The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


Part One

By Lyka Bloom

Christine was in the lead, which was a surprise to no one. Clay, wiping sweat from the back of his neck with a bandana he’d purchased in the nearby village in southern Chiapas, watched his girlfriend duck under the foliage on the seldom-used trail. Her blonde hair had been pulled back into a ponytail that was beginning to stick to her neck from the day’s heat, a dark patch spread between the shoulders of the yellow tank top she’d fished from her bag this morning. Her legs were long and tan, mostly visible thanks to the brevity of the khaki shorts she wore. It was perhaps not the most efficient hiking gear he could imagine, but it was an ode to Christine’s athletic body.

Clay looked behind him, smiling to himself as Nareen and Stephen argued quietly with one another. Nareen, far out of Stephen’s league with her exotic Indian features and wealthy background, was ticking off her points finger-by-finger in what was sure to be an all-day battle, if the history of the trip so far were any judge.

“You coming?” he called behind him.

Stephen, dark-haired and pale, a handful of pounds overweight thanks to his desk job, waved back at Clay to go on. His eyes, when he met Clay’s, begged for support. He had worn jeans for the hike, and the way the pits of his shirt were drenched, he imagined Stephen must be miserable, nagging girlfriend or no.

“Stephen’s too busy checking the map every five minutes for us to keep up,” Nareen said, looking at Stephen as she spoke. As if in karmic response, a branch Stephen pushed back from the trail snapped back and swatted Nareen’s cheek, leaving an angry red line across her face.

“Stephen!” she called out, cupping the wound on her cheek.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, pushing forward and up the trail, trading one scene of thickly overgrown vegetation for another.

“Everybody with us?” Christine asked, perched atop a rock, taking a long pull from the water bottle hooked onto the backpack she wore.

“Just waiting for the last two,” Clay said and dropped her a wink. Christine responded by sticking her tongue out, a childish gesture that nonetheless made him laugh.

“We’re here!” Maggie called, the pixie-like neon red bob appearing through the leaves before the rest of her. Maggie had been the last to agree to go on the trip, for no other reason than a Maggie at rest tended to remain at rest. When Justine had announced she would go to Mexico with the group, regardless of Maggie’s decision, Maggie had relented. She swatted a bug, smacking her calf hard. Her skin was very fair, but had started to take on a lobster-like hue that was going to hurt at some point. A tattoo of a snake’s tail disappeared up her denim cut-offs, and Clay wondered where that snake rested its head. Thin and tall, Clay had always found Maggie attractive, and had even registered disappointment when she had announced her preference for women, though, after meeting her partner Justine, he understood.

“Just keep moving, Mags,” Justine said from behind Maggie, playfully swatting her ass.

“We could have done a resort. I’m just saying,” Maggie replied, but the smile on her face told the real story. She was in love with Justine, with her long brown hair, her penchant for girl-next-door fashion, chubby cheeks and a flat tone to her voice that always sounded bemused. It didn’t hurt that Justine had a body hidden beneath her sweaters and skirts that rivaled Christine’s ample curves. For the day’s activities, Justine had found a tank top and biking shorts that hid nothing, a reminder that she was the most voluptuous of the group.

“How much farther?” Stephen asked, finally cresting the swell of earth where Clay stood.

“About half a mile, according to the map,” Christine said, refolding a laminated map she’d been consulting since they started out early in the morning. “We should be there before long. We’ll want to find a place to camp, too. I don’t think we’re getting out of here before dark.”

“Oh, great,” Nareen whispered to Stephen, loud enough for Clay to hear. “Another night in some cave. This is so relaxing. Way better than going to Cancun.”

Clay watched them go past, then shared a grin with Maggie and Justine who were rolling their eyes and making a show of choking themselves, respectively, as they walked past.

“All here, babe,” Clay called up to Christine, who tucked her water bottle away and pointed around a bend of the trail only she could see.

“You can almost see it from here, you guys,” she said, and the excitement in her voice was palpable.

It had been Christine’s idea, a trip into the Mexican wilds to camp at the foot of a pyramid, as well as to drink copious amounts of the local tequila. In the inhalation of life that followed college and preceded gainful employment, Christine wanted one last time to be irresponsible and Clay could refuse her nothing. Not only was Christine Dawes the single most beautiful girl he had ever seen, she was also kind and loving, a combination he had seen precious little of.

Clay followed behind Maggie and Justine, happy to let Christine forge ahead and fulfill her vision of being the daring explorer while he made sure their generally ill-prepared friends didn’t wander into the jungle.

He was watching the trail wind beneath his feet when he ran squarely into Justine’s back, nearly toppling her and giving Maggie a healthy shove in the process.

“Whoa there, cowboy,” Justine laughed.

“Holy shit,” Maggie said under her breath, an involuntary reaction she registered only after she said it. “Sorry, hon.”

“It fits,” Justine said.

Clay followed their eyes to the boxy shape cloaked by shadow ahead of them. He stepped past them, peering into the jungle.

“What is that?” he asked.

Nareen and Stephen joined them, and Stephen took a tentative step off the path and into the jungle proper, something Christine had advised them all against.

“It’s a building,” Stephen said in answer, adjusting his glasses and wiping sweat from the lenses. “Not ancient. Forty, maybe fifty years old.”

“What are you guys looking at?” Christine called back to them and stopped, seeing the group huddled at a bend in the path, staring into the vines and shadows cast by the high canopy. She started back down the path towards them, bending to get a glimpse of what had enthralled the group when she caught sight of it. The building was barely visible through the foliage, but it cast a darker shadow than the rest of the jungle’s backdrop.

“Holy shit,” she muttered.

“Right?” Maggie added, inviting a nudge from Justine.

“What do you think, Chris?” Clay asked, looking around the others, enjoying the look of amazement on his girlfriend’s face. “Is it on the map?”

Christine slung the backpack off a shoulder, digging inside for the laminated map. She unfolded it, following their progress with her nail and shook her head.

“Whatever it is, it’s not on the map.” She rifled through the backpack again and found a marker, uncapping it with her mouth and making a thick X on the slick surface.

“What are you doing?” Nareen asked, standing on her tiptoes to look over Christine’s shoulder.

“I’m marking our place,” she said, re-capping the pen and depositing both pen and map in the backpack. “We’re going to check it out.” Clay circled around the backs of Nareen and Stephen and took Christine by the elbow, pulling her away from the others.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? What about all that stuff about never leaving the trail?” Clay spoke soft and evenly, not wanting to be characterized as an argumentative couple the way he’d filed Nareen and Stephen in that category.

“It’s fine, babe,” she said, her smile warming him in a way that nearly hurt. “We can see the trail from there. Don’t you want to see what it is?”

“Sure, I just don’t want it to be the last thing I ever see, you know? It could be filled with snakes or something.”

“Snakes?” she laughed. “Hon, you have probably stepped over more snakes on the way here than you’re going to find in that building. Come on, let’s go exploring. Please? Please please please?”

“Fine, but should we take some kind of precautions or leave bread crumbs or something?”

“Just bring that sweet ass,” she grinned and gave his right cheek a lewd squeeze as she passed by to join Stephen at the edge of the deep vegetation.

“Looks like a pretty straight line from here to there. You guys ready?”

Everyone murmured their assent and followed Christine into the jungle.

Surprisingly, the walk was shorter than they had expected. The dark silhouette of the building grew as they pushed through the jungle, sometimes wickedly slow due to the ropey vines, and even Maggie had a turn at swinging Clay’s machete to carve their way through the net-like labyrinth.

Nareen had ceased most of her complaints after the world had grown dark under the canopy, the sun slipping to an odd angle. Though the building was growing close, night was falling quickly and Clay worried they would find themselves in impenetrable blackness before they reached their destination.

Christine, nimble as she was, wove in and out of the criss-crossing vines, staying a solid ten yards or more ahead of the rest of the group. Clay was careful to keep an eye out and ensure she did not vanish in the gloom that was quickly swallowing them all.

“Hey,” Christine said, looking over her shoulder to draw their attention. “I think I found stairs.”

The discovery energized the procession and they made faster time through the jungle until they caught up with Christine, standing with one foot on a cement step almost hidden by the roots and detritus that had been deposited there. The steps led up to the entrance of a non-descript structure that looked like plane factories Clay had seen in World War Two photos. Large square windows composed of three even horizontal and vertical rows of smaller windows lined the highest floor of the building, which must have been four stories at least. The exterior was all cement, white against the green of the flora that sought to reclaim the land for itself. Behind the face of the building, Clay could make out two crumbling smoke stacks.

“What the hell is it?” Justine asked, her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. Maggie covered Justine’s with her own.

“Does it look like a factory to anyone else?”

“Yeah,” Stephen said, looking at Maggie. “It looks exactly like a factory. But what’s it doing out here?”

“Only one way to find out!” Christine climbed the steps towards the double doors which stood ten feet high, dwarfing her as she approached.

The rest followed until they gathered again at the doorway. A look of vague unease passed between them before Clay placed his hand on the doors and pushed. A horror movie squeal of rusty hinges echoed in the jungle, accompanied by the flap of wings as nervous birds took flight.

“Comforting,” Nareen said, hugging Stephen’s arm and leaning her head on his shoulder.

They stepped into the factory and an immediate wave of cool air passed over them. There were sighs of relief from several of the group as the heat of the day was replaced by dry, cool air.

They were greeted by what appeared to be a reception area, made up of decaying wood paneling, more utilitarian than luxurious. An old typewriter and loose papers, some still tucked inside manila envelopes, were scattered about. A coffee cup sat beside the typewriter, dusty and stained inside by black rings.

“I wonder how long it’s been since someone’s been in here,” Justine whispered, the darkness and chill air creating a sense of quietude among them.

Clay lifted the coffee mug from the desk and rubbed it with his thumb, revealing an off-kilter X.

“What is that?” Christine said, sidling up to Clay and examining the mug.

Another rub, wider circles, and the image came clear – a swastika.

“Holy shit,” Maggie repeated.

Nareen backed away from the group, hands held before her in warding. “We should get out of here. That’s some seriously evil mojo.”

Clay returned the mug to the desk and rubbed his fingers together to brush away the dust.

“Hold on,” Christine said, taking a step towards Nareen. “It’s almost dark outside and getting lost in the jungle at night is a bad idea, no matter how you slice it. Besides, whatever this place was, it’s abandoned now.”

“Chris is right,” Clay said, moving to her side. “This could even be… I don’t know, important maybe.”

Stephen slipped his backpack to the ground beside him. “I think they’re right, Nareen. Wherever we are right now, I think it’s best to stay until morning.”

“I think you’re all crazy. You saw what was on that coffee mug.” Nareen looked to Stephen, then past him to Justine and Maggie, eager to see some sign of support. “Fine,” she said, finding no sign of solidarity, “but I’m staying right here in this room until the sun comes up and we can get out of here.”

“Suit yourself,” Stephen said. “I plan to take a little tour. They might have made planes here or something. That would be pretty awesome.”

“In Mexico?” Maggie’s disbelief drew Stephen’s attention. “Maybe this wasn’t even World War Two. Didn’t they make a movie or something about Nazis doing secret experiments after the war? This could be one of those things. Some evil plot to take over the world, hidden away in the jungle.”

Justine wrapped her arms around Maggie’s waist, kissing her neck and smiling. “I love it when you get all conspiracy theory on me.”

Nareen scowled at the couple, and, not for the first time, Clay found himself wishing they’d come without Stephen’s new flame. Despite her outward tolerance, Clay believed Nareen’s dirty glances at Maggie and Justine were indicative of a thinly-veiled homophobia.

“I’m all for exploring,” Christine added, “but nobody goes alone. I don’t expect us to find any Nazis crawling around this place, but there’s plenty of wildlife that might be calling this home. So go in pairs, at least. Nobody goes anywhere alone.”

They had made a rough camp in the wide lobby of the building, a lantern in the center of the various bedrolls and sleeping bags. The interior had remained a steady cool temperature, and, after they had eaten from their foil-sealed and plastic-wrapped provisions, talk had, of course, turned to the raison d’etre for the facility’s location.

The theories ranged from a staging platform for an invasion of the United States to zombie soldiers, but none had yet ventured into the bowels of the building. Access to the deeper interior could be gained from iron stairs leading up on both the left and right and hallways on their level that extended past the reception area and into darkness.

Christine pushed herself up from Clay’s lap and found her backpack in the pile of supplies. Clay let his hands slide down her legs as she left him, admiring her once more as she faded to gray in the soft glow of the lantern.

“What are you doing?”

“Since I am not ready to sleep yet and all we’ve seen of this place is this room, I thought I might take a peek down the hallway.” She clicked a flashlight on and placed it beneath her chin, illuminating her face. “See if there are any g-g-g-ghosts around. Anyone else?”

Clay stood, brushing the back of his jeans off. “I’m in, sure.”

“I’m staying here,” Nareen repeated. Stephen sighed, a bit louder than he intended.

“Me and Maggie will come,” Justine volunteered, pulling Maggie to her feet. “Dibs on any beds we find.”

“Oh, really?” Maggie laughed.

“Not for that,” Justine said, taking Maggie’s hand, “I just want to sleep on something soft and cushiony and preferably with a whole bed full of pillows.”

“You really know how to rough it.” Maggie gave Justine’s hand a squeeze and pulled her towards Clay and Christine.

“I don’t want to stay just because she’s a chicken,” Stephen protested, eliciting a smack on his shoulder with the back of Nareen’s hand.

“Fine, go. God forbid you should want to stay and keep me company.”

“I’ll stay,” Christine volunteered. “You don’t have to be alone here.”

“No, it’s fine,” Nareen said with a wave of her hand, her demeanor softer. “I’ll wait here for everyone.”

Stephen hesitated, rethinking his plans to join the rest of the group, but kept quiet. A few minutes away from Nareen’s nagging sounded like a recipe for happiness, even if that happiness was fleeting.

“You’re sure?” Christine said, clipping a short-range walkie-talkie to her belt. The range on the radio wasn’t extravagant, but it would connect her to anyone inside the building, she thought. “Here, take this,” she said, pushing a similar radio into Clay’s hand.

“I’m not coming with you?”

“Nope. You’re going with Stephen. Maggie and Justine are coming with me.” She leaned up and kissed Clay, closing her eyes and enjoying the scruff of his skin, unshaven since the day before. “Call me if you need me to come rescue you. Channel fifteen, okay?”

As they climbed the iron steps along the left wall, Clay watched the light from Christine’s flashlight swell and recede as she led Maggie and Justine into the interior of the building. Stephen was quiet behind him, the only sound the echo of ringing metal as their footfalls kicked dust from the stairs.

Stephen looked back at Nareen, beautiful and quiet, alone by the lantern below him. Her dark hair was down, spilling over her shoulders, her caramel skin made darker by the soft light of the lantern. There was no denying her beauty, those smoky gray eyes and swollen lips, she was an ideal of exotic appeal. The only problem with Nareen’s beauty was her awareness of it, and she was not above using a bit of seduction to get what she wanted. Stephen had found her coy manner exciting at first, often maddeningly arousing, but months down the road and he saw the manipulation of it more than the appeal of her enticements.

Clay pushed open a door at the top of the stairs and shone his own flashlight down the hallway, lined on either side by dusty glass and wooden doors, each with a placard that indicated the owner of the office. The names on the placards were certainly German, but the little thrill of fear he had felt upon opening the door had faded, replaced by the sense that he was standing in what was merely very old office space. He swung the flashlight to his right, finding a connecting hallway that would most certainly link this side of the building with the offices on the other side, up the other set of stairs from the reception area.

“Looks like we’re the raiders of the lost accounting office,” Stephen said behind him, chuckling to himself.

“Not exactly the super-soldier lab we were hoping for, huh?”

“Come on,” Stephen said, pushing past Clay and opening the second door on his left, the name HAUPTMANN stenciled on the door.

Clay followed, lighting the room as Stephen led the way. A desk sat at the rear of the room, centered with a high-backed leather chair behind it and two wooden chairs before it. Much like the receptionist’s desk downstairs, papers were scattered over the surface of the desk, a metal lamp arched over the side by its flexible neck. Stephen wasted no time circling the desk, rifling through the papers there.

“You know any German?” Stephen asked, not looking up from the files.

“Nope. But isn’t English basically just a lot of German?”

“That’s not how it looks when you see it all together like this,” Stephen replied, and they both laughed. “Whoa!”

“What is it?”

Clay joined Stephen at the desk, shining the light onto the opened documents. Stephen had removed a photograph from one, a black and white study of a nude woman standing in an examination room. She was gorgeous, Clay noted, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, staring at the camera with a strangely knowing smile on her face. Heavy breasts hung from her thin frame, and Clay was embarrassed by his attraction to a woman’s picture, a woman who was most certainly dead by now.

“Hot, huh?”

“Yeah. I wonder why the old Nazi war machine was taking dirty pictures.”

Clay closed the file, the black and white still protruding from the document, offering them a peek at the unidentified woman’s smoothly shaven sex. On the cover, two words had been stamped in red stencil: PHASE EINS: PUPAE.

“So,” Maggie said, breaking the silence, “Clay.”

Christine responded with an automatic smile and a girlish tilt of her head.

“That good, huh?”

“It’s been eight months,” Christine said, “and I have to stay that it’s better all the time. He’s an honest-to-goodness great guy.”

“I like him,” Justine interrupted. “He seems really open-minded.”

“Because he hasn’t made a big deal about us?” Maggie asked, swinging her arm as they walked hand in hand. “He just thinks you have big boobs. Which is understandable, because you do.”

“Just because you’re obsessed doesn’t mean he is.”

“He definitely is!” Maggie continued, grinning. “I caught him checking you out when we were hiking here.”

“Clay was checking her out?” Christine asked, feigning hurt.

“Not like he checks you out, babe,” Maggie reassured her. “He is smitten, Chris. Have no fear.”

They continued down the hall, their voices lower as they passed by metal doors with viewing slots pulled shut. Christine resisted the urge to pull back the slide to peek inside one of the rooms, afraid of what she might find, but the curiosity nagged at her. Between the doors, only the gray painted cinderblock walls stood. No decorations, no signs, except for a faint arrow pointing them forward painted onto the floor tiles.

“Bed!” Justine exclaimed and disappeared inside the dark of a room like the others, only this door was open.

Christine followed Justine with her flashlight, seeing only Maggie’s back as she was pulled inside with her. Christine stepped to the open doorway and found herself peering into a cell-like room, the walls padded with white fabric, cushioned beneath. A single-size bed was pressed against the far wall, opposite a standing sink and toilet.

“It’s a prison cell or something,” Christine said, splashing the light off of each wall for some indication of the room’s use and finding only the dirty white fabric.

“All I know,” Justine said, bouncing on the bed, “is that this is comfy and I don’t have to sleep on the floor tonight.

“You sure there aren’t bugs or something?” Maggie asked, wrinkling her nose. Still, she joined Justin on the edge of the bed and placed her hands flat on the sheets behind her. “Oooh, this is comfy.”

“See?” Justine said and pressed her lips to Maggie’s.

Maggie leaned into the kiss, hand raised to cup her lover’s cheek.

“You want me to leave you two alone for a minute?” Christine asked from the doorway, feeling suddenly awkward.

“No,” Justine said, breaking the kiss. “Sorry, just not a lot of alone time this trip.”

“Seriously, you two sit tight. I’m going to follow the hallway down and see where it goes. Just shut the door or something in case you two get frisky.”

“You don’t mind?” Maggie asked, but she was already standing, hand on the door, prepared to shut it behind Christine.

“Not at all. Be back in a few. Here,” she said, unclipping the radio from her belt and handing it to Maggie. “If you get stuck or something, just use channel fifteen to call Clay.”

Maggie gave her a military salute and mouthed the words ‘Thank you’ before pushing the door closed, but not shut.

Christine, relatively isolated in the hall, pointed the flashlight into the unexplored darkness, following again the arrows fading on the floor. Her hiking boots’ rubber soles squeaked on the tiles, the only other sound besides her breath.

She reached the end of the hall, met with double doors that appeared locked, a primitive-looking keypad to the right of the handle. She reached out to touch it and depressed one of the buttons, surprised when the entire door moved. Pressing her palm against it, she pushed harder, the door opening with a soft whooshing sound as if the atmosphere around her were equalizing.

She stepped into the large chamber beyond the door and was greeted with a cavernous room, extending upwards to the building’s full height, the glass domes at the apex overrun by vegetation, choking out any light. Large pipes ran along the walls and ceiling and Christine could hear the staccato sound of random drops of fluid dripping onto the cement floor. Immediately in front of her, three small steps led to a platform and bank of panels, some television monitors and knobs and dials, cold and silent. Beyond the control panel, eight metal cylinders stood, some of the narrower pipes descending to meet the cone-shaped tops. A valve protruded from the floor at the base of each of the cylinders, the containers themselves windowless and mysterious.

She whistled in appreciation, the sound echoing back to her. She heard a click and spun to find the doors closed behind her. She pulled at the handle and found it still opened, and her moment of panic subsided.

Moving closer, Christine examined the cylinder to her left, searching for any sign of the contents. There were no labels, no signs, only the polished metal. She placed her hand against it, jerking it back quickly as she sensed a strange thrumming within. She looked down, finding that she walked on a grated elevation, the floor beneath covered by a thick black liquid. Leaning down, she shone the light inches away from the surface of the fluid, but it seemed to swallow the light rather than reflect it.

Continuing on, she rapped her knuckled on the next tank, hearing a deep sound in response that told her this cylinder was full, too. She turned again, the light preceding her sight, gasping at the sound that had whispered close by. Something that sounded wet and bubbling, but the sound was gone. Then, another noise, the sound of heavy machinery waking, its creaky metallic bones turning once more despite rusty protestations. A coughing, thick sound came from all around her, then the rattle of pipes as something moved through them. To her right, the valve at the nearest cylinder shook, sputtered, then spat a viscous black liquid through the grates to the pool below. She took an involuntary step back, then saw another begin to deposit its own stream of the substance, then another behind her. It was molasses-thick, but impenetrably black. Walking backwards, back to the control panel, her flashlight moved between the three valves. She coughed as an odor accompanied the release of the fluid, synthetic and musky, making her eyes tear with its intensity. Bumping into the control panel, she found herself tumbling backwards to the floor, looking beneath the grated walkways at the large pool of the black ooze that spread beneath.

She felt a warm tingle on the fingertips of her right hand and realized that she had come down too close to the stuff, and her middle, index and ring fingers were submerged in the black goo. Christine yanked her hand free, crab-walking backwards away from the pool of sticky fluid. Holding her fingers before her, she shone on the flashlight on them and saw that the black fluid was translucent under the light, accompanied by a tingling where it covered her fingers like they had fallen asleep.

She brushed her fingers on her khaki shorts and found that her fingers were no less coated by the substance, and now her shorts were whitening where her fingers had touched them. She pointed the flashlight at the spot on her shorts, seeing tiny holes appear before meeting and joining, becoming a large tear in her shorts, displaying several inches of her upper thigh.

Meanwhile, the ooze trailed down her fingers, covering two of them completely now, spreading that tingling sensation as it slid. She attempted to wipe the ooze on the floor, but it clung to her fingers, lubricating the contact with the floor and causing her fingers to glide along the surface. She breathed in sharply as she felt the same tingling at hole in her shorts and she saw that the material still retreated from the point of contact, dissolving more of her shorts at a slow but steady rate. Worse, the goo had found its way to the skin of her thigh and the pins-and-needles sensation burned there, too. Growing desperate, she tried to wipe the slick substance away and came away with the tips of her fingers tingling too, having done nothing more than increase the spot on her thigh where the tingling murmured up her spine. She shook her hands away from her, attempting to use inertia to free her hands of the stuff, but the ooze continued to expand at a faster rate. As she watched, the goo seemed to climb down her hand, sending tendrils ahead of it, tiny streams of it that grew to a river as it moved down, and always bringing with it the maddening tingles.

She started for the door, staggering as she walked and nearly collapsing again as the tingling in both hands drove out any other thought. She whimpered helplessly, feeling the insistent prickling flowing over her thigh, its area now more than the size of her hand. A quick look revealed that the right leg of her shorts was little more than tatters and her plain white panties were peeking through.

When the tingling began to move up her thigh, defying gravity itself, true panic struck Christine. She pushed at the door, but found her arms weak, her hands spasming wildly, fingers contracting and releasing.

“Somebody?” she called out to the empty room. “Please help me…”

Then, the ooze reached the inside of her thigh, exploring upwards until she could feel her panties dampen and disappear as the goo found and dissolved her underwear. Her eyes jerked open as she felt the tingling effect multiply as it crept around her mons. Her breath came rapidly, almost a pant as the sensation entered her, the viscous tendrils reaching inside her and spreading. Christine slumped against the wall and slid to the floor as the substance coated most of her right leg, up her arms, faster and faster, lighting her body with the strangely pleasant prickly feeling.

Inside her, she could feel the tingling abate some as it morphed into a new sensation, something softer, like liquid silk swirling over her clitoris and invading her more deeply, coating her inner walls with the same slick substance. The whimper of fear ceased as her eyes rolled up, a sense of pure pleasure radiating from her clitoris and fanning out with the most comforting warmth she had ever felt, a desperate and satisfying heat that came from within. Unconsciously, her hands raised to her neck, the spasming subsided as a new imperative guided them. They touched and rubbed, caressing and coating her neck. Her legs rubbed slickly together as the caress inside her became a pulse, and each wave brought a new level of pure ecstasy.

The ooze spread over her, the slippery goo climbing her neck to her chin and when it reached her lips, Christine’s tongue was there to greet it and welcome it into her. Her fingers worked to rip away the chambray top and simply placing her hands over the cups of her bra, she felt the material dissolve under her touch, the scream of her body’s pleasure as her hands painted her breasts with the ooze. It flowed around her, enveloped her, the disparate patches of the goo finding the next and creating a seal over Christine’s body.

Her hand wandered between her breasts and down her belly until she found her nether lips, spreading them with two fingers as a third slid inside her and pressed against the hard button of her clitoris, which rewarded her touch with another wave of bliss that drove away all other thought save for preserving this pleasure.

Christine was vaguely aware of the fluid finally meeting at the crown of her head and sliding between and around her toes, and a final, satisfying tingle as the goo invaded her rectum. To an outside observer, Christine’s nude form would appear to shimmer with a wet gloss.

A second finger found its way inside her, and Christine’s hips bucked while meeting her hand, hooking her fingers to curl deeper into her canal, her thumb now preoccupied with pressing rhythmically against her clit. She moaned, a low and almost animal sound as tension twisted in her belly, announcing a flood of pleasure in mere moments. She used the wall to brace herself, lifting her hips higher as her fingers plunged in and out, her other hand kneading her breast, squeezing flesh between her fingers.

“Yesss…” she whispered as the orgasm grew within her, reaching dizzying heights before crashing down on Christine, subsuming her with pure carnality. She cried out long and loud, her fingers frozen inside her, back arched, nipple between her fingers, pinching it tight. She held the pose for a long moment as her mind blanked, her thoughts only in service of the physical joy she experienced.

Eventually, her body relaxed, the tension fading. Her breath grew slower and more even as she laid her hands on her slick stomach. She tried to remember what had alarmed her so much when she had first touched the delicious ooze, but could only revel in the feel of her fingers against her body. It was if a veil had been lifted and her body could experience pleasure in a way she had never imagined, every touch a spark that was tied to her sex, which rewarded her with another wave of intoxicating arousal. She had no urge to move just yet, allowing her hand to drift over her breast, now a fleshy pillow of delight. She giggled to herself at the joy of her body, the way every inch had found a union of pleasure that swallowed her whole.

In time, Christine stood and ran her fingers up her face and through her hair. She picked a few loose strands from her oily touch as she examined the glossy fingers, but found no need to worry. Whatever happened, she would adapt so long as this feeling remained. She could not imagine a life lived without it. In this moment of appreciation, a new thought occurred to her. She had to share it. The others with her, they would adore these feelings, she knew, just as she had.

She stood, her feet making bare wet sounds as she walked, but she left no trace of the substance that covered her behind. She pushed the doors open and entered the dark hallway, retracing her steps, her hips swaying seductively in the darkness.

She paused at the almost-closed door where she was greeted by the sounds of Justine and Maggie’s lovemaking. She listened a moment, stroking her slick vulva, before pulling the door silently shut and throwing the bar, locking them safely within. She would return for them and she would join in their pleasure, as they joined her, in a passionate and wet tumble of flesh. For now, she knew another, alone, that would want to experience Christine’s gift.

Her wet feet smacking the tile of the pitch hallway, Christine made her way to Nareen.