The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The young woman, dressed in a dark grey business suit with black hair pulled back into a ponytail, looked at herself in the mirror—she looked tough and official and ready.

Today is going to be a good day, she thought.

Today is going to be the day that my life changes.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

Today is the day I make Inspector.

Her name was Melissa Sharp. Well, to be more precise, Detective Sergeant Melissa Sharp—she may have been young, a fresh-faced 23 in comparison to many of her older, more world-weary colleagues. but Melissa had been making a name for herself in the force. A high-profile arrest of a notorious drug dealer had increased her stock with her bosses but, after the case had been processed and sent to court, and the dealer sent away for an extended vacation at her Majesty’s pleasure, Melissa fell into a lull.

The big cases weren’t falling her way, and her superiors didn’t know what to do with her. Melissa was being wasted on small-time burglaries and muggings, and she knew she could use her brain and her police skills far more effectively if she just moved up the ladder a little bit.

Detective Inspector Sharp, she smiled. DI Sharp—that had a ring to it.

And that’s where the raves came in.

Over the past few months, the city and its surrounding areas had seen an outbreak of random, occasional goth raves. A big group of goths turning up on random occasions, partying and raving for a night in a random location, and then vanishing into the wind. Whenever the police turned up, everyone had gone, and no-one knew where—there was hardly a big goth subculture in the city.

Perhaps it was a case of people just letting loose, putting on some elaborate outfits for an underground party and letting off some steam. But that’s not how Melissa saw it—she was convinced there had to be more to it.

Her colleagues weren’t overly worried by the raves. There hadn’t been any major complaints, as the goths chose abandoned buildings, and they didn’t cause any damage to the structure. Sure, there were some grumbles about the noise level, but the general attitude around the station was ‘kids will be kids’ and ‘it’ll all blow over soon enough’—her superior officers thought there was no sense escalating an unnecessary police response to something that was barely causing any trouble.

But that wasn’t how DS Sharp saw it, not at all.

Ignoring her orders, she’d conducted her own investigation into the raves, and had quickly focused upon the drugs angle. It was hard to pick up any witness testimony—every time she heard that a rave was taking place, the building was empty by the time she’d arrived. But she’d heard whispers of drugs being used at these raves—she knew it—and she was convinced she’d detected the lingering smell of drugs after processing one of the rave sites.

Melissa had it all worked out in her mind.

It had to be drugs. Why else would people go to the middle of nowhere, dressed like freaks, unless they were high on something?

And so, Melissa knew what to do. She’d get to one of these raves, and she’d arrest some of the goths there—they’d be high, undoubtedly. She’d work on them and get them to reveal the names and locations of their suppliers, and then she’d take them down. With the suppliers off the street, she’d be taking another step in dealing with the city’s drug troubles, and she’d be killing off the raves at the same time. It was a win-win situation, and there’s no way the Super would refuse a promotion after that.

Enter DI Sharp, and enter cases worth her calibre.

Pursuing the case had proven a challenge because there was so little information—no-one was talking and there weren’t any known criminals associated with the raves. The only time anyone seemed to know anything about the raves is when they were already over, and that didn’t help deal with them in the first place. She thought the drug angle would be the way in, but all the dealers she knew appeared to have no knowledge of what was going on. She’d been around them enough to know when they were lying, and they certainly weren’t lying.

But then, one day, after all of her vigilance, it was a lucky break that put her on the right track.

She’d been conducting some uniform work on the tip line when, out of nowhere, she’d hit upon the lead she needed—an anonymous caller had phoned with a suspicion that one of the goth raves would be taking place that Friday at the Old Hall, beginning at nine and running on until who-knew-when.

It fit the pattern—it was an old crumbling building in the middle of the surrounding countryside, unlikely to attract any attention or prompt any complaints. The ravers could rave all night without any fear of reprisal—or so they thought.

Tonight, they were going to find out what happened when you wound up on the wrong side of DS Melissa Sharp.

Melissa arrived at the Old Hall a couple of minutes before nine, leaving her car in one of the copses near to the building’s main entrance. It would be the perfect vantage point to take some photos of the ravers before heading in, shutting everything down and making a few arrests.

She sat in her suit, enjoying a brief moment of peace before she got to work—she had her camera to hand, and she was ready to capture and arrest some revellers.

She sat, waiting.

Waiting.

And more waiting.

She checked her phone—it had passed ten-past, and no-one at all had turned up.

Where were they all? Could they have suspected an officer was here, she wondered, before dismissing the idea—no-one knew she was here, not even her fellow officers.

She was a little annoyed by the turn of events—indeed, the lack of any event at all—but she thought she’d take the opportunity to investigate the building, just in case she picked up any useful evidence. Maybe they had been there already—it wasn’t a desirable outcome, but she’d be remiss in her duty if she didn’t check it out.

Melissa took her torch from the dashboard and got out of the car.

She flicked it on as she made her way up to the Old Hall, scanning the outside of the crumbling ruins in the hopes of picking up any sign of life. Nothing.

The Old Hall was a mansion in its former life, but it had fallen into disrepair more than a century back—now it stood in ruins, a vague haunted house-feel to it. It was the perfect place, Melissa thought, to have found gothic types—so where were they?

Melissa forced open the door—it made an awful creaking sound, as if it hadn’t been opened in years.

That wasn’t a good sign, she thought, if she was hoping to find anyone there.

She clicked on her torch, and began a methodical sweep of the downstairs rooms. Every room, she was confronted with old-fashioned and long-forgotten furniture, coated in cobwebs and rotting away, without a sign of life anywhere.

Melissa had been keeping silent, trying to make no noise to avoid tipping off any potential trespassers (even though she knew that none were there). But, as she panned around one of the rooms near the back of the house with her torchlight, she realised she could just about make out a noise in the near distance. A kind of metallic, almost industrial sound, with a beat. A beat—could it be the rave?

Where was that hint of music coming from?

If not inside the building, it had to be in the back of the grounds outside.

For a moment, there was a little leap of excitement in her mind—perhaps the rave wasn’t taking place literally within the Old Hall, but just in the grounds. She could still have a successful night after all.

Torch in hand, she made her way through the Old Hall to one of the crumbling, doorless back entrances, and looked about.

It was hardly a rave. In fact, it was hardly anything at all—she saw a solitary caravan in the grounds, which had to be the source of the music. It was a larger model, but certainly not large enough to hold a giant rave with hundreds of people. It looked a little rundown, old and worse for wear, and Melissa imagined it probably belonged to some travellers—no doubt settling illegally, but hardly something worth pushing any further.

She thought she should wander down, knock on the door and see who was there, just in case. If it was travellers, a police warning to move on normally did the job. It wouldn’t be a total waste of an evening, if not far from it.

Melissa walked across the grass towards the caravan, scanning the grounds as she did but turning up absolutely nothing new. The closer she got, the more she could hear the music—well, she supposed someone else would call it music. To her, it was horrendous, industrial-sounding rubbish that sounded painful—she’d come across some of it during her research into the raves, but she couldn’t stand the stuff. No wonder half the people were high, she’d thought, because there’s no way you’d stand the noise otherwise.

Thinking of drugs, when she was nearby, she noticed that fumes were escaping the caravan window seals. Immediately, her mind started processing—it was the kind of thing typical of a drug set-up and, coupled with the music, she wagered it was entirely possible she may have hit upon a big break after all.

She took a few photos of the caravan with her phone, and then a little video, intended to capture the music too. On their own, they weren’t much, but every piece of evidence counted.

Then, those jobs accounted for, she marched up to the door of the caravan and pounded heavily.

“Police, open up!”

Melissa heard the shuffle of activity inside the caravan—no doubt hiding some incriminating evidence, something to that effect. A little smirk crept onto her face. This was a caravan, so whatever they were hiding wasn’t going to go very far—she was looking forward to the challenge of finding it, holding it over her suspects and making them crack.

She heard footsteps move to the door, and it swung open.

She’d stepped back, anxious that the fumes trying to escape from the cracks in the windows would buffet her, and she mostly avoided them. A few hit her, and she breathed in without even thinking—it was fruity, pleasant, kind of like the smell from the superintendent’s vape pen.

If she was honest, though, she’d barely even noticed.

She was too distracted by the figure in front of her.

During her research into the raves, Melissa had had occasion to dive into the world of goths—she’d been surprised to see how much variety there was, and how many different subcultures fell under the ‘goth’ bracket. She believed that all goths were just losers who wore black and hung around graveyards at night—well, Melissa thought as she did a customary police once-over, this woman would have been very out of place in a graveyard.

Much of her outfit was green—a bright, vibrant, almost-radioactive green. She wore a black dress, plain and simple, with holes and tears up the sleeves, and a corset around her midriff. On her hands, green fingerless gloves and green chipped nail polish. On her legs, ripped tights leading down to green, fluffy boot covers—Melissa could just about make out a heel under the fur.

And her face was a picture—Melissa thought, if she was being kind, she could just about make out a beautiful face hidden away. But it was concealed by layers of make-up—green, of course, with matching lipstick and eyeshadow. Above her perfectly-styled eyebrows, a pair of goggles sat. And in her black hair, lots of green neon strands bulking it out, making it look like a statement.

Melissa remembered the term ‘cybergoth’—that’s what this woman was. She remembered reading about them, but she thought that the concept was too out there—people didn’t really dress like that, did they?

Well, as Melissa knew now, they clearly did.

All this happened in seconds, but Melissa recovered from her stunned surprise and flashed her warrant card.

“DS Sharp, CID,” she said, knowing the response this usually got—fear, respect.

In this case, it didn’t—instead, the cybergoth girl simply smiled.

“Nice to meet ya,” there was a pleasant chirpiness in her voice, “I’m Xiana.”

Melissa looked at her, stern.

“What are you doing here, ma’am?” Melissa asked. She decided on ‘ma’am’ for the address—the girl was about the same age as her, but the last thing Melissa wanted was to create any sense of kinship between them.

“Waiting for a party,” she smiled, “I love a party. Me and the girls—do you wanna come and say hello, miss police officer?”

Melissa had intended to demand her way in, but an invitation was certainly preferable.

She thanked the cybergoth girl and followed her inside, immediately noticing how much more pungent those fumes were within the caravan. She couldn’t let those drugs get to her, and that meant she needed to get out quick—she could already feel a little more relaxed the more she breathed in, and that didn’t track with a woman who was always on her guard.

Inside, things were… well, normal. Ignoring the music blaring, although someone (presumably Xiana) had turned it down when Melissa entered, things looked respectable. She’d been in drug caravans during her big bust, and they weren’t pleasant places. But this was essentially normal, excusing that strong, lingering, wonderful fruity smell.

Wonderful, she thought, mentally kicking herself. Sure, it was nice enough, but she couldn’t actively like it—she knew that this stuff must be potent. She could handle it a little bit, but for how long?

As Melissa’s mind ran through hundred thoughts, Xiana appeared to be casually, happily, swaying about.

“That’s Kyra,” she said, pointing to an identical girl by what appeared to be a bedroom—identical largely, except Kyra wore a pink version of Xiana’s attire. The girl didn’t acknowledge her—she seemed to be on the phone—to a supplier, maybe? Melissa’s mind was running wild thinking of all the evidence this caravan could turn up—she’d hoped to bring in a few suspects, but she was starting to imagine that this night’s vigil could blow open the goth rave scene faster than she’d have ever anticipated.

Melissa looked about, and noticed a third cybergoth girl in the caravan.

In the corner, a woman sat on a tattered sofa, dressed much the same as the other two but in shades of red, but with one major difference. On her face, she wore a respirator mask on her face, and Melissa could clearly see the fumes coming out. From the look on the woman’s face, she was high and only getting higher.

Xiana noticed Melissa scanning her friend, and she sauntered up to her.

“This is Eris, the newest member of our group.”

Hearing her name, Eris rolled her head slightly, and waved her hand to no-one in particular. She was out of it, Melissa thought—whatever she was inhaling, that must be what was causing these raves.

“Do you wanna hit?” Eris mumbled.

Melissa was stunned at the offer, and she could feel the colour drain from her face. Eventually, she stuttered out an unconvincing ‘no’—she didn’t, but something about the situation seemed to sap her sense of authority. The secondhand fumes must be playing with me, she thought.

Xiana smiled at the officer, and shrugged her shoulders.

“Oh well, it’s your loss,” she said, taking the respirator from Eris and inhaling herself.

As she groaned in pleasure, Melissa realised she needed to get out of there—she needed an opportunity to clear her head, and think about what to do next.

She went to the caravan door, hearing a cheery ‘bye’ from Xiana behind her. She didn’t stop—she marched out, pulling the door shut behind her and, once she was a few yards away, she rubbed her forehead. It was partly frustration at how she’d handled things, and partly an attempt to massage a bit of clarity back into her mind.

And that clarity came, a minute or so later, after she’d breathed in the fresh night air and felt the cold on her skin. Her business suit, stylish though it was, was not the most effective protection on a cold night, but it was exactly what she needed at that moment to kick some sense into her.

She took a moment to berate herself—what the hell, she thought, why did you act so submissive around a bunch of goth junkies—but she quickly focused on the positives.

She’d come here in search of evidence—goth ravers, and a supply of drugs—and she’d found both. She needed to arrest the three cybergoths and take them to the station. But she was just one person, she thought, and she didn’t want to risk aggravating three stoned women her size—that was a fight she could easily lose, and what would happen then?

The best approach, then, was to get some more officers on the scene.

She pulled out her phone to call for back-up, a squad car to take the three women into the station, but she was unable to get a signal. She walked a little around the outside of the caravan and near to the Old Hall, but it wasn’t working—it must have been a dead zone, a blackspot that her provider didn’t cover.

“Damn it,” she said, out loud in frustration.

And then a thought hit her—she had a radio in the car.

She didn’t want to get too far away from the women, but she reasoned that it was probably a safe idea. Her initial thoughts were that they were barely even aware of who they were—she certainly didn’t think they were in any state to make a daring getaway, and she doubted the idea had even crossed their mind.

Melissa headed away from the caravan, pace in her movement despite her reasoned assessment of the three cybergoth girls. The quickest route was through the Old Hall, the way she’d come—she cut through, swiftly but carefully with her torch illuminating her path—and out the front door. From then, it was only a few moments to the car.

She climbed into the front seat, a smile on her face as she reached into her dashboard, searching for the radio to call in her successful arrests.

Melissa took the radio in hand, and pressed the button to put through a call to dispatch at the station.

But there was nothing—no sound whatsoever.

Damnit, there was no power to the unit.

She was annoyed, and she slapped the dashboard in frustration.

She could see her plan going up in smoke—sure, none of her superiors knew she was there and she didn’t risk any professional damage, but this was her best chance to shoot up the career ladder. She could see it all playing out in her mind if she turned up nothing—she was competent, good sergeant material—maybe she’d one day make inspector at a push, but there were so many rungs on that ladder she’d never reach, and she knew she could.

Without those women, and without the knowledge they could provide, she could be stuck.

Damn it, she thought, it’s not fair.

Melissa thought for a moment, desperately racking her mind to figure out what to do.

And then a thought struck her.

One of the women—what was her name—was talking on the phone.

All she needed to do was commandeer it—she’d put through a call to the station from there, and everything would be fine.

She took a moment to compose her and get her breathing back to normal, and then she stepped out of the car, ready to return to the cybergoths.

Melissa inhaled the cold night air once more, and then she pounded on the door of the caravan.

She waited a moment, and was greeted again by Xiana, again with a big smile on her face.

“Miss police officer, you’re back!”

“Yes,” Melissa said, somewhat uneasy at the situation, “and I need to come in.”

“Of course,” the statement put a big grin on the cybergoth girl’s face, “we were hoping you’d come back.”

Melissa didn’t like the welcomeness, but she didn’t think the three girls were any threat—hell, she doubted two of them even knew where they were. It was a bit underhand, perhaps, using the girl’s own phone to call in officers to arrest her, but needs must, she reasoned. In the long run, when they were off whatever they were inhaling and living good, responsible lives, they’d probably thank her.

The officer entered the caravan, and she heard Xiana close the door behind her. With that simple gesture, the lingering scent of the drug fumes in the air suddenly felt much stronger—she was glad she’d only be in there for a minute.

She marched over to Kyra, who was now slumped on the sofa next to Eris, a vacant grin on her face.

“Hello again, police lady” Kyra said, “you’re back.”

Melissa wasn’t in the mood to play games—at least, she knew she shouldn’t be, but she could feel the same sense of relaxation creeping into her mind. The effect of those fumes again, every time she breathed in, making her grasp on the situation feel ever weaker.

She outstretched her hand: “I need your phone.”

Kyra didn’t reply, or even appear to notice the question, and Melissa found a bit of force in her.

“Phone,” she demanded, and the pink cybergoth girl took notice.

“Why do you want my phone?” she asked, innocence in her voice.

“To arrest you,” Melissa said, but realising what she’d done. How could she possibly have given that away to her suspects? She was never loose-lipped—it must be the drugs in the air, she reasoned, but she was finding it a little bit difficult to remember why.

It didn’t matter anyway—the girls just laughed.

“Why do you want to arrest us, miss police officer?” Xiana smiled as she perched on the end of the sofa. “We’re just having fun.”

The girls laughed again, and Melissa snorted as she attempted to hold off joining in with the laughter. There was something so naive about them—so innocent. Innocent, she thought—so why am I here again?

“The raves,” she sputtered out, her rational mind fighting desperately against those secondhand fumes. With every breath of even the hint of that delicious, enticing fruity scent, she felt more relaxed—the tough, determined police officer wanted to break free from her responsibility, throw caution to the wind and have fun.

Fun, just like the cybergoth girls.

“What’s the problem with the raves, miss police officer?” Xiana asked.

“Melissa,” she said—she didn’t want to be the police officer here—it felt far too formal. But she couldn’t answer the question, and Xiana saw it.

“Have you ever been to a rave, Melissa?” she smiled. “They’re so fun.”

And Melissa knew she hadn’t, and she suddenly felt dreadful about it. She’d always been the hard worker, getting up early and staying in late—so when did she have fun? These girls looked like they had fun, all the time—why couldn’t she be like that? She didn’t understand it, no, but she wanted to, so very much.

Xiana saw the battle playing out in Melissa’s eyes,and she noticed something else—Melissa’s nostrils, flaring slightly in the hope of finding some stray fumes from the respirator, and her focus almost entirely on Eris. The red cybergoth girl was slumped on the sofa, but perked up when Xiana called her name.

“Eris, you wanna share with Melissa?”

She inhaled deeply for one last time, and groaned in pleasure—Melissa heard it, and she groaned a little too. That noise—that sheer, unadulterated pleasure.

Eris outstretched her hand and offered the respirator to Melissa. She stared at it, but she couldn’t quite grab it, not yet. It would be fun, and so very pleasurable, but a nagging voice in the back of her mind screamed at her.

“One hit’s not gonna kill you, Melissa,” Xiana said, and she started to giggle. “You know you want to—it’ll be fun.”

She didn’t want to, something in the back of her mind was screaming that she didn’t want to take the respirator from the cybergoth girl, but then—she kind of did. Without realising, she breathed in a little with excitement, more of those lingering fumes entering her body and making her more conducive to the three girls’ suggestions.

If she’d had a moment to regain her senses, or if she’d managed to shift the conversation outside in the fresh air, she’d have never been in this situation. Earlier that day, Melissa would never have even imagined she could be offered drugs—and that, in a second-hand high state, she’d be thinking about taking them.

But at that moment, something about it just felt right to her, she thought—the girls were all so kind, so friendly, and they were right. She’d been a straight-shooter all her life, and she’d never done anything outside the box—she’d never done drugs, smoked, got drunk, anything that could have caused her to get into trouble. She’d played by the rules, and where was she? Alone, working late nights in the hope of inching another peg up the career ladder.

Look at Xiana, Kyra and Eris—they were young, free, having fun. Melissa felt envious—why can’t I have that? And then, she realised, I can. I can do what they do, experience what they experience—and, if I don’t like it, it’s only one hit.

Melissa’s mind reached the conclusion Xiana knew it always would. The cybergoth girl smiled a big smile as Melissa took the respirator, put it on around her mouth and nose, and then she took a deep inhale.

Wow.

She couldn’t think—that amazing, wonderful scent filled her brain—fogging it over, setting it on fire and stimulating every part of her body at the same time. She felt amazing, and she understood it—if this was what the girls felt, she needed more.

“You like it, Melissa?” Xiana said, framing as a question but really telling her. But she didn’t need to be told—she knew.

“Yes, god yes,” she said, trembling as that wonderful drug filled her lungs and spread around her body. She shook as she felt more turned on than she ever had been before—the drug had stimulated her, and she felt a fire burning that she couldn’t ignore. Before she realised, her hand had made its way into her trousers, and into her pants, and into her pussy. Melissa was rubbing herself furiously, desperately trying to release the wave of sexual tension that was building inside her. It didn’t take long—she was so turned on, she was surprised she lasted as long as she did.

“OOOOH,” she screamed as she came, feeling the warmth of her pussy juices on her hand as her body trembled in release. The cum flooded out, soaking her pants and her trousers, and Melissa felt her legs stiffen. She couldn’t move—she was focused on that pleasure, enhanced by the drug.

She listened as she tried to bring her breathing back under control, and became aware that the girls were clapping and cheering.

They were happy—her new friends were happy for her.

“Do you understand?” Xiana asked.

“Yes, yes,” Melissa panted the words out, “it’s wonderful. I want to feel like this all the time.”

Xiana smiled a wider smile than before, and she nodded.

“You can, but not like this—not with miss police officer. No, if you want to share our fun, you have to be like us—you have to be one of us.”

Melissa felt the gravity of the comment—maybe it triggered some alarm bells in the back of her mind—but she was too far gone to care. There could only be one possible response.

“Yes,” she smiled back, “I want to like you.”

Xiana smiled, and she looked at Kyra and Eris, and they smiled too.

“Melissa, take another hit, and then let us help you.”

She did as instructed, inhaling deeply once more and immediately feeling that beautiful bliss again. Eris removed the respirator and put it on her own face, and Melissa didn’t even notice—her mind was somewhere else.

Melissa stood there, lost in the haze as she was surrounded by her three friends. They removed her clothes—or did she take them off at their beckoning, she didn’t know and she didn’t care. All that mattered what, minutes later, she was standing there naked, that business suit and those ankle boots dumped in a pile on the floor, her underwear on top.

That wasn’t who she was anymore—she needed to be free of that restrictive outfit, restrictive and from a world that seemed so far away from this moment.

Kyra had a pile of clothes in hand, and she dumped them on the sofa.

“These were mine,” she said, “but I think you’ll look good in them.”

Melissa didn’t need to be told—she knew they were for her, and she wanted to put them on. No, she needed to—she needed to embrace this new lifestyle, to become a cybergoth like Xiana and Kyra and Eris.

And so she made her way over to the clothes, and she started getting dressed.

The underwear was worn—dark blue, with signs of a past life, and that turned Melissa on. She rushed to put on the lace bra and matched panties, and they were followed by some dark blue tights full of ladders and holes. The underwear told a story, and Melissa was looking forward to adding to that story now.

She stepped into a tutu skirt, black with blue highlights, and she pulled a lace top with net sleeves over her head. The last detail, clothing-wise, was a dark blue corset. She held it to her stomach, and one of the girls pulled it tight, fastening it around her body. But she loved that feel—it was as if she was being embraced by her companions, a tight hold that reminded her of who she was now.

When she was mostly dressed, Kyra pulled her to another part of the caravan, and pushed her into a tattered chair.

And then, the girls got to work.

Xiana sat on Melissa’s lap, applying makeup and offering reassuring happy smiles, which made Melissa smile even more. Kyra was behind her, playing with her hair. Eris knelt to her side, painting her nails dark blue, when she was finished, slipping Melissa’s feet into a pair of heeled boots hidden by blue fluff.

She had no idea how long she sat there—she was lost in the transformation, and her mind was elsewhere as the girls gave her the occasional chance to inhale more from the respirator—but she was eventually conscious that they had finished. She looked about—they were standing, watching and smiling, and Xiana was clutching a hand mirror.

“Take a look,” she said, smiling and placing it in Melissa’s lap.

The former police officer picked up the mirror and looked at herself—she was a new person. She looked just like the other cybergoth girls, only in a blue colour scheme. The cyberlox hung from her black hair, separated from her face by a pair of goggles, and her face was blue—blue eyeshadow, blue lips, and a number of blue jewels artfully arranged between her eyes.

She loved it. This was who she was—those memories of another life, they seemed like so far away, so long ago. There was something about her appearance that just felt right to her, and there was just one piece missing.

“Jewel,” Xiana said, as if reading her mind, “you should be called Jewel.”

Jewel smiled—with that name, her transformation was complete, and her old life fell away completely. The three girls started to giggle, and Jewel joined them. She understood now—she appreciated that sheer level of unfettered joy.

Xiana took a hit from the respirator, and locked lips with Jewel, expelling the fumes into her body as she did. Jewel groaned in delight at the dual simulation, and returned the kiss, inhaling as best she could and sucking on Xiana’s tongue in the process.

The green cybergoth girl made noises of pleasure, and eventually broke away from the kiss.

“Right,” she clapped her hands together and grinned, “who wants to go party?”

Kyra and Eris started shouting, and Jewel followed their lead.

She would never want to do anything else now.

The woman that used to be DS Melissa Sharp did find a rave that night, as it happened.

But Jewel wasn’t that to break things up, or to bring anyone in—no, she had her arms in the air, moving to the music. When there was a lull, she had a drink, or took a hit from one of the girls.

Xiana, Kyra and Eris were all happy to share. They knew how blissful that mixture was, and now Jewel did too. They had opened her eyes—they had shown her what they saw in this lifestyle, and now she could see it too. This wasn’t some carnival of freaks, no, and she was slightly ashamed she’d ever felt that way. This was wonderful, and she never wanted to go back.

Today was a good day, she thought.

Today was the day that my life changed, and it’s changed in such incredible ways—ways I’d never even imagined.

Today was the first day of the rest of my life.

Today was the day I discovered myself.