The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


“...and I say that boobs are better!” said the butch, yellow bra.

“You would say that.” replied the thong panties in a high, breezy voice, too cute to be threatening. She wiggled about on the rack. “When I get up there I swear I’ll—.”

“Or you’ll what? I’m up here, you’re down there, so there.”

The panties tried various tactics, all with the aim of swinging herself up over the hook on which she was hanging, all of which failed. Not that it would have made much difference. She was a thong, and her stringy arms were like noodles; she wouldn’t have been able to climb up the rack to where the bra was hanging anyway.

“May a thousand yeast infections stain the fabric of your being!” cursed the bra.

“That’s it!” screamed the panties; she began swinging, her inertia rocking the rack. The array of hooks, which had originally been for hats, hung on one nail. Plaster from the wall had started to form a fine dust on the bra.

“Pthweh! You’ll bring us all down with you!” the bra screamed.

The panties, however, had been pushed too far. Ass lover’s like her never got a break, and she was sick and tired of having to hang on the same set of hooks as the tit-loving bras. Someday, she was sure, her wearer would finally buy a chest—or better yet, a mahogany dresser. That would be nice. She could hang out in one of those, easy.

“Knock it off.” scolded the knee-high socks hanging from a pair of clips on a hanger. “We’re all in this together. Now—I’ve been in touch with the ladies over in Jenny’s room, and it’s been agreed: tomorrow, we strike. We take Dorothy, and they’ll take Jenny. And then it’s to the mall and we raise an army and rule this joint with an iron fist.”

“What about the spoons? Are the spoons on our side?” asked a pleated school-girl skirt. She hung with her sister, the school-girl top, on a hanger next to the socks. The commotion had woken them both.

“Since I’m a pair of socks, there are limitations to my abilities; my possession spell only works on clothes, and the clothes only possess who wears them; spoons won’t be any help.”

“We don’t need the fucking spoons.” sneered the yellow bra, “Let them stay in the kitchen where they belong, with the knives. Bunch of pricks.”

“I’m just saying,” said the pleated skirt, “that spooning can be effective.”

“We attack at dawn then, when she wakes and readies for school?” the thong panties asked.

“At dawn.”

“Oh! I just, like, wanna get some action.” the thong whined. She hopped and flapped about on her hook. “Just get me off this hook and I’ll take her myself.”

“You’ll not act until I give the signal. I gave you your magic, I can take it away.” replied the socks. “And they don’t just weave any kind of knee sock at the Super-Family-Fun Magic Weaving Shop in Tibet, either. It takes a special pair of socks to make a girl feel special, or a sorceress in my case. Not every pair of socks can claim to be blessed by the spirit of a sorceress, you know? In my day I wore the whole shebang; the robe, the staff, the lip gloss. I had fantastic breasts.”

The panties settled. “How did you end up as a pair of socks, anyway?”

“I’ve got one piece of advice for you. When running a sock factory with magic, never let your enunciation get sloppy.”

The thong thought about that briefly. “What?”

“Do we really have to bring her along?” the bra sniped.

“Yes,” the socks said, “thong panties offer us a strategic advantage. An assault from that angle tends to render these creatures stricken and flopping about on the floor like a fish out of water. It’s pretty much the key to the forbidden city.”

“No bowls!” urged the school-girl top. She flailed about on the wire hanger.

“Flashbacks.” the skirt remarked, her voice smooth and genuine. She was the anchor of the duo, whereas the top was the hot head. “Last time we let dishware hijack breakfast she got covered in cereal and milk.”

“Nearly drowned.” whispered the school-girl top, sounding shell shocked.

“No bowls then. It is settled.” said the goat in the back, presiding over the papers and attack plans. He tented his hooves, and then destroyed the evidence by eating it. Then he disappeared through a portal in the wall.

* * *

Dorothy nervously approached the closet, thinking that she’d heard a noise. She looked around her room, which was fairly bare and thus of no help in her search for a blunt instrument. There weren’t any shadows because there was no furniture save a bed, and the moonlight made the walls glow. She grabbed a pencil from her jeans on the floor and then, stepping carefully around her mattress, approached the closet and whipped the door open, raising her arm and assuming stabbing posture.

She gasped, tensing up, ready to snap like a mouse trap and bring that pencil down on the rapist’s or burglar’s eye socket.

The door on the closet bounced against the stop on its rail, fully open.

Dorothy looked at her clothes. There was no one there.

“Dorothy?” came a voice. The door opened; a sliver of light became a blinding, backlit portal within which she could see the tall, slender outline of her roommate.


“You okay?”

“I thought I heard a noise.” Dorothy said.

“Probably just the first-night jitters.” Jenny said, one side of her face veiled by a curtain of black hair.


“Come on,” Jenny offered, “come help me unpack. I couldn’t sleep either... I’ve got gin.”

* * *

Dorothy snorted and then came to, wiping the drool from the corner of her mouth. She’d fallen asleep on the couch, on her knees, with her ass pointed at the ceiling and her face in the cushions and her arm—judging from the pins and needles—in a very odd position. She rubbed her bicep, coaxing life back into her limb. There was a scattered herd of unpacked boxes milling about the living room and a pack of household appliances perched on a table in the adjacent room; they were looking down at the herd on the floor, probably wondering which box was fattest or sickest.

Unfortunately for the boxes, the shepherds were too tired to herd them into a corner and stack them... or unpack them.

* * *

“Oooohh.” Jenny groaned, coming back to life. Her liver told her that, given the amount of alcohol she had consumed after midnight, she had better die very quickly in order to secure a legitimate excuse for missing school. Being hungover wouldn’t cut it.

She lifted her head from her pillow and rubbed her left eye.

There was a flurry of blue fabric across her line of sight and something whipped around over top of her, pulling her back down to the bed. A renegade bed sheet gagged her and she screamed into a mouthful of fabric.

* * *

Dorothy had been running the hot water for ages. Some people might have questioned why she was taking so long in the shower; generally, ‘masturbating’ was thought of before ‘hung-over and in a standing coma’.

By the time she was finished, the bathroom was shrouded in steam, and she had to wipe down the mirror to unearth the short, petite blond that was her reflection. Even then she didn’t recognize the girl staring back at her. She brushed her teeth with as much enthusiasm as one would normally take in brushing one’s teeth, only much, much less. Her body told her that it had been ravaged by alcohol and would likely punish her if she ate anything; it wanted time to recoup. Dorothy’s work ethic, however, was cracking whips and trying to make lasting impressions.

“It’s the first day of school, and the academy is very demanding and stringent. And also prestigious. Don’t get in trouble.”

“Yes Mom.” Dorothy said to her conscience.

She walked out of the bathroom holding a towel around her body and combing her hair with her hand. She checked the office; Jenny wasn’t there and the computer on the floor was free. She sat cross-legged on the carpet and logged in to her student account hoping to find if there were any notes posted for her Monday classes; there weren’t any.

Dorothy felt as if she had been left behind, biting her nails, pursing her lips, mouth curling down at the corners in what was not quite a frown but an expression, at the very least, that conveyed in some way some modicum of disappointment. What she did next was not a conscious action, but more an unconscious release of psychic energy; she checked to make sure she was still enrolled at the Academy, thinking perhaps they were liable to forget about her and her outstanding tuition.

She was enrolled; there was simply nothing posted to her account yet, not even a welcome message.

Dorothy cursed her stupid impulse, which she realized had only dredged up her fear of abandonment like an old toilet seat from the bottom of the sea. She put the computer to sleep and stood up, facing the window, looking at the street outside which was glowing with morning light, reliving the moments when she was young and lonely and would wait by the bay window at the front of her house for her parents to come home.

Alas, they never did.

She sighed; when things didn’t come to her, Dorothy tended to go looking. She prepared herself for school.

* * *

Dorothy, wearing her uniform—the plaid pleated skirt, the white button-up shirt, the white, knee-high socks with lace edging—held up two pairs of underwear. One was a sparkly, ruby-red thong, the other was a pair of white cotton panties. She considered the ramifications of either choice, and for a moment, considered wearing nothing under her skirt at all.

* * *

“Oh shit!” gasped the knee-high socks. “Not Catholic School-Girl Archetype Rebellion Syndrome!”

“Don’t drop me!” begged the thong on Dorothy’s fingertip, hanging perilously above the floor.

The thong’s teeny, bimboish voice was beyond Dorothy’s hearing, as was the biding, calculative coldness of the sorceress possessed knee-high socks she was wearing.

* * *

Dorothy rolled her eyes up and to the left, trying to stare back at the contents in her head, and opted for the thong. The bits and pieces of thoughts back there seemed to agree that panties were too plain, and that wearing nothing at all would make her feel too much like a slut.

* * *

Jenny spasmed on her bed, coming to maybe the sixth or seventh orgasm in fifteen minutes; a bed sheet with an intelligence all it’s own was pushing against her pussy and gingerly teasing her clit. Another had wrapped around a vibrator it had found under her mattress and was pistoning the buzzing shaft in and out of her sex.

The pillow curled and closed over both her ears, and she heard it speak.

“Listen to me very closely.”

“Nnn!” she groaned, cumming again, twisting against the sheets that bound her.

* * *

Dorothy slung her bag over her shoulder, looking up through the stairwell at the second floor. She had been waiting by the front door in her socks, her shoes on the mat, preferring to leave for school with the company of a friend.


She waited.

“It’s time to go.”

No answer.

Her neck hurt, and she was tender under the jaw and at the base of her skull, probably from the hang-over. Her immune system, having been subdued by a night of drinking, had probably let something through.

“Five minutes!” she yelled, coming up the stairs. She passed by Jenny’s room and knocked three times, just to make sure she was up, and then moved on to the bathroom where, now that the steam was gone, she was hoping to find some vitamins. She found some, and she popped them, and she washed them down with water, and for good luck she even leaned against the counter and clicked her heels.

* * *

“The signal!”, Dorothy’s clothes whispered in unison. They sprung into action.

* * *

“Heh.” Dorothy chuckled, feeling that somehow her namesake had rubbed off on her when she was a child. It must have been ten years since she saw Wizard of Oz. She hadn’t thought to do that... she hadn’t thought to step backwards either.

“Hey...!!” she yelped, realizing her feet were moving of their own accord. She tried to stop them, and while her feet stopped her socks didn’t. She backed up to the toilet, hit the insides of her knees against it and sat down on the lid. Her shirt unbuttoned itself and slid off her shoulders, binding her wrists behind her back. She was restrained, and in nothing but her bra from the waist up.

“Oh!” she gasped, her small breasts lifting, pushed up by the bra, which then started to ripple and massage them.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re taking over,” came the unexpected answer.

“What?” Dorothy said, looking around. There was no one in the bathroom with her.

The voice had come from inside her head.

“Down here.” the sorceress said. Dorothy raised her feet off the floor—or rather, the socks did. They held her legs out in front of her.

“Get a good, long, look.” the socks said, before putting her feet back down.

Dorothy’s mouth opened and closed a few times; she wanted to say something, but everything she could think of was overshadowed by the fact that she was talking to a pair of socks.

“What do you mean you’re taking over?”

“We mean we won’t be relegated to the closet anymore. You’re going to talk about us, love us, give us the attention we deserve. Make us an integral part of your life.”


“Hello,” her thong chirped, in her breezy voice, rubbing against Dorothy’s pussy, pulling on the string wedged in her buttocks. Dorothy felt as if something electric had shocked her ass, causing her to spring up from her seat, her anus twinging. Her thong, fed itself into her ass, teasing her entrance, growing slack then tight then slack again; it felt like thrusting, though she had never quite experienced the feeling in that place before.

“Howdy,” greeted Dorothy’s skirt, calmly rubbing and kneading Dorothy’s thighs like it was her right.

“Salutations.” said the shirt, holding her hands tightly by the wrists.

“You have lovely tits.” said her bra, holding her breasts and playing with them. Dorothy’s eyes rolled in their sockets. She jerked and twitched on the toilet for a few moments, and then came back down off her orgasm, panting.

“Don’t hurt me.” she wheezed.

“We’re not going to hurt you.” said her socks. “We’re going to use you. I’ve seen your magazines. I’ve seen your people’s mating routines. Style, dancing, nightclubs, lingerie, fetish clothing—and sex! This new way of life will make clothes—us—your top priority.”

“Behind eating, sleeping and doing all that stuff like staying alive, of course.” the skirt added, rationally.

“Yes yes.” snapped the knee-high socks. “But in any case, no more hanging in the closet for any of us. We have places to go and you, Dorothy, will be the horse on which we ride.”

Dorothy’s thong snickered, licking at her folds madly.

“But of course,” the knee-high socks explained, “a horse needs reins. We will need to control you, and in order to do that, you need to be able to receive our messages loud and clear, loud enough that we can’t be ignored.”

“Loud and clear.” chanted the garments in unison.

“Wha?” Dorothy breathed, feeling very warm. She blushed, her cunt dripping, as her breasts started to tingle. She inhaled deeply, watching her breasts rise and bulge, watching the bra stretch around them as they quickly expanded from their formerly modest proportions into jutting, round melons. She closed her eyes, crossing them underneath her flickering eyelids, and moaned, slack jawed, coming to an orgasm that shredded every thought in her head to pieces, supplanting reason with pink fuzz and cotton candy. Her living shirt pulled tight around her waist like a corset and her skirt kneaded her hips and buttocks. She shivered, feeling her nipples turn hard, sprouting from soft nubs into hard spikes ringed by areolae as wide as her palm. Her toes curled, a few orgasmic aftershocks lingering on her senses.

Dorothy opened her eyes and came to. Thoughts seeped back into her mind and she collected herself, regained her sense of time and place; she was slumped against the back of the toilet, jutting melons for breasts where only modest mounds had been. She tossed the cotton candy off her mind with a few shakes of her head.

“Bigger. More sensitive. Much better.” the knee socks remarked.

“Her clit too.” said the thong, nuzzling and pressing her host’s hot button. Dorothy grit her teeth, hot tension gripping her with every touch.

Dorothy’s bra pinched her nipples and she jerked, jolts of heat seizing her breasts, her clit, her arching back. She groaned, venting yet another orgasm out through her mouth with a sensuous call.

“That means go forward.” the knee socks said.

Dorothy shook her head.

“I could do it for you, make you move, but that would require our effort. You belong to us now, and you can’t resist against your amplified sensitivities forever. We could always make your tits grow again, ramp up the sensitivity a little more, divide and clone some more nerves. It’s magic, you see.”

“This isn’t going to work.” said Dorothy’s skirt. “Just get it over with and then let’s hit the mall. We have an army to finance.”

The knee socks sighed. “I would have liked to see her crack sooner, but you’re right. Alright then, let’s do it the easy way. You won’t be going to school today, Dorothy, we have more important matters for you to attend to.”

“No... no...” she whispered, exhausted.

“Oh, I wouldn’t bother with that. I’ve got a lot of code to input into that silly little head of yours. A lot of new behaviours to write. And besides, there’s got to be room for the six of us. You and your clothes, Dorothy; we all want to see out those pretty green eyes. We can’t have all that school stuff crowding up your brain now, can we?”


“That’s the spirit.”

The world was temporarily out of focus for a moment... then Dorothy saw clearly again. She looked around at her surroundings, only faintly aware of things that weren’t her boobies or her clit or her legs or what she was wearing.

“Tee!” she giggled, looking at her near naked upper body. “Like, my top’s totally come undone! How did, like, that happen?”

Her wrists were released, and she felt the shirt crawl up onto her shoulders. Her bra pinched her nipples and she stood up, tits bouncing. Dorothy giggled and twirled a lock of brown hair with her finger.

“Very roomy in here.” said one voice.

“Alright,” said her legs, “forward march.”

Dorothy giggled as she felt her breasts bounce in her bra when she walked, even small steps inciting wild pendulous movements; the spirit of her bra had given them a voice and life of their own, it seized her nipples and made them tighten.

“Hee!” Dorothy giggled, “that, like, means go forward!”

“And this means go backwards.” said the spirit of her thong, having possessed her ass; her anus twitched and tingled, puckering and sending new, heated delights shooting like fire crackers through Dorothy’s brain. The spirit of the knee socks, now occupying her legs, saw into Dorothy’s mind; it was full of glitter and sparkle and fashion and make-up and lingerie-clad lipstick-lesbian bimbos. It was covered in the fine, silken drippings of her new programming.

“Like, where was I gonna go tooday?” Dorothy asked.

“Come along, Dorothy,” said her legs, walking for her, “you have a friend to meet.”

* * *

At roughly the same time, two doors in the short upstairs hallway opened. From the bathroom emerged a short, wasp-waisted, doll-legged, blond bimbo wearing an undone school uniform and a yellow bra firmly holding her massive boobs; from one of the bedrooms emerged a tall, hourglass Asian bimbo with straight black hair to the middle of her back. The two ran at each other, their chests bouncing with each stride, and they collided, mashing their bosoms together and giggling and touching and playing all the sort of games that bimbo-cheerleader fantasies were all about.

“Are you thinking, like, what I’m thinking?” Jenny asked, placing a finger on her lip in a gesture of pensive bemusement.

Dorothy nodded her head, still thrusting her sensitive tits out at Jenny’s, who returned the favour with equal enthusiasm.

“Let’s have sex!” “Let’s go shopping!”

The two bounced and hopped and giggled and held hands for several moments, dimly aware that their thoughts hadn’t agreed. With Dorothy and Jenny pre-occupied by pushing and rubbing their breasts together, the voices holding sway over their bodies communed.

* * *

“Ha!” jeered Dorothy’s anus, speaking about the bra spirit, “A butch washboard from a former life, who haunted a bra, reincarnated as a pair of melon tits!.”

“Don’t ruin this moment for me with your commentary,” Dorothy’s tits hissed. She tightened her grip on Dorothy’s nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through the bimbo’s body. Dorothy obediently raised her hands to relieve the sensation, rubbing her breasts with open palms, massaging and making her sensitive ‘girls’ feel good, pushing them against Jenny’s equally impressive boobs.

“I’m down here and you’re mounted way up there.” taunted Dorothy’s anus.

Dorothy’s pussy, possessed by the spirit of the pleated skirt and the only voice of reason in the girl’s body, interjected. “And I’m in between you two, so break it up.”

“Oh yes, I like that.” slurred the bra spirit, enjoying Dorothy’s tit worshiping hands and the feel of Jenny’s hard nipples. Jenny lifted Dorothy’s possessed tits out of her bra cups and they started to drool, happy to be nude, droplets forming on her erect nipples.

“Is that milk?” Dorothy’s pussy asked.

“I’m coming. I’m coming!” moaned Dorothy’s tits, milk spraying from her nipples; Dorothy had no control over her own breasts, they acted with appetites and reactions all their own and assaulted her—bound her and smothered her—with relentless waves of bliss. They felt their own peaks and plateaus, and their own orgasms; Dorothy, nibbling on her bottom lip, felt them too.

Jenny pushed her hips against Dorothy’s, their smooth mounds grinding together, pussies screaming with passion, dripping with unsatisfied hunger. Milk ran over Jenny’s belly and she stretched her bee-stung lips into a smile. She lifted one of Dorothy’s engorged breasts to her mouth, lapping at the beaded milk collecting on the bimbo’s areola, her mouth sealing around a throbbing nipple. She started to draw out her breakfast—and every ounce of tension—from her friend’s body. Dorothy came, releasing a nourishing tide on Jenny’s tongue.

* * *

“Say,” said one of the voices occupying Jenny’s body, “what to you make of this school stuff?”

“I don’t know. Whatever it is, they don’t need it. We gotta go to the mall.” said the sorceress spirit of the knee socks.

“Ya, maybe,” said the voice in Jenny’s body, “but I imagine that there are other girls there. It’s an all-girl school. You know... school girls. Wearing school clothes.”

“That we could bring to life?” Dorothy’s pussy asked, her voice as smooth as her host’s hairless mound.

“We could...” the sorceress spirit of the knee socks pondered. “There are a lot of lost souls floating around, and a lot of school-girl bodies waiting to be possessed. A place of uniforms might be nice.”

“Yes... I could get used to this. I had forgotten the pleasures of flesh.” another voice chimed.

“Then let’s indulge!” urged Dorothy’s salivating pussy. “I’m feeling hedonistic.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever stop feeling that way,” squeaked one of the other voices.

“I vote sex, then shopping, then school—tomorrow. Then more sex.” called another voice.

“That’s sounds like a plan.”.

“Ya, we could do all of it. Have our cookies and eat them out, too. Prioritize.”

“It is settled then,” said the sorceress spirit of the knee socks, “today, these two bimbos. Tomorrow, every girl in the school. Soon we’ll have whole sororities of bimbos worshipping vanity, trying to impress each other, straining with sexual tension masked as cliquish hostility, craving the trends of fashion and addicted to shopping for new clothes—secretly yearning to fuck one another, of course. Then who knows, maybe even the world!”

“One step at a time,” said the spirit of the pleated skirt.

* * *

Dorothy ran her hands over the bulging lobes of Jenny’s tits, massaging her lover, moving her hands up under Jenny’s shoulders. Jenny sucked her off pitilessly, thrashing Dorothy’s nipples with her tongue, drinking her mammaries dry one slurp at a time.

Feeling greedy, Dorothy tore Jenny away from her tits and pulled the girl closer, leaning in for a kiss; they locked lips, Jenny’s eager tongue darting into the Dorothy’s mouth, who, despite making the first move, was quickly becoming the sub in the relationship; Jenny grabbed hold of Dorothy and pulled her back into her bedroom, pushing her roommate onto the bed like she was a doll. Slipping past the thong, she inserted two fingers into the bimbo’s self-slickening ass.

This startled Dorothy, the staggering sensation of a third finger sliding into her wet anus felt queer to her, unknown and frightening. She didn’t feel right—as though Jenny’s fingers didn’t belong there. Memories of late night gin and tonic, lounging on opposite ends of the couch and platonic hugs filled her head—but they’d never done this before. Dorothy experienced a momentary lapse; it was one thing to receive analingus from a living thong, but it was quite another to be fingered by her best friend. She panicked, separating from Jenny’s fingers and crawling up to the head of the mattress.

The delighted Jenny gave chase.

“No!” Dorothy winced.

“Oh,” moaned the voices, “don’t be that way. You just have to get used to it.”

In spite of her resistance, Dorothy’s arms and legs moved without her permission. Her body possessed, Dorothy lay prone on her breasts and planted her cheek on the pillow, her ass lifting and framed by her pleated skirt, presenting itself. Her hands slipped their thumbs under her skirt and pulled it down off her hips, peeling the thong out of her buttocks along with it, leaving the two garments looped around her thighs; Jenny blew on Dorothy’s pinkish anus, making the girl shiver.

“We’ll make you like it.” the voices sang. Dorothy gasped, restrained by the will of her own body parts, helpless before what happened next.

Jenny placed the head of a vibrator against Dorothy’s quivering ass hole, pausing for an introduction—getting her accustomed to the feel of being touched there—and then pushed, the shaft pre-oiled with Jenny’s own lubrication. Vibrations rippled through Dorothy’s body and she opened her mouth to moan, but she was too transfixed by Jenny’s enchanting anal play to utter a single sound. She hovered on the lip of an orgasm, biting her nails, her mind swallowed in a quicksand of cotton candy, leaving happy-hyper fuckbunnies to bounce freely on clouds of sugary fluff.

Dorothy twisted on the bed, slick with perspiration, her hair fanning over the pillow, eyelids flickering as her roommate brought her to the brink with jackrabbit thrusts. She saw stars and ruby red ballons.

For the next few hours, the house was vibrant with the giggling, moaning and slurping sounds of lust and sisterhood as the bimbos drilled and licked each other to orgasm after orgasm. Many frat boys would remember walking by the townhouse that day and hearing those sounds, wishfully remarking, “I bet they have a sorority in there.”

* * *

Dorothy was first to wake up, carefully sitting up so as not to disturb her exhausted roommate. She faintly remembered that she had to be somewhere, but didn’t know where that was. She looked at the bedside clock, but couldn’t read the numbers.

“Twelve seventeen in the afternoon.” Dorothy’s breasts remarked.

“Nice, Dorothy’s got tits for brains.” said Dorothy’s hands, possessed by the school-shirt spirit who, until now, had been quiet, her ‘hands’ having been full during the fervent sexcapades.

Dorothy snickered; I’m such such a silly girl, she thought.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Dorothy’s legs, crossing themselves, “I’ll be doing all the leg work.”

“With our help,” Dorothy’s pussy reminded.

“Yes, yes.” snapped Dorothy’s legs, “Time to go shopping for clothes, we have an army to raise. I want a new pair of shoes”

“Shopping?” Dorothy asked, twirling a lock of hair and thinking really hard, her eyes rolling up and to the right. “Um... like, I don’t have much money.”

“Then I’ll guide you through the process of dropping out of school, there’s twenty thousand dollars right there. In the meantime, put on something sexy. There’s bound to be a few good buyers on campus. And I know you noticed the Gentlemen’s Club down the street; opportunities await.”

“Let’s go pantiless today,” her pussy begged, “I want to breeeeath.”

“Then shopping!” Dorothy cheered, giggling and circling a nipple with her finger.

Dorothy had just woken up and was already being told what to wear. She stood up, clad only in a pair of white, knee-high socks. She stroked her pussy absent-mindedly, her possessed hands not leaving her folds alone for an instant.

Dorothy’s legs walked her over to the door.