The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


Part 1

Women find themselves trapped by a weird and mysterious force that seems to control their minds and bodies by putting them together in positions and groupings ideal for storage.

This is an expanded, and hopefully greatly improved version of this story. Additional chapters have been written and are forthcoming. Hope you like it, and many thanks to Simon.


The excitement in the parking lot subsided. One punch and that was it. Pretty anti-climactic after the shouting, swearing and pleading by the guy on the ground who insisted he really wasn’t hitting on the other guy’s girlfriend. The muscle-bound, still-crazed boyfriend, whose face, thick neck and arms were still hot and flushed with adrenaline, wanted more. But the one punch loser was just laying there. And the embarrassed girlfriend? She was so fed up being the unwilling cause that she was headed to her car.

“Where’re you going?” the boyfriend shouted.

Shannon had the engine running by the time Mike made it to the driver’s side.

“You leaving now after I fixed what you started? What the hell’s your problem?”

“Me? Wasn’t that you who dragged that poor moron out here, and then whaled on him?

“You made that …”

“Uh-uh,” she said. “Nope. Stop.”

He stopped.

“And now you’re the one the cops are gonna find standing here like some big dumb farm animal.” Her painted nails made airquotes. “ ‘I’ am just a piece of the scenery.”

“Fuck you,” he said.

“This is not my problem. Good-bye.”

The lummox either still didn’t comprehend or his brain was stalled with guilt, or fear, or anger. But it gave Shannon enough time to reverse, K-turn the car and leave the parking lot. Without looking in the mirror, she stuck her arm out the window and unfurled a stiff finger.

It was a long way from the night they met, two years ago, at a huge seaside bar with the wrestling and the mud fights and the tit shows. It really wasn’t her scene, but she went to support a friend trying her best to make some extra money. Mike immediately commanded her attention: packed chest and arms, his dumb humor, his blue eyes. At first he bragged he should really be concentrating on training camp, getting the team to notice him. But by the end of the night, he was a lovestruck Labrador puppy, following her to her car once he learned she was actually a paid cheerleader for the team he was trying to make.

Yes, he was hot and built, but thank god he knew how to fuck. From that night on, there was tons of great sex with lots of envy and encouragement from both of their friends. A week later, they were baring souls. What beautiful children we’re gonna have. We’re what people dream about being, he told her.

She consoled herself, driving in the car: anyone would have been fooled believing Mike was an ok guy. He behaved like one. He was convincing, saying it was totally fine to stay out all night with her, fucking like horses until early morning. When he was cut from the team, even his stoicism was attractive. But the disappointment and bitterness turned him over, especially when she went to work every Sunday and he had nowhere to go but the gym. To ease the pressure and frustration, she quit cheerleading, because she refused to let him be her manager.

Come to think of it, the only reason she was a cheerleader at college was because she was one in high school. And the only reason she was a cheerleader in high school was because her gymnastics coach threw her off the team. Not from anything she really did but because by the time she was a junior, her body had quit growing up and decided to grow out. Her hips and thighs thickened, her calves got muscular and shapely rather than elongating, and her breasts swelled heavier and rounder.

“Shannon, honey, really, it’s not you or your lack of drive,” her gymnastics coach explained, “it’s that God wants you to be dish, not a pixie.”

And now, God’s plan for this dish had come to this: speeding into the inky, starless night with nowhere to go, having obeyed mom, coaches, cheer captains, boyfriends.

Well, this sorry chapter is done with, she thought.

A rare feeling struck her: she was actually in charge. Just driving, under a big moon, speeding up, hitting the curves. Her long permed hair (“make it like a lioness’ mane”) blowing all around her head—she didn’t need to spend hundreds of dollars on it any more. To hell with it. She’d cut it off! Short, really really dyke short. The purple nail polish on the fingers gripping the steering wheel—first chance those are gone. Same with the frosted lips with the liner Mike liked. And the hoops in her ears, the skirt, the top, the platform sandals, gone gone gone.

“Take it all off!” she yelled into the wind.

The road beyond her headlights was dark. The lights from houses were fewer and farther away. The radio reception crackled and disintegrated. The spell of escape and liberation was over with, and now she wanted to go home, pack and continue her escape tomorrow. Before she could find a place to turn around, though, she felt something hit her car, or actually, her car hit something soft, as if she’d just run onto sand.

It mysteriously slowed down. And finally came to a stop.

“What is wrong with you?” she asked the dashboard.

The engine didn’t start, it just groaned and choked, and finally didn’t do anything, no matter how much she turned the ignition or pumped the gas.

She got out of the car. Immediately around her there was nothing but fields. A small forest was off in the distance as was the dark silhouette of a barn, closed and forgotten. She turned around again and thankfully saw a light, or a series of lights in the distance. She reached into the car, grabbed her purse and headed off, still in heels, across the fields.

After only a few steps, the air changed direction. It now smelled a little funny and she thought she might have stepped in something. But no. It smelled—and tasted like—she couldn’t put a finger on it, but it was like lemon and sugar.

Two more steps into it she gasped, unable to breathe. Something got caught in the back of her throat, up and back in her nose like a big gob of snot. She felt the pressure and panic of suffocation and could barely wheeze her way through a breath when just like that, a gob of something loosened in her nose and slid down her throat, taking her breath away for a moment. When it slid into her stomach, it dropped and then dissipated, and she panted a while, catching her breath, and though air found its way inside, there was still something, right in her face, all around her, in the air.

Shannon swallowed a few times and the taste was still there. But it didn’t keep her from heading off, tromping through the fields, swinging her purse, keeping her heels balanced in the ruts, towards the farmhouse or whatever it was.


“My turn to pick music.”

Stacey reached down to the floor of the car and rummaged through black nylon bag for her phone.

“Fine—” Mallory looked back to the road in front of her. Sunshine everywhere. Beautiful countryside. If everyone had the balls to blow off work for a three-day weekend, there’d be a whole lot less trouble in the world, Mallory thought. Which reminded her of what Stacey had just been saying.

“So really—you should see how you feel after this weekend. After a couple rounds of massage, some mud baths, some tennis, it won’t matter whether Scott moves in, or doesn’t. Know what I mean?”

Still bending over, Stacey looked up at her friend. “That’s where you’re wrong. I want it to matter, Mal. Because I don’t really want anything else except to hope Scott’s so committed to me he’ll move in.” She went back into the bag. “I know that sounds pathetic, but I don’t care.”

Mallory turned back to Stacey, hoping a punchy response would just spill out of her. But it simply wasn’t there. She’d fallen into a closed, non-verbal space that lately she couldn’t break out of. Not since she looked at her friend stand admiring herself in front of three mirrors on a little platform in the changing room. It was—boom.

It happened more and more. The other day, when they were walking together, Mallory let her end of the conversation drop, angling, as they walked first one then the other through a door, to watch her friend glide ahead. Like a lot of dancers, Stacey’s steps combined a graceful step that strode down from a luscious ass into little legs and narrow ankles whose feet pranced beneath her.

The other night, too, watching tv: Stacey looked like she was asleep so Mallory watched her instead, curvy breasts rising and falling, her stomach contracting and expanding, buttery bare where her shirt had ridden up, socks with dusty undersides and imprinted with ridges by her toes. Stacey opened one eye. “What?” she asked Mallory. Not only unable to make a joke, Mallory couldn’t articulate what was building in her heart so she stupidly shook her head like it was nothing. She looked far away, before turning back to the tv. Stop checking her out, Mallory warned herself.

Luckily, Stacey as completely unaware of how she came across to the world. But Mallory was watching. Holding an ice cream cone, her lips and tongue worked the ice cream with abandonment. Told she looked great, her eyes lit up, her back straightened and for several minutes, Stacey was royalty. Tell her she took a wrong turn on the turnpike, and you got the whole plucked eyebrow, diamond-faced princess pout that quickly spun into derision. Being told by Stacey how wrong she was made Mallory’s stomach flutter.

In the car, Mallory felt her excitement rise every time Stacey said or did something. As Stacey looked for her phone—adorable—Mallory realized it finally: she was, fuck it, in love with her friend. And she swore then and there, she’d keep it a deep, deep secret, her own secret, and maybe one day in some dramatic moment reveal herself, confess it all. The secretiveness made it more exciting and awful. Like a little poison pill she sucked on under her tongue.

Stacey found the phone and tapped her code. But she wasn’t done with the conversation. She turned to Mallory. “I know you’re always looking out for me, Mal. That’s why I can say these things.”

Before Mallory could respond, Stacey said, “Hey—is that it?” She pointed at a sprawling farmhouse, up on a nearby hill. Stacey hadn’t seen the brochures, only Mallory had and she couldn’t quite say if that was it or not. It was supposed to be a family-style, laidback spa and B&B in the country, but there was no sign.

Somehow, somewhere they’d turned onto a gravel road. Before they could get closer, or before Mallory could check the directions, the car shuddered violently then chugged and choked into a gradual stop.

“What the—” Mallory muttered, trying to restart the engine and failing. There was no one around, either. So not good.

“At least we’re here, right?” Stacey said.

They stood by the car for a moment before deciding the B&Bers would help or know someone who could. It was just up a hill. Half way up, they could see the open, arcaded entrance, but they also noticed a big change in the air they were walking in. Thick, heavy, even lemony.

Stacey said it had to be from flowers. But heady thick and and sugary was not from anything that bloomed. Mallory felt it too, but was distracted with worry about the car. Next to her, Stacey smacked her lips. “You can even taste it.”

She took in a deep breath but suddenly felt something thick and syrupy run into her nose and down her throat, gagging her. Her eyes opened wide with panic, saw Mallory become concerned and then Stacey managed to relax and allow whatever had run down her nasal cavity and throat to continue down, into her chest. And then, startlingly, it went further, down her intestines and into her stomach. She opened her mouth for more air, and found at last she could breathe. Not so easily, but enough to lessen the panic.

“I thought I was gonna choke,” she said to Mallory. “It’s still all over my tongue.”

“What is?”

“The smell, I guess. The air’s pretty thick with it. Can’t you smell it?”

“Yeah...lemony. But you looked like ... you were almost in convulsions there, Stace.”

“Yeah, weird.” She headed up the steps. “I’m ok.”

Mallory followed.

They walked up the sandy carriage drive they would have driven on if the car hadn’t died. It led to a broad welcome area with a brilliant blue tiled fountain. Rose bushes lined the porch in front of them. They had yet to see a single person. Only in the courtyard did they recognize how silent this perfumy place was. No breeze, no cars, no telephones, no paper, and the rustling of the fountain itself seemed mute. A large oak door was the only feature to head toward. Mallory reached for the handle, pulled the door open, playfully bowed to Stacey who happily curtsied in return and inside they went. The door closed behind them.

The vestibule was dark, but beyond it hazy sunlight illuminated a stone floor hallway. Once they stepped into the hallway, they noticed the counter on the left. Behind it stood a tall young woman, dressed in a white, pressed cotton blouse, blonde hair piled high and neat. She was smiling with a profound hospitality. Because she hadn’t turned to greet them when they came in, Mallory assumed she was listening to someone, or somehow engaged with something else. But there was no one. All around them was a numb silence. With a quick glance to Stacey, who simply shrugged, Mallory realized the woman was looking neither at Mallory, nor at Stacey, but past them, to a point somewhere across the hallway, smiling.

Standing directly in front of her didn’t change a thing, so Mallory headed around the side. Behind the counter she saw the woman’s trim legs in stylish four inch alligator heels beneath a brown attractive skirt. Still no reaction. Stacey leaned closer to the woman, reaching up on her toes to breach the wide counter as if to check if she was breathing. And she was breathing, softly and effortlessly.

But once Stacey moved within inches of her face, the woman stirred to life, languid and welcoming. Retreating slightly to accommodate Stacey’s nearness, as if she just now noticed someone staring at her or, as Mallory thought, as if they activated a sensor that told the woman she now had visitors, the woman placed both hands on the tile countertop, three bracelets slithering down her arms, she said, “I’m so glad you could come.”

She spoke with honesty and warmth. “We hope you will be comfortable. Please wait in there.” She lifted up a prettily manicured hand and pointed to another room behind them, a large sunny room with other guests inside. No request for names, no questions about bags, no howdy-dos formal or informal, just please step that way. Mallory shrugged, and if Mallory shrugged Stacey went with it too, and they both turned to go into the room.

“Is this what they mean by Old World charm?” Stacey muttered, but Mallory wasn’t completely listening. She was watching the reaction of other guests in the lobby beyond, people who, seeing the two of them head their way tried to wave Mallory and Stacey away. They were yelling too. Their mouths said no, go back, without sound, as if yelling behind glass.

It happened so fast. Mallory and Stacey barely understood what was in front of them so that when they stepped another two or three more steps forward, they felt a wash of something push across their faces, over their heads and shoulders and down their backs, as if they’d walked through a invisible shrouded wall.

And just like that, they were in the room with the others. They could hear everything again.

None of the women were glad they were there.


“Not more ...”

A third one said, “Didn’t you hear us?” Answered by, “They couldn’t see us.”

A woman, slightly taller than Mallory, walked up to her. “Couldn’t you see us waving either?”

Mallory didn’t know what to say. She was still taking in the situation building all around her, something that was going irretrievably wrong. “I … we ... I don’t understand. What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter?” the woman replied angrily. Mallory focused on her blue, intense eyes and saw how incredulous they were. “You’re stuck here now, that’s what’s the matter.”

“Susan, calm down.” An older woman, slight, thin and confident stepped forward and offered her hand to Susan’s arm. “You can’t undo any of this.”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not going to sit back and do nothing,” Susan replied.

Mallory took a quick look around her: a comfortable, pleasant hotel lobby, with a few seating areas arranged around coffee tables, plants, small unthreatening paintings, unused fireplace, and maybe nine or ten women. An older, Hispanic woman and a pretty, thin Indian girl near the window. Four high school aged girls in cheerleader sweaters and skirts, huddled close to a middle aged mom, teacher or coach who remained quietly, ferociously, protective of the girls. There were three weary-looking hitch-hikers sitting on the floor and a blonde with a stripper-bimbo-lioness cascade of hair, teetering nervously on lucite platform sandals. All looked distressed, anxious, waiting, if not watching what would happen with the commotion brewing between her, Susan, the older woman.

Stacey, still calm, asked, “Can you tell us what’s happening?” She wanted to ask anyone who could answer so she turned around to include whoever else was behind her. But there was no one. Only the mechanized blonde far back at the counter, distant and once more joylessly smiling with empty hospitality.

Shannon stood up and stepped forward to speak for the first time since she arrived. No longer the new girl, and having gone through the same dizzying squabbling, she said, “We’re trying to figure that out, too.” The young woman, Stacey, remained unfazed, so Shannon continued, hoping to provide complete transparency. “We don’t know what’s going on. We just got here too.”

The woman named Susan glared at her, all but saying Speak for yourself dummy.

“You’re all a group?” Mallory asked.

Shannon and Susan, the older woman behind Susan, and a couple of others in the room answered separately but at the same time, “No.” There was an awkward pause. And then all the little social clues came together for Mallory, as if they were all in an elevator that suddenly went dead: no one was in charge, a few thought they were, some pretended not to notice the situation, a couple were counting on the politeness of others, and everyone just wanted to get out. And no one had an explanation.

Felicia Octavio had watched Susan jump when she noticed the girls and tried to stay calm herself. But no one’s helping these girls, she thought to herself. She got up off the couch and joined the terrified welcome committee of Susan and Marnie.

“Listen, none of us knows really what’s going on,” Felicia said. “We all have been coming in to this ... building here... over the last, I don’t know, how long’s it been?” She cast around for an answer.

“Feels like days,” one of the huddling girls, Cassie, said.

Mallory took in the women before her: Susan, fit, wiry, brunette and fierce. Felicia, full-figured, in sweater and necklace, skirt and low heels, calm and a little regal. The older, shorter woman, Marnie, in formal corporate attire, thick black bob, with a few handsome lines under some pretty green eyes. Someone’s boss? A mother of teens? And the tall … wow. The tall gorgeous stripper blonde. Mallory stopped herself from ogling, averting herself self-consciously. Too hot, don’t stare.

Marnie answered Felicia. It seemed worth it for all the new ones to know the roll call. “Sandy, Jenka, Allison, you were all here before me?” They nodded, one fair and stout as tree, one tall and Nordic, one a curly-headed brunette, soft and shy. “And you guys ...” Marnie turned to the high school group in the corner and the one girl who spoke up nodded, not even sure if there was a question. The adult with them at first refused to speak. “Beverly?” Marnie asked. “You’ve been here—“

Beverly could barely bring herself to answer still devastated getting her daughter and friends involved. “I—we’re not sure.”

It was Jenka, tall and Nordic, who realized Marnie was once again stepping forward to help out because everyone else was either panicking or just pessimistic.


Jenka felt a warm memory waft past her, a memory of one of the dreams she’d had and it felt good. To hell with it, it felt good. Inspiring. She wanted Marnie to know she was there to help. “There were others here too when we came. But they’re ... well, they’re gone now. And I think—”

“Yeah, damn right, gone,” Susan muttered.

Everyone allowed Susan to be angry at this. It felt like a personal loss.

“What do you mean gone?” Stacey asked.

Susan wheeled around towards Stacey, wanting to speak the straight truth to the girl so that she’d just die. And then it was gone. Her anger didn’t matter. Setting the girl straight didn’t matter. They were all here, they were all fucked, and the need to be held was so great it almost overwhelmed her. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow herself. She retreated to an armchair she knew was stiff and uncomfortable. But at least hearing Marnie explain things to the new girls, she felt all eyes were off her now.


Mallory and Stacey’s arrival was only the most recent reminder to everyone that they were trapped in a situation they didn’t understand. Shannon had found herself in a similar flare up and the target of everyone’s desperation. When they realized she had no answers for them, they turned from her and debated among themselves what they should do next while Shannon retreated, bewildered, to a chair to be alone and make sense of whatever she’d walked into. When no answer or plan emerged, the group settled once again into an uncomfortable shared space. A few resumed murmuring to one another as if they were in a timeless waiting room, keeping each other company with small talk and worry.

Shannon had no idea she had come at a bottoming out time for the women in this room, when the exhilaration they shared among themselves had completely ebbed away and left them only with confusion over they exhilaration and dread for the next bout of it.

Felicia, too, had withdrawn to a corner to think things through once Shannon and the others settled down. She noticed an empty space on a couch, partly occupied by the Indian girl, Rana. She asked if she could join her and Rana nodded of course. Felicia sat down primly. From here she could see Susan in a high back chair, legs crossed, fuming, left alone. Now it was her friend Katie who had not come back, was gone, mysteriously gone with three others. Everyone knew it and while no one hurt over it as much as Susan, Katie’s absence was unavoidable.

Unsure what else to do, Felicia looked behind her to a window, or what passed as a window, because it couldn’t open, couldn’t be smashed, and made only dull thumping sounds when you smacked it. Rana noticed Felicia studying the space beyond the thick clear pane, and then Felicia felt Rana studying her. Both smiled uncomfortably at each other.

Rana spoke. “This is a terrible situation.” Felicia smiled at what was essentially a conversation starter. What else could she say? At least she wasn’t hysterical.

“Yes, it’s very bad,” Felicia answered but couldn’t find it in her to keep the conversation going. Rana sensed this and politely leaned back into the couch.

A terrible situation, Felicia repeated to herself. Her gaze drifted back to Susan. Poor Susan, she thought. Poor mighty Susan. And before she knew it, she was remembering the last time with Susan.

There was the floating. And a dawning realization of nakedness. Normally that would have panicked Felicia, if she was in public. She had dreams about that all the time. Instead she felt fine, moving through space without any self-consciousness and with a calm passivity. The black invisible space she moved through ran over her skin. Unable to move on her own, she felt as though her body was given to something else, another power. She accepted this, accepted being moved and accepted being naked because, well, since her body was controlled by something else, it was natural to be naked and natural to accept it. The logic was very pleasing. Especially when she realized access to her mind was all she had, and furthermore, accessing her mind was permitted just so she could accept everything with lovely passivity. She was an active non-participant, a distant separate observer. For instance, she told herself—as it happened—I am feeling my body roll slowly to my right, so that my face, my breasts, my stomach and my pussy are now not facing up but facing down. I’m now moving while facing down. And so very naked. With such a thick black-haired pussy visible to anyone. Isn’t that nice?

Yes it was. And so was feeling her knees slowly bend. Had there been a floor Felicia knew she would be on all fours. Except there was nothing beneath her. Her eyes sought a bottom somewhere far below her and when there was none, she was sad that it unsettled her. Don’t worry about that, something told her. You’re not in control any way. Just stay like this. Well, that made sense. Why should she be in control when her round, naked middle aged body was being positioned by something outside of her?

As if to reinforce her happy capitulation, her hips above her knees started to rise, as if two hands wanted to lift her round full ass up into the air. Her ass was responding to a wonderfully lewd urge: Open more. The urge to expose her wide open ass to anyone who wanted it materialized in her mind from who knows where and though terrifying and inhibiting at first—her ass was a place she always felt disgusted by—the urge coated her rebelling mind with peace and arousal. Once pacified and turned on, Felicia felt it ooze down from her mind, along her back, her mind following the heat mark of the urge twirling around her spine and caressing her tailbone until it reached that place. Do you want to feel this in every opening? the voice asked. Yes, open me, open me wider Felicia cheered. Her knees spread wider too. Here is my ass, my wanton whore ass. Give it to me there. Yes! Give it to me! She felt wonderfully lewd. She wanted to give in to this need, whatever it meant and wherever it came fro, just by sticking her ass up high and opening it from her hips. Who wants it? Lost to the urge, she wanted to wiggle that ass of hers like a dog—but no.

She couldn’t. It was not part of the position.

Until, as if receiving permission, she felt the command move down from her brain, and spread across those cheeks. The something that controlled her must have liked her own urge a lot because together, she and the voice that controlled her, wiggled her ass back and forth and then up and down, so that she was humping the air, because she was just a lewd piece of ass getting ready to be taken, like a filthy teenage whore. Bring it!

The one to get it, she was told while wiggling her ass and feeling her hot pussy swell and drip into her black pussybush, would be Susan.

Susan. In her minds eye, she saw Susan coming to her. Pale, sinewy Susan, already on her knees, thigh muscles straining because she was leaning back, her stomach muscles straining too, maintaining balance. Her knees were wide too, and her neck muscles strained because her head was reaching forward, at a severe angle from her shoulders. Her face was lewd too, grinning like the devil, eyes focused with hunger, and through the grinning lips, her pink tongue wagged languidly. Susan’s arms were held out in front of her, bent at the elbow, fingers splayed as if about to catch a big ball.

I know what she’s going to catch, Felicia mused. The happy bitch. She’s gonna catch my whoreass.

Susan slowed as she approached, her tense body being aligned behind and unquestionably headed toward the wiggling brown ass in front of her. Both she and Felicia knew what would happen next because they were told together: the coupling would commence. Felicia could see Susan’s knees and thighs appear below her. The whiteness of her taut skin around her knees actually had a yellowish highlight. Not a pink white, Felicia thought. Slutty. Like me. Susan’s shins glided next to Felicia’s wrists, and Felicia’s heart jumped at the touch of Susan’s splayed grippy hands once they touched Felicia’s generous ass and hips. Somehow, she could see Susan moving into position and her hands take on more of her brown chunky asscheeks.

Take this big round ball, girl, Felicia thought. And Susan heard.

That sealed it. An impending orgasm, a big one, sent warning signs roiling up from that nasty cunt of hers, just from anticipating their coupling. It started churning before Susan could finish having her face, frozen with licking grinning expectation, be brought into the dark musk of Felicia’s ass. Susan’s body was still adjusting, dipping under Felicia’s big thighs so that her arms could slide across Felicia’s calves and support Felicia’s thighs. Felicia felt herself pitch forward, as if a hand pushed her head down, to help raise her ass a little more to eye level so that her lover’s lewd white face would snuggle in behind her. She hoisted her hips up as Susan’s shoulders slid under them, and in turn Felicia, now completely bent forward, could bury her own face into the tangled forest of Susan’s pussy, easily accessible now that Susan’s thighs were cast wide. Felicia could still see the two of them in her mind, Susan on her knees, bent backwards, white hands grasping Felicia’s tawny hips, Felicia bent over Susan’s shoulders, her own hands with wine colored fingernails grasping that tight white ass. As Susan finally had her face brought up and into Felicia’s ass, Susan’s tongue, her short active pink tongue could finally connect with the brown hole. Once there, its little tip entered and went to work, up down, around the edges, tasting everything.

For the first time, Felicia could hear Susan: Gimme this ass, she growled.

Take it, pretty bitch, Felicia answered. Take this big round ball.

Once her own lips found the pearl of Susan’s clit in the nest and lips of her pussy, Felicia, without any prior womanly experience, unfurled her own tongue, ran it around the lips and then deep into the wetness of Susan’s hungry cunt.

Both minds lit on each other’s tongues. Their minds talking over their squirreling tongues.

Gimme this ass.

Take it, pretty bitch.

Until their orgasms overran each of them and exploded their minds into stillness.


In the silence of space, with bodies and tongues connected, their two voices:

Take it, pretty bitch

Gimme this ass

Take it, pretty bitch

Gimme this ass

Sitting on the couch next to Rana, Felicia shook out of her reverie. That was not too long ago. Felicia, and for that matter Susan, and really everyone else in the room, would always remember the floating, the sex, the coupling, but none were ever very clear how they returned to this hotel parlor. They only came back to wakefulness after a drowsy while. Usually they woke up naked, tangled in limbs with musk all around and drying patches of come on their faces and pussies, sometimes still so high with the floating weightless dreamtime and explosive sex that sweet pillow talk with their partner or partners filled what should have been awkward silence. The high was so good they all felt like lovers as they dressed and it was so deep they really had no wakeful idea how they would make their way back to the lobby. Only the compulsion to return led them there, sometimes hand in hand, walking with the glow and languidness still present from those awesome orgasms. Taking seats quietly, they looked at each other like sisters imbued with religion, recognizing the fading arousal in each other, but still unable bring themselves to admit it casually: that everyone in this room had gone through an intense round of insanely deep lesbian fucking.

And yes, not every woman returned. Pairs or more didn’t come back. They were left behind up in wherever it was they went too. Sometimes during the initial drifting the remainders could make out pairs and threesomes and more from last time, or even long ago, still together, the echoes of their orgasms still penetrating the blackness. A quick personal inventory of who made it back left the waking ones more dispirited, more lonely or—even more secretly—anxious to go back and taste someone new. After Felicia and Susan made their way back Katie’s absence slowly penetrated Susan’s languor and introduced a new round of upheaval.

It was right about then that the newcomers came: first the blond. Then these two young women.

Susan and Marnie, not ready to resign themselves to whatever was going on and determined to escape, quickly confronted Mallory and Stacey. But Felicia was still in her own world, contemplating the depravity she’d participated in, and not just with Susan. Sitting with Rana, looking around the room, she realized she’d coupled with one two three … four of them so far. And with each coupling she knew she was descending more deeply, with more satisfaction, into this madness. Each time she came back to this room, the appall was less than before, while a sugary arousal from the memories of fucking these women pinched her clitoris harder. Yes, I was fucking them. I was fucking. Fucking women. It dawned on Felicia that soon, very soon, she was going to permanently give into wantonness, a glib casualness toward sex with anyone who came onto her or who she wanted to taste.

A couple of the women she’d had were already gone, but a few were still here. Allison—in which they had both sat on their knees, breast to breast, lips sealed together, one arm each tightly wrapped around her partner, spare fingers from the other arm shoved down and hitching the other’s clit. Marnie—they laid together, spooning, hands joined together buried in each other’s pussies, a little awkwardly because they were different sizes. But there was also Katie, Susan’s friend, before she was taken away. The most beautiful girl she’d ever seen, Katie’s smooth thighs straddling her face, while up above her, Katie’s own face was buried in some girl who sat on her shoulders.

Felicia started to feel a little remorse. Not just for Susan who was mostly upset at having lost Katie, but because, listening now to Susan insist that there was a way out, Felicia found herself thinking, There probably isn’t. So why fight it?

No, she didn’t want to fight it. It was dangerous because there were no answers, just confusion about being trapped, controlled, maybe even used. But also something exciting about it. Though she’d never had a single sexual thought about women, this was the most thrilling situation she’d ever been in. While Susan was arguing with the two new girls, Felicia scanned the room. Who would she have next? The cheerleaders? Mmmm…. But when her gaze settled onto the new women, Mallory and Stacey, seeing their utter confusion and innocent bewilderment, her lechery stopped. They needed help, and an older impulse of compassion and churchgoing decency took over. So Felicia stepped up.

“Listen, none of us knows really what’s going on. We all have been coming in to this ... building here... over the last, I don’t know, how long’s it been?” She cast around for an answer.

“Feels like days,” one of the huddling girls, Cassie, said.

“Yes, days,” Felicia said. Not expecting to, she made eye contact with Susan. Marnie continued to talk with and explain things as she knew them to the new girls. Eventually Susan retreated to the stiff uncomfortable armchair and sat down.

Felicia gave her some time, then obeyed the need to go to her. She crossed the room and halfway over, Susan saw her coming. She watched Susan’s body relax. It relieved Felicia to see they were re-connecting and when she arrived in front of Susan, she coyly, shyly draped a finger on Susan’s hand. She half expected a real carpet charged spark. She also ignored another of the young cheerleaders who was watching her every move and would not give them their privacy. The girl was sweet, sad, curious and filled a bit too much with longing.

“You’re going to hate me after all this,” Susan said. “I’m not making a very good impression, I know.”

Felicia didn’t know how to answer her cleverly. She turned from considering the taste of a cheerleader to the woman who really had made Felicia’s pussy turn to mush. When Susan took her arm lightly, Felicia’s heart started beating, then melting.

She took a breath. “You’re upset, I know. You’ll find Katie.”

“Maybe. Maybe,” Susan replied, not believing herself. She stood and together they walked to a quieter space in the room. Along the way she took Felicia’s warm hand and felt the older woman’s long and strong fingers grip her back.

They came to black vinyl two-person couch. A loveseat. At first neither sat.

Of all times to begin falling in love with a woman. Susan knew she was awash with confusion and arousal. So much was going on, and with zero control over it, she knew she was teetering between despair and hysteria. But Felicia… Felicia. Susan was straight as an arrow, able to look men in the eye and not only never flinch, but play their game too. But now? Here, in this whatever it was, a trap maybe, it was like she was losing her mind. She was not in charge, she was losing her grip on her sexuality, and she was falling for a woman who wasn’t, well—if she was ever going to have sex with a woman, it wouldn’t be a middle-aged, robust, suburban real estate agent. But even that little bit of irony got her warm. Susan placed her own hand on the one Felicia gripped Susan.

They were still standing, like nervous teenagers.

“I want to tell you... " Susan began. She looked down into Felicia’s big brown eyes. They weren’t the same height, but it didn’t matter to her. If she was going to be made into some big dyke, someone’s prisonbitch, well then this woman was more than capable of making it good.

“What I want to tell you is—” She stepped closer, and suddenly felt the urge to whisper in Felicia’s ear. So she did. “If there’s another one of those of dream times, I want you.”

Felicia melted again. Despite herself, despite her husband, despite her kids and her mother, despite her religion and the expectations that she should be wanting to escape this situation, not embrace it, Felicia leaned in to whisper back to Susan. As she did, she happened to make eye contact with Jenka. They both blushed self consciously, but Felicia still placed her brown, fleshy, elegantly manicured hand on Susan’s wrist, just for a brief, secret, indulgent moment no one else paid any attention to. “I hope so—too.”

Susan gave in and brushed her lips on Felicia’s temple. She’d never felt this sexy, this uncontrollably randy before. “If only we knew when it was coming again. Or how our partners were picked. Or where our partners go to ...”

Her voice trailed off.

* * *