The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Rachel Nichols, team captain of the Maeda High swim team, strode across the deck of the swimming pool with a purpose. It was 6:45 on a Tuesday morning, fifteen minutes before practice was supposed to start. She looked over by the lockers and saw, to her disgust, Sam—another senior—seemingly trying to swallow a sophomore named Kira. Rachel seethed. “Knock it off! It’s time for practice!” Sam and Kira disentangled themselves. Kira simply squeaked and darted away. Sam turned bright red, said “Sorry!", and went into the men’s locker room. Again, Rachel seethed. Why couldn’t other people take the swim team as seriously as she did?

She continued to stew as she changed into her swimsuit, trying to ignore Kira a few lockers away. It wasn’t like she was a prude. She had lost her virginity last year to a senior named Kevin. He had gone off to college and promptly forgotten she existed. Rachel hadn’t really imagined that she and Kevin would get married or anything but it still pissed her off. That whole experience had only made her more determined to concentrate on academics and the swim team her senior year, and now senior year was almost over. And she wanted to qualify for regionals so badly. Why did she want to qualify for regionals so badly? Well, there was money; making it to regionals should just about nail down a swimming scholarship. But Rachel knew that if she were going to join the Army the day after graduation, she’d want to make regionals just as badly. Maybe it was because of—no, let’s not think about that.

She left the lockers and saw Sam walking out of the men’s lockers. She had just yelled at him a few minutes before and he still couldn’t stop himself from giving her the once-over with his eyes. Rachel knew she was good-looking. Five foot six, wavy dark brown hair, with the taut body of an 18-year-old girl with good genes who worked out. She put a wiggle in her hips as she walked past Sam. Idiot.

For most of senior year the swim team had been without a faculty advisor, so Rachel had been making the decisions, organizing the trainings, doing all the things one might expect a coach to do. She rather liked it that way. However they still needed a faculty member with a lifeguard cert in the pool room to actually use the pool. The PE teacher had just shown up in the building, so practice could begin. Rachel dove into the pool.

Her mother, Helen, had packed Rachel’s lunch like she had most days for the last thirteen years, and sent her off. Then Helen went into the bedroom to visit her friend. Her long, thick, plastic, battery-powered friend.

She had taken care of herself, dammit. Other moms plumped out. But Helen had taken care of herself, she had exercised, she had maintained her figure. And it was a good figure! She had always been proud of her big boobs—her D-cups were her vanity, if she told the truth—and bubble butt, and her stomach was still toned. She had long thick brown hair and a heart-shaped face. Just the other day the boy at the coffee shop had barely been able to take her order for staring at her cleavage. She knew that she was still hot, that she should have been enough for David.

And then she found out he was screwing his 24-year-old secretary.

Fuck him.

So Helen was going to live life for herself from now on. David was gone, she was going to get alimony and she could get more hours at the library and, crucially, the condo was paid for. Soon Rachel would be off to college. That would make her sad, but it would also mean she had more time to herself. Right now, with Rachel gone for the day, she had time for her plastic friend.

She lay back on the bed. She filled her head with thoughts of a particular square-jawed movie star. She imagined taking her clothes off for him. She imagined him picking her up and taking her into the bedroom. Her little friend buzzed to life.

The next morning Rachel came again to the pool room. It was early, 6:15. There was someone swimming in the pool.

Rachel muttered angrily to herself. All the students on the swim team knew that they were not to use the pool without faculty supervision. The PE teacher might be just a substitute—the regular faculty advisor, Coach Harris, had taken a job elsewhere earlier in the year—but a teacher’s presence was still required. Rachel strode over to the deep end where the swimmer was approaching, ready to bawl him out. She had just gotten to “What the heck do you think—” when the man came up the ladder and she saw his face.

It wasn’t a student! It was Mr. Miller, who taught math and computer science. He smiled. “Hi! You must be Rachel!” After she managed to stammer out confirmation he said “I’m Dan Miller. You can call me Coach. You might have seen me around the halls. I’ve been assigned to be faculty advisor to and coach for the swim team. Swam for my college’s team. Hey, can you come to the office with me?”

He toweled off, put on a hoodie, and walked away. Rachel followed, seething inside. She had liked not having a faculty advisor. Now, with only three months left in the school year, she’d have to deal with a new teacher. Dammit.

She followed him into his office. “Rachel Nichols,” he said in a friendly tone. “I have your file!” And so he did. He tabbed at a keyboard on his desk and turned the monitor so she could see it. It was a record of all her events since she’d joined the swim team in ninth grade. There were also photos of her at swim club activities, taken by the yearbook committee. She cringed a photo of herself after a meet, cringing, while her mother stood next to her with a beaming smile. Mom had chosen to wear a far too tight and half-unbuttoned blouse to that particular meet, along with tiny denim shorts. Miles of cleavage and smooth, toned legs were caught by the camera and preserved in eternity for everyone in the school to see. Rachel had been very upset, and still wasn’t very happy about it, although she found out the reason for Mom’s midlife crisis barely a week after the photo was taken.

No, don’t think about that.

He smiled again. He couldn’t be nicer, which in its way was very irritating. “I’m glad I ran into you; I was going to ask you to come by after school anyway. I have a new idea: I want to try yoga for team practices.” All Rachel could do was frown. “I know, I know,” he said. “Sounds like superstitious nonsense. I learned it when I was a student in India. I shaved thirteen seconds off my 800 free time. You do short distance breaststroke, right? Wouldn’t be 13, but you’d notice something.”

Rachel groped for a response. Yoga? Really? It did sound like a lot of nonsense—but what if it worked? If she could shave just two seconds off of her time she’d be practically guaranteed to qualify for regionals. And she really wanted to qualify for regionals. There were eighteen days until the meet. Fine, fine...she could try his silly yoga. It would keep him busy and keep him from messing with the respect of the team. If it worked, she could have the rest of the team try it. And if it didn’t, she could use it as a weapon against him whenever he disagreed with what she wanted to do with her team.

“All right, sure. Just me at first, though.”

“Great! Meet me here at the office at six tomorrow morning.”

For the second time in this brief chat she cringed, this time at the thought of losing her pre-practice planning time to Coach Miller. But she had agreed. “OK, I’ll be there.”

Bright and early at six the next morning Rachel, still fuming about what she had seen and heard in her mother’s room—God, that was gross—was at the office in the gym, in her swimsuit.

Coach Miller was in the pool office, wearing only a pair of swim trunks. A yoga mat was on the floor. A different computer, a laptop, sat on the desk, facing out towards the mat.

After stretching, Coach Miller demonstrated a sort of upside-down V position in which he touched the mat with feet and palms. “This is called ‘Downward Dog’.” Rachel mentally rolled her eyes but copied the “Downward Dog” position. It was the first of several poses they did together. Rachel, to her surprise, felt her muscles start to get shaky, while Coach Miller looked like he could do this all day. He had to be at least thirty but he was fit and toned, a guy who looked like a serious swimmer, not an ounce of fat on him.

The workout was intense enough that when it was over, Rachel collapsed in her chair, drenched in sweat. Then Coach Miller said “Now we’re ready for the next phase.” To her surprise, he tapped a key on the laptop. It sprang to life, showing a Hindu mandala that grew and shrank and shifted and changed colors. It looked like something you might see in a terrible 1970s psychedelic cartoon. Soft music played. “Now I want you to sit on the mat cross-legged, face the screen, raise your hands over your head and bring your palms together.”

What the hell is this, thought Rachel, but she sat on the mat and posed as directed. “Coach, what is this?” Lines appeared, as if someone was writing on the screen in magic marker.

He chuckled ruefully and answered. “It’s ancient Sanskrit. Think of it as yoga for the eyes. Hold that position, but follow the writing with your eyes across the screen.”

“Uh, Coach?", said Rachel, straining to keep her voice neutral. “Is there a point to this?”

He chuckled again. “The nerve cable from your eyes to your brain is the largest in the body.” Rachel listened to his voice and the music, as she followed the script with her eyes. “This lets you use eye movements to focus and exercise your mind like physical exercise focuses your body. Focusing your mind will help you get a better time.”

What a load of garbage, thought Rachel. I should get up and get out of here. But she continued to follow the script with her eyes, and watch the spinning, flickering mandala, and listen to the music. It really was soothing. It did feel good to sit there. She sat, not moving, her eyes flicking across the screen. The urge to get up and leave passed, replaced with a feeling of contentment. The urge to do anything passed. All thoughts passed. It was as if she fell into the screen, but while she still sat there, hands raised above her head...

She never heard the lock click.

“Are you centered and calm?” The question bounced around in the cool quiet room that was her head. She thought, yes, and slowly nodded, eyes never leaving the screen.

...and then it seemed she passed out of all time...

“How was that?”

The voice sounded like it had come from the bottom of a mineshaft.

“Rachel, what do you think? How do you feel?” The voice was much clearer now.

Suddenly she snapped to attention. She was still in the pool office. The screen on the laptop was dark. Her hands sat clasped in her lap. Coach Miller, wearing a school sweatshirt, leaned forward in his desk chair, wearing the same sort of eagerly curious look Rachel’s mom got whenever she made Rachel try a new dessert.

She felt...great. Invigorated. Energetic. She looked at Coach Miller and noticed how handsome he was.

She tried to affect a casual, bored tone. “Well, that was interesting. Thanks, Coach.”

“You’re welcome! See you tomorrow at six!”

I obey Coach Miller. “OK, coach, see you then.” The school bell chimed 7 o’clock as she opened the unlocked door and left the pool office.

After school, Rachel and her swim club teammate Nancy went to one of their regular hangout spots, a coffee shop near the school. They were eating the liquid candy whimsically called “coffee” and eating slices of cake when Rachel’s friend Sharon came in, saw them, and plopped down.

In a lot of ways Rachel and Sharon were different. Sharon was a cheerleader right out of central casting, with blonde hair and blue eyes and huge boobs that she loved showing off. Rachel was serious and driven and gearing up for college, while Sharon was bubbly and fun and seemed to regard college as a place to find a husband. But Rachel had spent years helping Sharon with homework, and Sharon always cheered Rachel up when she was down, and she did have great fashion sense, and they’d been in school together since third grade.

The other two girls chatted. Rachel stared into space. Eventually she heard Sharon’s voice in her ear: “Hello? Earth to Rachel?”

“Oh hi, sorry. I was just thinking.”

“What about?”

“Nothing.”

“What? Tell us!” Sharon would stop at nothing to worm out a secret.

“Really, it’s nothing.”

“Well now you have to tell us.“

Rachel sighed. “OK, fine. It’s my mom.”

Sharon looked concerned. “What, the divorce?”

Sharon and Nancy were the only people at school Rachel had told. Sharon’s parents had gotten divorced years ago. “Yeah, that, but...Last night, my mom was...you know.” Sharon stared; she quite clearly did not know. Rachel blushed. “My mom was...doing something. In her bedroom.”

Sharon blinked once, then a gleeful, evil grin appeared on her face. She was in full gossip mode. “No!”

Rachel wished she’d kept it secret. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

“She was just...loud.” Sharon let out a laugh. Rachel avoided eye contact. “It was all ‘oooh, oooh’...her bedroom is right next to mine!” Sharon laughed again. Nancy looked at the other two in turn, grinning. Rachel continued. “This morning I went in there to tell her I was leaving early, and she was asleep. You know what I saw?” She bent her head low over the table, and the other two did likewise. “She left a drawer open, and there was this big...this plastic...”

This time it was Nancy’s turn to speak. “A plastic dick? How big was it?”

“Nancy, gross! What is your problem? I don’t know! Aren’t they always big?”

Everyone laughed.

At 5:20 the next morning Rachel’s alarm rang. She fumbled for it, attempting to hit the snooze button. But then her hand stopped as thoughts zoomed into her head. I have to be at the pool at six. I obey Coach Miller.

No, she thought, even as she kicked the covers away and swung to a sitting position. I don’t have to be there until seven. Coach Miller’s meditation crap is dumb.

But then the other thought came back, and it was final. I obey Coach Miller. She got up, stretched, and headed for the bathroom.

Six o’clock, and there Coach Miller was, welcoming her with that disarming smile of his. Yoga. The Downward Dog and the other positions. As he told her to sit on the mat for the mental relaxation exercise, Rachel thought This is stupid one more time, but she was confronted in her mind once again with I trust Coach Miller. I obey Coach Miller.

This time it felt easier and more natural to let the music and the shapes and the words carry her to someplace far, far away.

A commanding voice sounded in her head. “Take off your clothes.”

Yes! Suddenly she felt free. I am happy to be naked. I obey Coach Miller. She peeled off one strap of the swimsuit with each hand, lowered it down, then stepped out of it and kicked it away. She felt wonderful.

“How was that?”

Once again, the voice snapped her back to awareness. Unlike yesterday she felt no urge to conceal her sense of well-being. She smiled at him brilliantly. “That was great, I feel amazing, thanks Coach.”

Then she looked down. She was naked! Her mouth dropped open. Then her hands flew to her breasts...but then she dropped them. I will not wear clothing when I practice yoga.

But yoga is finished!, a second voice said.

I am happy to be naked.

But Coach Miller can see me!, said the second voice, although even as Rachel heard that voice, it seemed to grow weaker.

The first voice sounded out much more confidently. I am happy to be naked. It is natural for Coach Miller to see me naked. I trust Coach Miller. I will feel no anxiety when Coach Miller sees me naked.

Her hands again twitched up, but this time more shakily and only to her belly button, before she dropped them again. I am happy to be naked. She idly regarded her tits. They were round and pert, not as big as her mom’s huge jugs, but not flat either. Her nipples pointed out in the cool air of the gym in the early morning.

“You are doing very well, Rachel.” Her attention was suddenly drawn back to the coach. He gave her a supporting, approving look. He also looked at her boobs. It is natural for Coach Miller to see me naked.

She felt...really good, but she was still curious. “Coach, I still don’t understand how this is going to help me swim faster.”

“You have to able to focus your whole mind on your swimming. You won’t be able to reach your full potential until you are completely calm and at peace in the pool. This is teaching you how to reach that point where you are at peace.”

That made sense. I believe Coach Miller. I trust Coach Miller.

No!, said that second voice, coming back one last time, but very weak.

I obey Coach Miller, answered the first voice, even more certain than before.

The bell tolled 7 o’clock. “Time for you to put your swimsuit back on and go to practice. Come back tomorrow at eight.” said the coach.

She smiled again. “Thanks, Coach.” She put her swimsuit on, left the office, and practically skipped to the pool. She felt happy. She felt lighter than air.

The next day was actually Saturday, but it didn’t even occur to her to disobey Coach Miller. Instead she was there bright-eyed at 8 a.m. She knocked on the door and entered when he answered. The yoga mat was on the floor. She stretched her legs and rolled her head around her neck.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?", asked Coach Miller. “We are going to practice yoga.” He said the last two words very carefully.

No duh, thought Rachel. Then she was very surprised to hear words spoken from her own lips: “I will not wear clothing when I practice yoga.“

What?. Why had she said that? But even as she wondered her hands were unbuttoning her blouse.

Why am I taking off my clothes? thought Rachel, even as the blouse lay on the floor and her hands were unbuttoning her pants. Suddenly, as her pants slid down her legs, she felt scared and confused. She had to—

I will not wear clothing when I practice yoga. Yes, that was right. But Coach Miller—thought Rachel as she stepped out of her pants—

It is natural for Coach Miller to see me naked. I trust Coach Miller. Yes, she trusted Coach Miller.

Can anyone else see me?. She looked at the curtains but they were closed, and it was Saturday morning anyway. Naked...I am happy to be naked. It is natural for Coach Miller to see me naked. I will not wear clothing when I practice yoga.

Her hands had paused in midair while she looked at the curtains. They hung there a little longer. Then she took off her bra and panties, and she felt much better.

“Very good Rachel, you’re making wonderful progress. I’m sure this practice will help you improve your time.”

Isn’t that why I’m naked?, thought Rachel. Then she looked at Coach Miller’s well-muscled arms, and noticed how he was staring at her tits—I will feel no anxiety when Coach Miller sees me naked—and she wondered if that was really why.

“This time we’re going to learn some new postures. Let’s run through the old ones first. Do you remember them?”

“Yep.” Rachel inwardly rolled her eyes at the thought of stupid names like “Downward Dog”. Together she and Coach Miller went through the poses.

“Now you’ll do the ‘Happy Baby’ posture.”

Happy Baby? These names keep getting dumber.

“Lay on your back, bring your knees up on the outside of your chest, and hold your ankles.”

He proceeded to demonstrate. Rachel couldn’t quite stop the giggle. It really was a silly pose, she shouldn’t—I obey Coach Miller. Yes, she should obey him. The naked girl did as she was told, lying on her back and grasping her ankles. She looked up at Coach...he’s staring at my pussy. Why was he—It is natural for Coach Miller to see me naked. I feel no anxiety when Coach Miller sees me naked. Yes. Yes, that was right. She spread her knees apart as she’d been told. “Like this?“

There was a noticeable pause before Coach Miller said “Yes, just like that. That’s enough for today, Rachel. Sit down and we’ll begin the day’s programming.”

“What? Programming?”

“Uh, the next step in the program.” As she arranged herself in the meditation pose he tapped the keyboard on the laptop, and the mandala and the Sanskrit characters appeared.

“What exactly do those characters—”

“We can talk later.”

“Uhhhhh....” Yes. Talk later. I obey Coach Miller. The characters danced across the screen and once again her mind became a cool, empty room.

“You did very well, Rachel.”

Again the familiar feeling of returning to the room. She stretched, and smiled, and thought how happy she was to be naked. Coach Miller stood over her, leaning against the desk, his body blocking her view of the laptop. “Thanks, Coach.”

“Stand up.” I obey Coach Miller. She stood up. She was facing directly in front of him.

“Come here.” She stepped forward and he pulled her into an embrace. He wore a tracksuit, sweatshirt and sweatpants; her naked body pressed against the fabric, her nipples rubbing up and down on the sweatshirt. He bent his head down to hers, and kissed her.

Her body writhed against his as they kissed. His hands moved up and down her smooth back and grabbed the firm globes of her ass. I want Coach Miller to touch me. Their tongues danced. He pulled away from her mouth and nibbled on her ear before kissing her neck. Her hand snaked down and found his cock, hard as a rock under his sweatpants. I want to touch Coach Miller. She stroked it.

Suddenly Coach Miller picked her up. She squealed as he stepped around the desk and sat down on his big office chair, with her in his lap. They kissed again. She had spent most of the second half of junior year fucking Kevin and she had never been this turned on. His hand moved to her breast, squeezing it. When he pulled on her nipple, to her shock, she had an orgasm. She buried her face in the crook of his neck as her body shook with a climax.

I must not be selfish. She had just come; she had to get him to come too. I must serve. She had to serve him. Her hand found his cock again and she began stroking it vigorously. She had done this for Kevin sometimes to get him to stop bothering her when she didn’t want to fuck, but this time, she really wanted to please him.

Her hand rose up and down on his cock while she rubbed her ass against his pants leg and kissed him. He made a strangled noise and she knew what it meant. She cupped her hand over the tip just in time as what felt like a huge load of come shot into it.

For a moment they just sat there, Rachel on Coach Miller’s lap while he caught his breath. Then Coach Miller looked down and saw her cupping what was in fact a pretty large load of come in her hand. He jerked his head towards a box of wet wipes on the side of the desk.

I must serve Coach Miller. Rachel felt wild, daring. I want Coach Miller to be proud of me. She raised her hand to her mouth, slurped up Coach’s load, and swallowed. Then she carefully licked her hand, and only after that did she reach for the wet wipe and clean her hand.

“That was very good Rachel. I’m very proud of you. You served me well.” Proud. Served. Her stomach fluttered as she thrilled to his praise. She got off his lap, put her clothes back on, and left.

Once she got out of the office and was alone, the realization hit her and she froze for a moment. I just gave a teacher a handjob. What am I doing?. She started to breathe heavily as a wave of panic started to rise. Then the wave faded as soon as it came. I trust Coach Miller. I believe Coach Miller. Yes, yes she did, she could trust him. I want Coach Miller to touch me. She remembered how wet she’d been and the shock of the orgasm as Coach twisted her nipple. It had felt so good. And the handjob—I want to touch Coach Miller. I trust Coach Miller. She remembered the feeling of wild freedom as she looked at Coach Miller’s come sitting in her hand. She felt much calmer as she passed through the pool room exit. Was she falling in love with her swim coach? Rachel wasn’t sure. But she knew some things: she believed Coach Miller, she trusted Coach Miller, she obeyed Coach Miller, and she wanted more.

Later that day Rachel met Sharon at the mall. Sharon, being Sharon, dragged Rachel to the lingerie store. Soon enough, Sharon was holding a tiny pair of panties from a hanger.

“Cute,” said Rachel. “Who are you buying it for?”

Sharon blushed. “No, um, I just—”

“Come on, tell me!", said Rachel.

Sharon hurriedly hung the panties back on the rack. “They’re too expensive; I couldn’t get them.”

“Oh, they aren’t that much, I’ll get them for you.” Rachel picked them up and threw them into her bag.

“Wow, Rachel!” Sharon suddenly seemed like she was about to cry. “You’re my best friend!” Sharon leaned in and hugged her. “You know, I used to think you were selfish!”

Selfish. Rachel’s mouth parted just a little bit. I must not be selfish. I must serve.

Without thinking, she grabbed Sharon and kissed her. Sharon’s mouth opened in surprise, and Rachel’s tongue was in her mouth. Sharon felt rigid in Rachel’s arms for a moment—and then she melted into the kiss and kissed Rachel back.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it felt like forever. Sharon broke the kiss first. She looked Rachel; her face was wide-eyed and flushed. “Wow, Rachel.”

Why did I do that? “Sharon, I—“

“Rachel, I’m straight.” Rachel’s brow knitted in mild irritation. She knew that; God only knows how many times Sharon had babbled to her about her sexual adventures. (Sharon really was a slut.). “I’m straight—but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.” She took Rachel’s hand and looked down at it, not making eye contact. “That doesn’t mean we can’t fool around.”

Rachel was overwhelmed. And excited. When her friend looked back up into her eyes Rachel said “OK Sharon.”

Sharon grinned and pecked her on the cheek. “Cool!” And they kept shopping.

That night Rachel took a bath. She was alone in the house; her mom had a Saturday-night volleyball group with some other PTA moms. She relaxed in the hot water of the tub, her nipples just barely pointing above the surface. She was glad that her mom was getting out and meeting people. It was much better than Mom sitting around and moping and thinking about her divorce.

That made Rachel think of the little plastic toy sitting in her mother’s room. A warmth grew between her legs. She spread her legs and gently touched her pussy. She thought about how her mom’s dildo might feel in her pussy. She thought about how Coach Miller’s cock had felt in her hand, and how it had felt when it was spurting. How would it feel in her pussy? I want Coach Miller to touch me. Her finger entered her folds and pressed her little button.

“Ohhh....". She pushed her finger into her tunnel. She remembered when Kevin had fucked her. Nearly a year ago now, that was. She remembered Coach Miller. How would her mother’s toy feel. It would fill her up, much more than a finger.

She would do it. She was going to do it. She got out of the tub. She toweled off, and then wrapped the towel around herself. Then she took it back off. Why shouldn’t she be naked. I am happy to be naked. I want to be naked. She wanted to be naked. She wanted people to see.

Rachel dashed into the bedroom. If her mother saw her now—the thought of that made her heart hammer, but was it hammering from fear, or hammering from excitement? She ran back into the bathroom and closed the door. She looked at the dildo. It was big, pink with swirls and with a dial at the bottom. It was big. The same size as Coach Miller, she thought.

She turned the dial and it started to vibrate. She nearly dropped it. Nope nope nope nope nope, not ready for that. She turned the dial back to OFF.

Instead, she climbed back into the bathtub. She held the tip of her mother’s toy experimentally against her pussy. She traced it around her lips and her button.

“Ohhh....”

She was very wet, and the dildo slipped inside with ease. Deeper, deeper it went inside her. When her fingers touched rough hair she stopped and enjoyed the sensation. It felt so good, so good. Out, in, out, in—slowly. With her other hand she fondled her breast. Her palm brushed against the button at the top of her lips and she shuddered with sensation.

She began moving the toy faster now. She remembered last year, remembered how good it had felt when Kevin had fucked her, remembered the feel of his weight on her and the feel of him inside her. That image was soon succeeded by an image of her naked, sitting on Coach Miller’s lap while he played with her body. How would he feel inside her? She imagined Coach taking her. Would he bend her over the desk? Hold her down so she couldn’t escape...but of course she wouldn’t want to.

The water sloshed out of the tub as Rachel fucked herself frantically, imagining kneeling in front of Coach Miller, imaging serving him. Serve. I must serve. Her legs thrashed as she felt her release building up inside her, building from her core, until it exploded.

“Ohhhhhhhh....”

She lay limply, blissfully in the bathtub, one leg hooked over the side. She thought about Coach Miller again. What would he think, to see her jilling off with a borrowed dildo?

“It is natural for Coach Miller to see me naked.” She spoke the words out loud, without even knowing why. She brought her hand to her mouth in surprise. Natural? Of course it was natural to be naked for yoga, and to serve Coach Miller in the office, but at home? “I will feel no anxiety when Coach Miller sees me naked. I want Coach Miller to see me naked.” Again she spoke the words out loud, but this time she didn’t wonder why. It was true, she did want Coach Miller to see her naked, and it didn’t matter where. But not with this thing inside me! For a moment she wondered if she would disagree with herself again, but the strange new voice had nothing to say.

She got out of the tub, dried herself off, and carefully returned the toy to the spot where she’d found it in her mother’s room. She went back to her room to put on pajamas, when she stopped. What did she need pajamas for? I am happy to be naked. I want to be naked. She did, she really did. But what would her mother do when she came home? Well, she was eighteen, and there was nothing wrong with it, and Mom would just have to deal.

So it was that 45 minutes later when Helen arrived home from volleyball, she found her daughter on the living room couch, reading a book, wearing nothing but a pair of panties. (Inwardly, Rachel had thought when she put the panties on that even this was a compromise.) After the surprise, Helen’s mouth opened and closed before she opened it again to speak.

“Rachel, why are you naked?”

Rachel looked down at the rather ordinary panties she was wearing. “I’m not naked, Mom.”

“You know what I mean! Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”

Rachel remained calm. “I just didn’t want to. I guess I wanted to feel what it was like. It’s pretty nice. Relaxing. What’s wrong with it?”

“Rachel, come on, you can’t—”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Helen’s mind whirled as she wondered how to deal with this bit of teenaged rebellion. She thought about her own rebellions when she was Rachel’s age: the short skirts, the tank tops, the fights with her mother. The cruises with boys when her mother had thought she was meeting her friends. There were worse ways of rebellion.

Helen remained content with rolling her eyes. “All right, fine. Just don’t let anybody see you. Make sure the blinds are down.”

She was headed for the shower when her daughter piped at her, “Hey Mom, why don’t you try it too?”

She shook her head even as she passed Rachel and into the hallway. “No thank you sweetie, nudism’s not for me.”

The next morning, Sunday, Rachel did in fact test her mother’s boundaries by coming out of her room and going about her morning routine totally nude. Mom ground her teeth but made no comment.

Rachel basked in the feeling of freedom, but sadly she had to put clothes on as Nancy and Sharon were coming over for lunch. Rachel briefly considered recruiting her friends into nudism, but no, that could get weird.

Her mother had gone out shopping. The girls ate salad and talked about college plans. Eventually Nancy gave Rachel a mischievous grin.

“Hey Rachel, when are you going to show us that thing of your mother’s?”

Unable to come up with any other answer, Rachel only said “What?”

“You know, that thing you heard your mother using!” Then Nancy imitated Rachel’s imitation of her mom. “Ooooh, oooh...” before dissolving into giggles.

Rachel blushed. “N-no way! I, I don’t know.”

Nancy laughed. “Yeah right! I bet you use it yourself.”

“I—what? I....” Rachel trailed off into silence.

Nancy’s mouth opened wide. “You HAVE used it!”

Rachel blushed and nodded.

Nancy looked positively eager. “You have to show us.“

“No! I mean, yes, I did, but no way I’m gonna show you.”

Rachel would have expected Sharon the slut to lead this conversation but she’d been quiet. Finally she interjected. “You did? Use it?”

“I...lately I’ve been more...feeling like that. I don’t know. Anyway, yes. I used it. Once.”

“And?” Nancy kept pressing.

Rachel shrugged. “It was OK, I guess.” More than OK.

“How long have you been feeling like that?” Sharon asked, and Rachel knew she was thinking about the kiss in the lingerie store.

“What? Oh, I don’t know. A few days, a week maybe.”

Nancy looked like a cat about to pounce. “So what’s up? Giving someone the eye? Coach Miller, maybe?”

“No!", Rachel lied. “But, can you keep a secret?”

After Sharon and Nancy answered “Totally” in unison, Rachel continued. “I’ve been doing yoga sessions with Coach Miller in the mornings before group practice.”

“Yoga? In private?", wondered a skeptical Nancy.

“Yeah. We’re going to have the team start doing yoga next week. I know it sounds stupid, but Coach Miller promised that it will help my time. And I’d do anything to reduce my time. It’s really important to me!”

“OK, OK, sure,” said Nancy, raising her hands in surrender. “But what does that have to do with you and your mom’s...thing?”

“Well, I think it’s connected. Coach Miller said that yoga would help increase my mental energy and help me focus in swim practice. I think...I think it’s increased my energy in that other way, too.” She knew she couldn’t tell them that she practiced yoga in the nude, and she certainly couldn’t tell them that she jerked off Coach Miller. They wouldn’t understand.

“Cool,” said Nancy.

“What do you do?", asked Sharon, who still seemed skeptical.

“Oh, stretches. Tough ones, too. And then he has me watch moving lines on a computer. He says that moving the eye exercises the brain.”

Sharon frowned. “He has you move your eyes in patterns? Like a hypnotist telling someone to watch a crystal?”

Rachel snorted in derision. “No, not like that! Some kind of Indian writing.” She didn’t tell Sharon how she would zone out every time she sat down to watch the patterns. Sharon might think that was weird.

Sharon in fact did think that Rachel’s story was weird. “I dunno, Rachel. Maybe I should come with you to one of your sessions.” Rachel made a ‘whatever’ shrug, although the thought of Sharon tagging along was displeasing, because that meant she couldn’t be naked.

“Does it work?", asked Nancy.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Last lap!” “Come on, Rachel!” “You can do it!”

Rachel’s teammates crowded around the edge of the pool as she churned to the finish, headed toward the electronic timer plate, which Coach Miller had borrowed from another school. She attacked the water. Despite the thrashing of the water in her ears she could still hear Coach loudly calling out the seconds as she approached the finish: “2:27...2:28...2:29.”

Rachel glided the last couple of feet and was rewarded with an electronic beep.

“2:30.7!", shouted Coach Miller. “That’s 1.6 seconds off your best time!”

Rachel leaped from the pool with joy, and tackled Coach Miller in a hug. Remembering after a second that there were other people there, she broke off from Coach and hugged several of her teammates in turn.

It’s worked! Coach Miller’s training, it’s worked!

I want Coach Miller to be proud of me.

The next morning’s yoga session. Rachel was out of her swimsuit before Coach Miller had even locked the office door.

She had long since stopped wondering about the spidery writing on the screen or why she seemed to drift off during every mental training exercise.

“Very good, Rachel.”

Once again, Coach Miller’s words brought her to awareness. She gave him a smile that expressed all that she was feeling: warmth, contentment, belonging.

He stood directly above her, naked, stroking his erection. She knew what she had to do.

She brought herself from her cross-legged sitting position to a kneeling position. Then she took his hand off his cock and replaced it with her mouth. She kneeled there, sucking, her head bobbing back and forth on his shaft.

My body belongs to Coach Miller. I want Coach Miller to use me.

Rachel picked up her pace. She used one hand to stroke his shaft whenever she pulled her head back. Then she plunged in again and felt his cock hit the back of her throat. She smelled that particular man’s smell. He grabbed a hunk of her hair and pulled.

I want Coach Miller to use me. I obey Coach Miller.

He exploded into her mouth. She felt the warm, salty come hit her tongue. When she was sure he was done she swallowed it down, like she knew he wanted.

I want Coach Miller to be proud of me.