The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


by Captain Dunsel



Bridget O’Brien stepped off the elevator, a smile on her face. It was a crooked little sort of self-satisfied smile… which was appropriate, she figured, because she was most definitely satisfied with herself. As she should be. Everything was awesome.

Bridget looked around, loose-limbed and limber and… loose. There was no other word for it. She was ready for whatever came her way, no matter what came her way, whatever it may be. Completely ready. Totally. Because everything was absolutely, totally awesome. And she felt… awesome. And everything was great. Really great. And she was definitely ready.

She was standing in a small foyer, empty except for a potted fichus tree and a couple of benches upholstered in padded black leather. There were no windows, of course, because she was now on Level B3, which Bridget assumed meant she was three stories underground. There was a small sign on the wall opposite her with an arrow pointing left that read RECEPTION—ALL VISITORS, so at least she knew the elevator had dropped her off on the correct floor. Of course, it was an express elevator that only went to this floor, so it wasn’t very likely to drop her off on the wrong floor now was it? She giggled at that. Dummy. She could be such a ditz sometimes. But that was okay. Guys liked ditzy girls.

She heard the elevator doors closing behind her and turned, seeing her reflection in the sliding polished steel. She giggled at that too, though she wasn’t sure why. It was just funny. And there was absolutely nothing wrong with being in a good mood and having a few giggles, after all.

“Hey there, Bridget honey,” she said to her stainless-steel reflection. Her reflection grinned back stupidly. God, she thought, do I really look that dopey and sort of… doped up? Her green eyes were half rolled up and slightly crossed and her eye lids were all droopy. She looked like she was stoned. Obviously she wasn’t stoned because she hadn’t smoked any marijuana in years, but she sure as hell looked stoned. She decided it had to be the way the elevator door was reflecting her image, like some kind of fun house mirror. Yeah… that had to be it.

Bridget gave her dimwitted doppelgänger a little wiggling finger wave and giggled again when dopey Bridget waved back. She wasn’t sure why that was so funny, but it definitely was, because she really was in a good mood. Definitely. Which was strange because she vaguely remembered being nervous and even a little apprehensive an hour earlier when she arrived at the BoozeMart Research and Development campus for her job interview… but those negative feelings were gone now. Gone gone gone. Now she felt nothing but confidence and serenity and optimism and joy. Somehow, she just knew the interview would go well and they would offer her the job. And she knew she would take the job and she knew she would love the job. She wasn’t sure what had changed since she arrived, why she was now so confident and serene and giddy and eager, but she definitely was. And that was just… awesome.

Funny though… Bridget recalled that the whole experience hadn’t started out like this. Not by a long shot. In fact… it hadn’t started well at all.

A month earlier Bridget O’Brien, despite being fresh out of grad school and unemployed, had been extremely hesitant to even apply for the job at BoozeMart R&D. After all, she had been a bit of a superstar at the University of Wisconsin and she already had several top firms courting her, including Microsoft and Nike. True, a prestigious corporate headhunter had specifically sought her out for the BoozeMart position… which was flattering and all… but still. BoozeMart? The place where college kids went to buy cheap beer? Really? Who the hell knew they even had a research and development division. Not to mention the fact that accepting the position would require a major relocation for her; not just out of Wisconsin, which she pretty much expected would happen, but out of the country. Indeed, she had thought it strange… even vaguely suspicious… that they had chosen to locate their R&D complex on the tiny West Indies island of Saint Monique. Like a shady offshore bank or something. What was that about?

But still… it sounded like a really great job, and the salary range was amazing, so in the end she did apply… and apply and apply. Bridget quickly discovered that the BoozeMart R&D vetting process wasn’t just rigorous, it was grueling. She spent weeks completing application forms, undergoing online psych evaluations, and answering security questionnaires. They even subcontracted a nurse practitioner at the university medical center to give her a basic wellness physical, complete with bloodwork. They must have decided her cholesterol levels were acceptable because finally, after two Skype pre-interviews, she was granted an audience with Human Resources. She still wasn’t sure she even wanted the damned job, but she didn’t want all that effort to be for nothing, and anyway, at that point she was sort of caught up in the momentum.

Just getting to their damned island had been a two-day ordeal. A commercial airline from Madison to Miami, overnight at a hotel, and then an early morning flight to Saint Monique via private jet. And yes, okay, BoozeMart was paying for all of it, and yes, the hotel in Miami had been the Four Seasons, very swanky, and the Lear jet had been luxurious… but still… it was a lot of trouble to go through to have an interview for a job she wasn’t even convinced she wanted.

There had only been one other passenger on the Lear jet, some nerdy guy in a turtleneck a few seats back, and they had also shared the thirty-minute chauffeured limo ride from the island airport to their final destination. Mr. Turtleneck ogled her body the whole time and timidly tried to flirt with her, but Bridget was in no mood. Besides, she figured he was probably a rival candidate for the same position. She had frozen him out. She was an expert at freezing guys out.

Despite being nervous and annoyed, Bridget couldn’t help but be impressed as they drove up to the BoozeMart R&D complex. It was a sprawling compound surrounded by gorgeous tropical landscaping, the hardwood and glass buildings a contemporary, semi-industrial take on traditional island architecture. Bridget thought it looked like a lair from a James Bond movie. Pretty damned cool, she had to admit. The polite but tight-lipped chauffeur had parked right in front, escorted them both into the lobby, then excused himself, spiriting their luggage off to places unknown.

At first Bridget had been surprised by how small the lobby was. There was no reception desk… no furniture at all, in fact… just a couple of potted lemon trees and the words BOOZEMART RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT spelled out in brass letters on a dark cedarwood wall. It was not so much a lobby as a vestibule. But as Bridget thought about it she realized they must have no need for a spacious lobby. It wasn’t like they were going to have any casual walk-ins, out here in the middle of tropical nowhere.

Bridget had expected to be met by Mr. Langford from Human Resources, the guy who had conducted her second Skype interview, but instead two courteous but no-nonsense security guards had been standing there waiting for them. The guards led Bridget and Mr. Turtleneck away in opposite directions, for which she was grateful. The nerd had been staring at her body the whole time, practically drooling. Creep.

She was escorted to a small holding area where a second guard was waiting. After verifying her identity… with a retina scan no less… the black-uniformed Gestapo twins had subjected Bridget to yet another security vetting which took the better part of an hour. More computer forms to fill out, this time with all sorts of extremely personal questions to answer. Why the hell did BoozeMart need to know her bra size, for example? Bridget had found many of the questions weird and sexist and unnecessarily intrusive… but she had dutifully answered them.

And then, just when she had thought it was finally over, the guards had insisted on giving her an immunization booster shot. Apparently there had been an outbreak of cholera or some such tropical disease on the island. At first Bridget had stubbornly refused, but they wouldn’t budge. No shot, no entry, no interview. Ministry of Health regulations, they said. Out of their hands, they said. By then Bridget was feeling pretty damned annoyed with the whole experience… she had an Irish temper, after all… and she had almost demanded to be driven back to the airport and flown back to Madison on the spot. But she really was interested in this job. The work sounded fascinating… what little she had been told of it… and the pay was amazingly good for a girl with a freshly-minted master’s in marketing. And she had to admit, it would be pretty awesome to live and work in a James Bond lair on an island in the Caribbean. So, in the end she had given in and let the guards administer their damned booster shot.

In retrospect, of course, Bridget was very glad that she had surrendered… because really it had been no big deal. They hadn’t even used a hypodermic, they had one of those needle-free injection gizmos. Just a puff of air pressure on her arm. No pain whatsoever.

After the guards gave her the immunization booster shot Bridget felt much better about everything. Much better. Pretty much instantly. She had no earthly idea why she had been so irritated and distrustful. After all, it made perfect sense that they needed to know her bra size… ditto knowing how often she had sex and how often she got drunk. As she had stood there rubbing her shoulder… and smiling… she had felt embarrassed and a little ashamed of being so suspicious and angry and bitchy. Guys did not like bitchy girls.

Bridget had immediately apologized to the security guards for being such a bitch and told them they were sweet and even gave them each a kiss on the cheek, making sure to squash her tits up against them as she did so. She giggled at the memory. Bridget had known they would like that… men always liked that… and it seemed like the least she could do; they really had been very sweet to put up with her being so bitchy. After all, they were men and that meant they knew best, and she should have just trusted them from the beginning. And of course, she didn’t mind giving them a kiss and squashing her tits against them one little bit because they were very cute. She hadn’t noticed it at first because she had been too busy being suspicious and angry and bitchy, but they really were very cute and muscular and pretty damned sexy in their tight black Gestapo-like uniforms. If time had permitted and Mr. Langford from HR hadn’t been waiting to give her a job interview Bridget might have suggested apologizing more… thoroughly. Surely there was a sofa back in their break room or something, someplace she could apologize properly. As in, letting them fuck her silly Irish brains out, tag team tandem style.

Bridget giggled wickedly at the idea of fucking the two sexy security guards and ran her hand down her body, feeling a lovely tingle as she did so. She didn’t usually fuck total strangers she had just met, certainly. In fact, she never did. It was strange, now that she thought about it, but she had only ever fucked guys she was “serious” about, whatever that meant. Crazy. What a conceited prude she had been. She had always dismissed girls who slept around… girls like her little sister Kayleigh… as sluts. Bridget had no intention of being a slut, of course, but this was different. She really had been a bitch to those nice security guards for no good reason and they really did deserve an apology and they really were very, very sexy. And from the way they had been eyeing her, she was pretty damned sure they would’ve liked the idea of fucking her brains out. At the very least she should have given them each a blow job and let them come all over her naked tits. That would have been the polite thing to do.

And now that she had a chance to think about it, Bridget also felt bad about how she had treated Mr. Turtleneck. She realized with regret that she had been unnecessarily rude to the poor guy. After all, he had definitely appreciated her body and he had tried to flirt with her, so she couldn’t fault him for being bad-mannered or indifferent. And he really had been darned cute in that shy bookworm sort of way. She decided that she would try and find out who he was, so she could apologize for being such a cold-hearted bitch. Maybe she’d let him fuck her tits and come all over her lightly freckled face. Nerds liked that kind of thing.

She giggled, imagining his cum dripping off her snub nose, and couldn’t resist slipping her hand up under her skirt and fingering her pussy through her damp panties. She had always been shy about fingering herself in public… in fact, come to think, she had never, ever done it before, which was just silly, really, because fingering her clit felt so good. It felt especially good today, in fact… better than it had ever felt before for some reason… and she moaned softly.


The unexpectedly powerful tingle that surged through her body made her dizzy and she staggered sideways a step, blinking owlishly, momentarily disoriented. She had very nearly orgasmed, for pity’s sake. Bridget giggled at that. It usually took her forever to orgasm.

She shook her head to clear it, but that only made her dizzier. It was strange, but ever since they gave her that booster shot she had been a little bit light-headed. Almost like she was stoned, though of course she obviously wasn’t. Bridget knew it was nothing to worry about. In fact, it probably had nothing to do with the shot, it was probably just that express elevator doing a number on her inner ear or something like that. She was fine. Perfectly fine. Better than fine, she was awesome. Really, really awesome. Ready to take the poor unsuspecting men of BoozeMart Research and Development by storm.

Watch out, boys, she thought, here comes Bridget.

She studied her reflection in the elevator door and grinned, proud of what she saw. She was a very beautiful and sexy young woman, everyone said so. Well, they didn’t say so to her face, of course, but they made it obvious by the way they looked at her. Drooled over her, really, no point in false modesty. They loved that thick mane of copper red hair… pulled up in a bun at the moment, but still pretty hot in that sexy school teacher kind of way. Big green eyes. Lush lips. Best of all, a voluptuous, hourglass figure: huge tits, plump ass, long legs. The whole bag of tricks. Sort of like Christina Hendricks if she lost a few pounds… and a few years.

Yes sir, Bridget was a head-turner and she knew it. After all, everywhere she went she could feel men’s eyes following her, watching her fat tits jiggle and bounce, watching her chubby ass wriggle and sway. Actually, it was odd; the lustful, bug-eyed, slack-jawed attention of complete strangers had always annoyed her, but she was having trouble remembering why at the moment. After all, she deserved the attention. Any girl would kill to have her looks. Women envied her, and men wanted her… and that was just a fact. Indeed, Bridget was quite confident that if she had offered herself to those very sexy security guards downstairs they would have enthusiastically taken her up on it. Bridget luxuriously ran her hands down her sides, grinning. Yes sir, they would have been only too happy to enthusiastically fuck this on the sofa in their break room, and who could blame them? She shrugged. Well… maybe she’d give them the chance on the way out. If they were lucky.

She started to turn away from her reflection but paused, her smile fading just a bit as she considered the prim and proper business suit she had chosen to wear. Bridget slid her pocketbook off her shoulder, dropped it on the padded bench beside her, and posed, evaluating her mirror image. Shit. She wondered what the hell she had been thinking when she had selected this outfit. It did almost nothing to show off her spectacular body. She should have worn something slinky and sexy and alluring, something that would have this Mr. Langford from HR staring at her thighs and drooling over her cleavage and hoping he could fuck her on the sofa in his office. Damn it. How did she expect to get the job if she didn’t show the man her goddamned qualifications? Who the hell would want to fuck a girl who was dressed like this, even if she did have huge tits and a juicy ass? Men weren’t very bright, after all. Subtlety was not their strong suit, the poor dears. It was like the two security guards upstairs. If you wanted them to drool over you and desire you and fuck you on their sofas, well, you had to spell it out for them. You had to show them the merchandise.

Well, it wasn’t too late to take some corrective measures. First, she would lose the jacket. Bridget promptly yanked it off, folded it neatly, and placed it on the bench beside her. The jacket would be fine just sitting there; she could collect it on her way out. She posed again, thrusting her chest out and cocking her hips like models did, appraising. Better. The white silk blouse did a decent job of highlighting her big tits. She wished it were a good deal snugger… ideally so snug that the buttons were about to burst… but it wasn’t bad. Could be better, though.

She went for the obvious solution and unbuttoned a few buttons. Then a few more. Bridget grinned. Much better. The gaping neckline now revealed a decent… or rather, indecent… she giggled at that… expanse of cleavage. She knew the pale, bulging, lightly freckled slopes of her mountainous tits would jiggle when she moved, and she knew men would find that irresistible. And when she leaned over… she experimented… yes! Her boobs came deliciously close to tumbling right out of her blouse. And as a bonus, bending over revealed enticing glimpses of her baby blue lace bra which… thank God… was a little too small for her, barely containing her huge knockers. Perfect. She considered removing the bra altogether and going booby commando, knowing that her big, sexy tits would wobble and bobble around inside her blouse every time she so much as shifted position and her nipples would poke at the silky fabric. The guys would love that. It was tempting, but in the end, she decided that might be going too far. She wanted to look alluring, yes… but not like some kind of slutty bimbo fuck toy. Sexy and professional and competent… and sexy… that was the ticket. The overexposed cleavage would have to be enough. If necessary, she could undo the last two buttons on her blouse and let it hang open. Or lose the blouse entirely and just go with the skimpy lace brassiere. Possible. She’d play that by ear.

Now then… what about the gray skirt? It was reasonably tight, which was good… in fact, she remembered being worried that it was too tight for some ridiculous reason. And too short. She even recalled tugging it down several times in the limo because she was afraid Mr. Turtleneck was leering at her thighs… as if that were a bad thing, for heaven’s sake. She could be so damn stupid sometimes, it was a wonder she ever got laid.

Anyway, she had hoped that without the jacket hiding her ass the skirt might get by, but she could see now that was nothing but wishful thinking. The skirt was much too long, barely eight inches above her knees. She needed to show off those sexy legs. Bridget smiled and reached for the waistband. Fortunately, it was thin and beltless and elastic and could be folded over itself, doubled, even tripled, which she proceeded to do. It raised the hemline up to standard micro-miniskirt height at least, revealing the lacey tops of her nylons. Bridget considered and shrugged. Better. Still a bit too conservative… no one, alas, would be getting any “accidental” glimpses of her ass when she walked. She’d have to bend over to adjust her shoe or something if she wanted to flash her cheeks at the boys. But it was better. At least she no longer looked like someone’s dowdy old maiden aunt. She shook her head reproachfully and smirked at her reflection. What were you thinking, girl, when you got dressed this morning? Once she landed this job, first order of business: a whole new sexy wardrobe. Maybe with a tropical island theme. That would be fun.

Feeling better about the impression she would make on Mr. Langford, Bridget picked up her pocket book and headed off, following the sign for RECEPTION—ALL VISITORS. As she walked she was pleased to note that her tits, now free of that stupid jacket, bobbled and bounced with each step despite being trapped in her skimpy bra. Bridget practiced putting a little extra swing and shimmy into her hips as well, hoping she might compensate for her ultra-conservative skirt. Really, she should have borrowed her slutty sister Kayleigh’s pink leather micro-miniskirt. It would’ve been way too small for her and would have definitely revealed her ass cheeks when she walked. Bridget giggled wickedly as she imagined those sexy security guards getting a load of her in that skirt. They wouldn’t have bothered with the sofa in the break room, she thought, they would’ve just thrown me onto that security desk and fucked me right there. And Mr. Turtleneck would’ve screwed me silly on the plane and in the limo. Probably the chauffeur would’ve gotten in on the action too. It made her hot just thinking about all those horny men ogling her, wanting her, fighting each other over who got to tear off her pink leather micro-miniskirt and fuck her first. She giggled. Damn. Whoever it was who coined the phrase “Dress for Success” definitely knew what he was talking about.

Bridget turned the corner into a short corridor. There were double doors at the far end, two restroom doors, and a bunch of those padded benches, but no sign of a receptionist. She stood there wondering if maybe she should head into the ladies room and pee while she had the chance… and then someone came through the double doors at the far end of the hall.

Bridget smiled as she watched the newcomer walking toward her. It was a young woman, and she must’ve just stepped off an express elevator herself, because she was decidedly unsteady, weaving and staggering and brushing against the wall every few feet. Bridget giggled. For heaven’s sake, the poor thing looked like she was drunk.

And what the hell was she wearing? Bridget giggled again. Talk about dressing for success. As the girl staggered closer it became obvious that she had on a sheer black baby-doll nightie, black lace panties, and nothing else. Bridget couldn’t fault her fashion sense… she looked totally amazing, like a Victoria’s Secret model… but it was a bit unusual for office wear, to say the least. The girl was a pretty brunette with light brown skin, a face like Catherine Zeta-Jones in her prime, and a killer body. She wasn’t as voluptuous as Bridget… few girls were… but she had a terrific figure. The girl was carrying a phone in one hand and a water glass in the other. No, it looked more like a cocktail glass… with a cocktail in it. Bridget’s eyebrows lifted as the she got closer. It was a cocktail glass with a cocktail in it. And the girl’s face was flushed and her eyes were droopy and there was a lopsided grin on her pretty face. Hell, she was drunk.

The brunette didn’t seem to notice Bridget, she was too busy singing to herself and trying to walk without falling on that cute ass, which she was barely managing to do. Bridget couldn’t help staring at the girls jiggling tits, naked beneath the gossamer nightie, and swallowed. She didn’t normally have sex with other girls… in fact, she had never had sex with another girl… but there was a first time for everything, and she sure wouldn’t mind this beauty being her first time. She would start by sucking on those puppy dog nipples, and then-

Bridget reluctantly shook off her lustful thoughts and cleared her throat. She had a job interview to get to, after all.

“Umm… hi,” she said.

The girl stopped, staggered, half fell against the wall, stumbled forward a step, and seemed to notice Bridget for the first time. Her lovely brown eyes were bloodshot and heavy-lidded, but they widened slightly, peering. She smiled drunkenly, her head lolling.

“Heyyyyyyyy,” she drawled, swaying where she stood, “whassup, hon?”

“May I ask you a question?” Bridget asked, trying not to stare. Another woman had never made her feel like this before. It was weird. Exciting… but weird.

“Yoooou bet, shweetie,” the girl answered, and she took a loud sip from her cocktail. Bridget wanted to ask her why she was wearing a nightie and why she was drunk as a skunk, but instead she said…

“Is the receptionist through those doors?” The girl blinked, processing the question, then responded with a clumsy wave of her hand to the left, spilling a little of her drink.

“You mean Debbie the recession… nist?” she asked, her words so slurred Bridget could barely understand her. “She’s down thatta way, sssrew those doors.”

“Thanks,” Bridget said, barely stifling a giggle. In the distance she heard the express elevator ding.

“She’s a session… nist down… down thatta way,” the girl repeated, nodding in agreement with herself. Her eyes crossed, and she stumbled back against the wall again, wisely letting it support her. Then she seemed to realize something and giggled. “Fuck. I’m on th’wrong floor. How th’fuck did I ged down here?” She giggled again and took a sip of her cocktail.

“Umm… I don’t want to get personal,” Bridget continued, too curious… and too turned on… to mind her own business, “but can I ask you another question?”

“Yoooou bet,” the girl responded. Bridget leaned toward her a bit and lowered her voice.

“Are you drunk?” she asked, though the answer was obvious. This girl wasn’t just drunk, she was plastered, barely able to stay on her bare feet.

“Coursh I’m dzzrunk,” the girl responded incredulously, as if Bridget had asked a ridiculous question. “I’m dzzrunk off my ass ann… ann iss not even levenna clock inna mornin’. Pretty good, huh?” She took another drink, obviously proud of herself.

Bridget heard footsteps and turned her head as someone came around the corner from the elevator foyer she had just left, heading their way. She grinned. It was Mr. Turtleneck. Oh yeah, he was definitely fuckable… though of course, what guy wasn’t fuckable when it came to that. Bridget knew this was her chance to apologize… but she was torn. She couldn’t get the drunk brunette out of her mind, especially the way her boobs jiggled inside that see-through baby-doll when she stumbled. Bridget knew it was inconsiderate to ignore a man who obviously wanted to fuck her, but she couldn’t resist; she turned back to watch the quiver and shimmy show. It was entrancing. And I don’t even like girls, Bridget thought, her eyes following every delicious jiggle. Imagine if I did.

“Umm… why are you wearing a nightie?” she asked the girl, licking her lips, wondering what those dusky nipples would taste like.

“Oh, cuz… cuz… cuz my cocktail is called a… a Midnight Lace,” the girl explained, enunciating the name carefully and hoisting the glass. “Ann y’know… yer s’pposed to mash your outfit to… to your cocktail, right?”

Mr. Turtleneck was getting closer. Bridget knew he was ogling her ass. She always knew when men were ogling her body. She had sort of a… male-lust radar. And she had to admit she was proud of the fact that this very cute guy was ogling her ass instead of sweet Baby-doll’s jiggling tits.

Bridget briefly considered turning and winking at Mr. Turtleneck, letting him know that she was sorry she had been such a bitch to him in the limo, and that she appreciated him ogling her ass, and that she would love to have him fuck her silly sometime. Also, she was vain enough that she wanted to give him an opportunity to ogle her tits as well. They were arguably her best feature and he hadn’t gotten a good look at them earlier. But she decided against it. Frankly, she didn’t trust herself, as horny as she was feeling today, and she didn’t know what BoozeMart’s corporate policy was on employee fraternization. They might frown on her throwing cute Mr. Turtleneck to the floor and mounting him like a wild nymphomaniacal tart. It was unlikely, of course… why on earth would they object to two consenting adult coworkers fucking like horny teenagers in the hallway?... but every organization had its own weird taboos and she didn’t want to take a chance on screwing up her chances of getting this job. So she kept her attention on Baby-doll’s nipples… which she was only too happy to do… and on that very interesting cocktail, which looked delicious.

“Midnight Lace,” Bridget repeated, eyeing the drink. It was an unusual black color. Probably contained black vodka. Bridget had never tried black vodka. She wondered what the cocktail tasted like and was a little surprised at how keenly she wanted to sample it and find out. Bridget had never been all that much for cocktails… she had always been more of a wine and beer girl… but right now she had an almost irresistible craving for the drink in Baby-doll’s hand. She licked her lips. Baby-doll blinked at Bridget, sudden realization on her flushed face.

“Heyyyyy,” she drawled, her brow knitted, “where’s your cocktail?”

Bridget giggled nervously. “Uhh… I don’t have one.” But I’d love to try yours, she didn’t add. Her man-lust radar suddenly went into proximity alert as Mr. Turtleneck passed behind her. Bridget was sure he was gonna grab her ass as he walked by. She could tell that he wanted to, and she hoped he would. After all, if he thought it was okay to grab her ass and throw her to the floor and fuck her in the hallway it was obviously okay because he was a man. No one would object. Least of all her. She was feeling amazingly horny and definitely wouldn’t mind a quick shag before her meeting with Mr. Langford. Just to take the edge off. Especially if she could be drinking a cocktail at the time, getting a little sloshed while she fucked some random guy she barely knew. She had never done that before, but it sounded like heaven.

“Really?” Baby-doll was asking, and Bridget turned her attention back to the girl’s jiggling tits… and her bewitching beverage. “You don’t have a… a cocktail?”


The girl’s look of amazement changed to one of compassion.

“Ohhhhhhh, well here,” she said, holding out her glass. “You take mine, sweetie. I was only s’pposed t’have…” She trailed off, turning her head, distracted. “…three… anyway.” Bridget followed the girl’s gaze. She was watching Mr. Turtleneck walk away down the corridor. The girl leered and murmured, “Mmmnnnn… nice ass.”

Bridget smiled. She had to agree; the nerd did have a nice butt. Your loss, Mr. Turtleneck, she thought. You should’ve grabbed my ass like you wanted to. You could be fucking me on the floor even as we speak.

The two girls turned back, looked at each other, and giggled, recognizing their mutual desire to fuck Mr. Turtleneck. Then Baby-doll recalled her humanitarian mission.

“Here, you take mine,” she insisted, holding out her glass.

“Okay,” Bridget said, not inclined to argue. Baby-doll clumsily foisted the cocktail in her general direction, and Bridget did her best to grab it… but before she could, a dollop of dark liquid sloshed up out of the glass and landed on her white blouse.

“Oh… shit,” Bridget said, looking down at the black stain on her bosom.

“Ohhhhhh god, I am so so so sorry,” Baby-doll said, still waving the glass around.

“No, it’s… it’s fine…” Bridget said, quickly intercepting the glass before the girl spilled any more. She was actually more concerned about not wasting any more of the cocktail than she was in protecting her clothes; this was the last time she was ever gonna wear these dowdy rags anyway. Still… a stained blouse was unprofessional. She supposed could always go back and get her jacket, but… no… stain or no stain, Mr. Langford deserved to see her big tits in all their glory. He had a right to expect that. It would be fine. Besides, if she did her job right he would be so busy drooling over her jugs he’d never even notice a little stain on her blouse.

“God… I am not normally sush a clutz,” Baby-doll was saying, “but this stuff really dizz… did a nummer on me. I thing I’m, like… sage seven. Sorry.”

“It’s no big deal,” Bridget said, and she realized that she meant it. She was, in fact, a little surprised that she wasn’t upset. A thing like this would normally put her in a bitchy little Irish snit. Obviously, her good mood was bulletproof. She smiled and sniffed the cocktail, very curious.

“Go head, take a slug,” Baby-doll encouraged her. “It’ll knock you on your ass, budiss yummy.”

Bridget didn’t need to be told twice. She eagerly took a sip. Her eyes opened wide as the liquid sloshed around on her tongue. Holy shit. It was yummy. It was, in fact, quite possibly the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. Sweet but not too sweet. Bitter but not too bitter. Tangy but not too tangy. Just right. God, she had really been missing out all these years not drinking cocktails. Not only were they delicious, they would undoubtedly get her drunk much faster than beer or wine. What a silly, naive little girl she had been. She swallowed her first sip and greedily took a second.

“Nnnnnn, wow,” she said, swallowing again. “This is so great! What’s in it?”

“Ummmmm…” Baby-doll said, obviously struggling to recall. She gave up and shrugged. “Shit, I can’t member. I know we’re s’pposed t’know the ingredients, but… I can never member mine.” She giggled at her own foolishness.

“Well, I’ve never tasted anything quite like it,” Bridget enthused, taking another drink. She was probably drinking it too fast, she knew… a drink this delicious was meant to savor… but she just couldn’t help herself. It was all she could do not to guzzle it all straight down.

“Wait so…” Baby-doll puzzled, staggering sideways, tits jiggling, “how… how come you don’t have a… a cocktail?”

“Am I supposed to?” Bridget asked, wondering what this was all about. Did everyone who worked at BoozeMart R&D drink cocktails on the job? She looked at the glass in her hand. Well, if they tasted this good she could understand why. And holy shit, it was already getting her a little intoxicated, she could feel it pleasantly muddling her thoughts and throwing off her equilibrium. Fantastic. She giggled, stumbled back a step, reset her balance, and took another gulp.

“Well of… of coursh you’re s’ppose to,” Baby-doll said, gesturing clumsily. “How elsh can you... can you… y’know… do your job?”

“Well… I don’t work here,” Bridget explained.

“You don’t… you… you don’t work here?” the girl asked, cross-eyed and confused. She slid down the wall and plopped down on the padded bench that was, fortunately, right behind her. Bridget giggled. This girl was tanked. Imagine working at a place where they didn’t mind that you got tanked on the job. Where they apparently encouraged you to. The headhunter who arranged this job interview for Bridget sure hadn’t mentioned anything about that little perk. She giggled and took another gulp.

“Nope,” she said, swallowing, “I’m just here for a jinter…” She paused, closed her eyes, tried again. “A job… interview.”

“Ohhhhhhh,” Baby-doll said, smiling with comprehension. She slumped forward and reached out her hand. “Well hi. I’m April.” Bridget shifted the cocktail and shook the girl’s hand.

“Bridget,” she said.

“I’m a sin… simulashun tech,” April explained, slumping back against the wall. Her shapely legs splayed open… practically an invitation.

“Oh,” Bridget said, sipping from her delicious drink and eyeing April’s black lace panties. She wondered what the hell a simulation tech could be, and what it could possibly have to do with beverage research and development.

“Well lissen, I gotta go,” April said, rousing herself. It took her three tries, but she finally made it to her feet. “I’m s’pposed to fuck Dr. Patel in th’Enzymmm… mology Lab atta leven thirty, ann also…” She giggled. “…I promised Mr. Reynolds I’d give him a blow job today ann he has meetings all affernoon starting at two, so...”

Bridget burst out laughing because she assumed April must be joking. Just a little ribald office humor. Or maybe wishful thinking, if she was half as horny as Bridget. But the girl in the black nightie wasn’t laughing. Bridget blinked.

“Really?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“I know, I know,” April said, stumbling. “Mr. Reynolds doesn’t have the world’s biggest cock, ann he’s going bald… but I dunno… he’s sweet ann I kinda have a thing for him.”

“Oh. Right. Well,” Bridget said, “then I guess you should… get to work.” She blinked, trying to make sense of all this. The Midnight Lace wasn’t helping. It was definitely getting her drunk, and she had only had about half of it. And this one had been April’s fourth of the morning. No wonder she was tanked. The idea of being paid to get drunk on the job made Bridget giggle. It was crazy, of course… but pretty damned hot too. She had never fully realized it before, but she really liked the idea of an occupation where she could get drunk on the job. Or better still, she thought, a job where she could get drunk and fuck any guy she wanted, like her slutty little sister Kayleigh did. She giggled at the notion and took another gulp.

April stumbled closer to say goodbye. Her breath smelled like booze. Her drunken face was delectable. It took all of Bridget’s self-control not to kiss her. Kiss her hard. And she didn’t even like girls.

“Lissen, if you jet… if you… get the job, sweetie, look me up,” she said, giving Bridget a little peck on the lips. “We’ll do lunsh ann get trashed ann find some studs to fuck our dzzrunken brains out.” Both girls giggled at that lovely idea.

April turned and launched herself down the corridor, back the way she had come, weaving a crooked path and ricocheting off the walls. Bridget watched her sexy ass wriggle, twisting those black lace panties, and bit her lip. Lucky Dr. Patel. Lucky Mr. Reynolds. She hoped April made it to the Enzymology Lab before she passed out on the floor.

Wow… this place is crazy, Bridget thought with a chuckle. Crazy… but kind of amazing too. Oh well, when in Rome. She took another slug from the glass.

She looked down at the stain on her blouse. It wasn’t too bad. Maybe she could dab it up with a wet paper towel. There was a restroom right here, after all.

Bridget headed for the ladies room door. She staggered, catching herself.

“Whoahhh,” she said, and she giggled. Yup, no doubt about it, the Midnight Lace had already gotten her a little sloshed. Of course, as April had so wisely pointed out, there was absolutely nothing wrong with getting drunk on the job, as long as you went about it professionally and didn’t let it interfere with your duties.

Bridget wondered why she had ever thought otherwise.