The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Stepford’s Agony Aunt

Chapter 3

Dear Agatha

I wasn’t going to write to you again, but something’s come up.

I was that tomboy who wrote to you a few months back. I had brushed you off as just another conservative Stepfordian, but something’s happened that’s made me so unhappy and I’ve got nowhere else to turn.

Remember how I said my new pals were a tad sexist, well I’ve met a guy who isn’t. A dude who’s a punch above the rest. He’s really cool and my new best friend.

Tall, muscular with the cutest dimpled smile, big bright blue eyes and a laugh so infectious, you can’t help but grin along with him. And I’m totally amazed at how funny and charming he is.

He’s a master skateboarder, ace rock climber, (he climbs up cliffs like Spiderman) and we talk about sports and movies and shit, and man when I’m hanging out with him, nothing else matters.

Anyway, we went surfing the other day, he was in trunks and god! He could be a supermodel with a body like that.

So yeah, I went red when he asked me if I thought he looked hot and when I saw him checking out a few buxom girls strutting past I felt…

Jealous, very jealous because he wasn’t looking at me.

Then it clicked that I liked him, really liked him and now I hate my body. I mean I’m proud of my tiny boobs and skinny figure, because that means I can run and swim just as well as any guy but...

But he’ll never notice me when I’m this scrawny.

Oh man, I’ve never felt this way about a guy before, I’ve never felt this way about anybody before. I want to be his girlfriend.

There I said it.

I want to be his girlfriend, but he’ll never notice me because I’m not attractive enough.

God, I’m acting like some stupid lovestruck girl.

What can I do?

* * *
Dear Harriet

Ah an aching heart.

Listen to me, you want him to notice you? Run off to the clothes store and get yourself something feminine. And don’t pass up on the makeup section either.

Your man needs a woman not a tomboy. You can be that woman.

Now as for being too scrawny? Don’t worry too much about that, us folks at Stepford have been known to experience a second puberty. So, if you think you were short-changed by the boob fairy, let’s say our lifestyle has a way of luring that pixie back.

Just embrace the fact you’re a woman and let him know it too.

Fingers crossed.

* * *
Dear Agatha

Oh god, what the fuck is happening to me?

Last week, I was lying on my bed, thinking how much I hated my boss, how dated and outrageous his views are, when I realized my hands were shoved down my panties and I was um…

Jesus! My boss is a bastard, but now he makes me so randy! Where did this all come from?

I’ve tried imagining other men just to get him out of my head but no he’s all I ever think about. Picturing him is the only way I can climax!

At work, I’ve pretty much become his personal assistant. I’m forced to spend most working hours in his company and the smug bastard loves giving long winded speeches, praising the good old days of male dominance and female submission.

But Christ on a pogo stick, that just makes me want him more!

And something happened yesterday that should have made me march down to the police station. My boss slapped me on the ass, right in front of the whole team and said, “You’re not taking time off are you sweet cheeks?”

He then gave my butt a tight squeeze. And strangely enough, I wasn’t horrified, I was aroused, felt my nipples and cunt tingle…

Oh sure, I tried snapping back in anger as the office boys laughed but even this degrading feeling made me hornier.

Even worst was after the meeting when I ran to the woman’s bathroom for a good long jerk off session. But why? This isn’t me! I was raised in a liberal household, taught to hate chauvinism and bullying. Plus, I made a vow way back in junior high when I first learnt about sexual harassment that I’d never tolerate it but now I’m fucking loving it.

Oh god, even as I typed this down, I’m doing so with one hand. Well you can guess what the other hand is doing.

Goddamn it, if this goes any further, will I want it to stop? What’s wrong with me? How can I clear my head and remember what I’m really like?

* * *
Dear Zoey

Men are such simple souls, aren’t they? Strong, protective, kind and all, but still simple and sometimes a bit crude. Isn’t it, obvious dearie? Your boss has the hots for you, and that little display in front of the boys, was him letting them know that you’re his territory.

Makes a girl feel safe, protected and spoken for. And since you so obviously have a crush on your boss what’s the harm? A rich and successful fellow like him would make an excellent husband.

C’mon give in. Just picture yourself in a bridal gown walking up to the alter, your boss standing there beaming at the sight of you. Oh my, have I given you more fuel for your fantasies?

Aren’t I naughty?

Love and kissies,
* * *
Dear Agatha

I don’t mean to come across as prudish but that dumb professor of mine taught us something I didn’t think was permitted in college.

Sex. Or more specifically how to blow a man’s mind in the bedroom.

I’m not a virgin, I’ve had a few embarrassing fumbles but last week we had a guest in class, a big hulking man, looked like a longshoreman or a trucker. So anyway, as he stood by the professor’s desk, the professor dropped to her knees, unzipped his jeans and started sucking him off right in front of everyone! My jaw hit the ground but as I looked around, I saw that nobody else was shocked. Rather they all watched intently, some even taking notes.

Was I the only one who thought this was inappropriate?

So, after the professor finished, wiping cum from her lips, she stood up and asked, “Who’s next?”

The dumb blonde, top of the class, shot her hand up into the air and squealed “Oh me, me!”

But the professor laughed and said, “Oh honey, I think we ought to let Brix handle it.”

And I was marched to the front of the lecture hall whilst the silent man made a fast recovery. His prick, all twelve inches of it, shot up, throbbing hard and ready to go.

Jeez, I was expected to drop to my knees and suck a stranger’s cock in front of twenty people.

I stood there, stammered a little and then pleadingly looked over at the professor who shook her head with a grin, “Oh honey, sit down and we’ll let someone else take a turn, but hey you can always come back for a private lesson.”

And the whole class sniggered.

Oh god, I ran back to my seat, feeling so embarrassed.

Afterwards everybody else, and I do mean every single person, lined up to fellate that fellow’s dick. And no, none of them had a problem with it.

Something weird is happening. God knows what but it’s unnerving that so many women should have suddenly become (for lack of a better phrase) cock sluts. Even the usually shy and uneasy girls guzzled away at that dick.

Later I brought it up to my housemates, but they laughed or looked thoughtful. A friend of mine just said “Who cares if it’s a little naughty, it’s college! You’re not blue nosed, are you?”

Is everyone crazy but me?

* * *
Dear Brix

Oh, what a wonderful lesson! Maybe the real reason you’re so distressed is that you regret not joining in. Knowing how to pleasure your man is an essential life skill every good woman should learn.

Think about it honey, you were introduced to a man who makes a fast recovery, that’s typical for the men of Stepford. Our wonderful boys never disappoint their women.

Like I’ve always said it’s about high time America’s colleges hire women who know their stuff. Your Lady professor really is expanding minds. Just go with it love.

Best wishes,
* * *
Dear Agatha

Oh man, wait till you hear about my dad!

So, me and Susie have arrived in town, we’re standing outside the train station and Susie’s giggling at everyone walking past. I mean Stepford really is just like the brochure promised. All the men are hunks, all the women have huge boobs. I’m fretting how there are no goths, hippies, nerds or any diversity and Susie’s telling me to stop being so suspicious about everything. Then a Studebaker drives up to where we’re standing.

A complete stranger leaps out of the car, full head of brown hair, tight six pack and I gape as I realise it’s my dad. Yeah, my grey haired, beer bellied old man has changed.

He effortlessly grabs our suitcases and flings them into the trunk. I’m amazed because before this gasping, wheezing old wreck had trouble clearing a flight of stairs.

So, anyway we’re soon in Dad’s new house, same mancave with the battered paperbacks and old records. He’s showing off his giant wine cellar and Susie’s oohing and awing at the right moments. But I ask my dad if he’s going to the gym or taking steroids and he laughs saying that this town rubs off on you.

Dad’s changed, how and why I don’t know, and I can’t buy that it’s a change of environment or lifestyle. Doesn’t add up. I think Dad knows something but isn’t talking. So whatever secrets Stepford holds, I’m not learning it from him.

Well I’ll keep you posted; I’m unnerved at my dad’s transformation and maybe you know what’s going on?

All the best.
* * *
Dear Thad

Well now a healthy living can shave the years off you, so what if your old man is in shape and feeling good. Aren’t you happy for him?

It’s true our men have muscles, and doesn’t that make you just a little jealous? As for us ladies with large breasts, aren’t you annoyed that your girlfriend isn’t as big? Oh, don’t worry dear, Stepford truly does rub off on you.

Now you want to investigate our town. By all means, help yourself, and you might just find that the big secret about Stepford is, that there aren’t any secrets. See for yourself.

Best wishes,