! Haigure. I am haigure!” Amanda cried, her tights being swallowed by the orange liquid.

Oh, a companion! A fellow haigure girl! Cosette thought as she saw the beauty of haigure completely taking over Amanda.

“Yes, Cosette. Thank you! I am a haigure girl! I am your companion!” Amanda wrapped her arms around Cosette’s hips and kissed whatever leotard-covered flesh she found. I love you so much. Haigure.

“And I haigure love you too, Amanda. Haigure.” Cosette said. She was just so happy that she could again hear another voice in her head—she was no longer alone.

Amanda stopped kissing Cosette and then looked up. The two meet each other’s eyes and, without words, Amanda understood. She was haigure. She was part of something bigger and more beautiful than anything she could ever dream of.

Cosette helped Amanda to her feet and then inspected the final result: black latex leotard over black latex tights. The outfit had a unique feel to it, while remaining uniform. The two were still dressed equally and that was enough for Cosette. As long as they were tight, encased, shiny enough to reflect faces, she was happy. And therefore, Amanda was happy.

A naked hand pressed against latex-clad breast, another one touched latex-clad buttocks; Amanda inspected her new, permanent outfit with a smile. She was delighted, joyful, curious, aroused beyond belief, and feeling that she belonged. All of a sudden she looked down the hallway and frowned. I made enough noise to wake them up. She thought.

“Why didn’t—haigure—we wake them up? Haigure.” Amanda turned to look at Cosette, feeling somewhat foolish at actually having asked it. She now knew that words were inconsequential and cumbersome between the two.

“They touched me.” It was all the information needed.

Amanda nodded and turned to look at something else; it was a meaningless action that served only to help her collect her thoughts. All of a sudden she heard the uncontrollable echo of haigure in her head, followed by a feeling of having someone looking over your shoulder. A delicate hand brushed her hair away from her face and two beautiful, brown eyes brushed her lingering worries away. Amanda looked right into those eyes, finding that a look said more than words ever could.

Cosette wrapped an arm around Amanda’s waist and the two retired, suppressed giggles following them, towards Amanda’s bedroom.