The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Amanda drummed her fingers on her desk. She felt annoyed. Not just Monday morning-annoyed, but I-did-something-stupid-I-regret-on-Friday-evening-annoyed. She glared at her computer. It was working perfectly fine, but she knew that Andy’s stupid program was running on it. Maybe, she thought, she should call the help desk and say she’d gotten a virus, could they reinstall the machine? The problem with that was that Andy would probably notice, and would then be insufferably smug. Whatever his garbage program was doing, it was probably capable of sending some kind of signal back, so he’d know if it was removed. She sighed. She shouldn’t have lost her temper. It was just... Subliminal messages. Really.

There’d been an office after work-party on Friday evening, in the main canteen. Some wine, some beer, some pizza. People hanging out, chatting and laughing. Amanda had enjoyed herself about as much as she’d expected. It had been a tiring week. She was sitting at a table with some colleagues, sipping white wine. Then Andy, a recently hired software developer, had sat down across the table. He’d... leered at her, although he probably thought he smiled.

“Hi,” he’d said. She nodded, and mumbled something into her wine, not quite smiling back. She didn’t like him. He was smart, friendly, and seemed to be pretty popular, but there was something smug and superior about him. And, of course, there was the way his eyes swept across her body, lingering at her chest. As usual, she’d worn a professional suit and jacket, so there wasn’t much for him to see, and the sports bra underneath kept her profile fairly flat, but he still scanned her. It seemed to be his default mode with women, from what she’d seen.

“So what do a bunch of hot MILFs think of this party?” he’d said, looking at her and her colleagues. All were in their mid-forties to fifties.

“Excuse me?” Linda, one of Amanda’s manager colleagues had said. “What did you say?”

“I don’t know, do you know any?” Amanda had said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m looking at some right now,” Andy had said, meeting her gaze directly. She’d decided to tackle it head on.

“Do you think that’s a good way to talk to your colleagues?”

“Don’t know about good,” he’d said, shrugging. “But it’s true. You are a MILF.”

She remembered her jaw dropping open. She knew what the abbreviation meant, and so he was actually saying “I want to fuck you”. That was deep into sexual harassment territory right there.

“If you keep using that word, I’ll have to report you to HR,” she’d warned him. He’d shrugged again.

He hadn’t taken the hint, but—amazingly—had started to argue. He hadn’t called her a MILF again, but he’d argued that it was unhealthy to hide the fact that people were attracted to each other, even at work, that he believed women secretly enjoyed men’s attention, and that society would be better if everyone would acknowledge and accept their bodies, instead of pretending to be some sort of intellect-only robots. He’d irritated her even more with that, since some of his arguments actually resonated with her. Some of them were uncomfortably close to things she’d said herself, about body positivism and about celebrating how everyone was beautiful. She didn’t like how he deployed them for his dumb argument.

She should have told him to just stop, and to leave. Instead, somehow, she’d argued with him. She’d had a bit too much to drink, and relaxed a bit too much, so she got drawn into it. As did Linda, her closest friend at work.

And then, he’d said something unexpected.

“Look,” he’d said, “you obviously don’t agree with me, but that’s just because you don’t understand—the M-word.”

“Oh. We don’t understand,” Amanda had said, her voice like a knife. “Hear that, Linda? I guess we’re too stupid.”

“Not stupid,” he’d said. “You’ve just had a very one-sided view of it, that’s mostly propaganda.”

She had rolled her eyes at that, and nearly reached over to slap him.

“I tell you what,” he’d said. “Here’s a challenge. Try seeing the world through a—a MILF’s eyes, for a few weeks. See what it’s like. And I’ll help you.”

“Oh god,” she’d groaned. “Of course. You’ll help us.”

“Yes. I’ll let you use a software I have. It uses subliminal messages.”

She stared at him, speechless for a moment. Then she’d laughed, a big loud laugh that sprayed wine right across the table. She’d laughed and laughed, until she got hiccups.

“Sub-subli-minal... messages!” she’d laughed. “And then, you’ll use your X-ray glasses to see us naked!” She and Linda had leaned against each other, laughing so hard.

And then, in the light buzz of the wine, the sheer ridiculousness of the whole thing, a half-forgotten memory from her childhood, and the fact that she still felt the laughter bubbling inside, she’d picked up her computer from her bag, booted it up, crossed her arms, and, in a dangerous voice told him: do your worst. She’d intended it to be dangerous at least, but she probably hadn’t. She remembered her mouth was still twitching with suppressed laughter.

He’d just nodded, and sent her an email with a link from his phone. She’d clicked it, and then clicked a couple of “yes”, “allow”, “OK”, or whatever the pop-up boxes said. And then it was installed.

She remembered how she’d felt—the mix of anger, disbelief, smugness, and a real strong desire to put him in his place.

“Thanks,” he’d said. “This will help. Just think of yourself as a MILF, and the subliminal messages will help you. In four weeks, I’ll ask you again what you think about it all.

Then he’d left, and she and Linda had stared at each other.

“Can you imagine—the nerve!” Linda had said.

“And the sheer—subliminal messages, of all the dumb things!” She’d put her face in her hands and started laughing again.

Later, though, Linda had asked her why she’d actually let him install that software. Was that really a good idea?

Amanda had hesitated. She agreed,no, it wasn’t. But... she’d really wanted to hit back at him, and she could use this to ruin his reputation as a cool, smooth guy. Just wait until the young women in his team heard exactly how childish he was.

And now it was Monday, and it felt like a really dumb thing to do. She didn’t think the “messages” would work, of course, but allowing people to install whatever on your computer wasn’t smart.

The computer beeped a notification. Fifteen minutes to her first meeting of the week. Grimacing, she pushed Friday’s events out of her mind, and pulled up the documents she needed to read for the meeting.

“So, to sum up,” Amanda said, smiling to Kathy. “You’re happy with the team now, and you feel you’re being challenged in a nice way. You’d like to learn more about cloud programming, and there’s an online course you’ll check out, and get back to me with the cost. We also have a way forward with the tensions you’ve had with team Alligators. Is that about right?”

“Yes,” Kathy nodded, smiling back. “That’s it! Thanks Amanda, I like talking to you! You really listen, and make me feel like I can do it!”

Amanda laughed.

“Thank you, that made my day! That’s just what I’m trying to do.”

They finished up the meeting and said goodbye. Amanda hummed to herself as she walked down the corridor. A good meeting. Kathy was young and enthusiastic, and good, but lacked self-confidence and hesitated to take initatives. Amanda had seen a lot of those in her manager career, and she enjoyed it. She liked helping them grow. The coaching, bordering on parenting, made her feel needed, which was good after the kids had moved out. This kind of meeting, discussing development plans and general well-being, was the fun type. Vacations and time reporting was less fun, but you had to take the bad with the good. What she really liked was talking to people and helping them.

Back at her desk, she checked her calendar. Another one on one meeting coming up. This week was like most other weeks. A steady stream of mostly meetings, with time in between to prepare and to follow up from them.

Pretty busy in the evenings too—that week she’d go to the gym twice, play tennis once, and have her book club with some friends.

Being busy, she didn’t think about Andy’s program until she saw him, in the distance, on Wednesday. Then she remembered, and got annoyed again. After her next meeting, she went to Wikipedia to check on “subliminal messages”.

Subliminal stimuli are any sensory stimuli below an individual’s threshold for conscious perception, A 2012 review of functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) studies showed that subliminal stimuli activate specific regions of the brain despite participants’ unawareness. Visual stimuli may be quickly flashed before an individual can process them, or flashed and then masked to interrupt processing. Audio stimuli may be played below audible volumes or masked by other stimuli.

Okay. That meant what, exactly?

Applications of subliminal stimuli are often based on the persuasiveness of a message. Research on action priming has shown that subliminal stimuli can only trigger actions a receiver of the message plans to perform anyway. However, consensus of subliminal messaging remains unsubstantiated by other research. Most actions can be triggered subliminally only if the person is already prepared to perform a specific action.

She reread that. It seemed to mean—if you wanted to do something, subliminal “stimuli” could “trigger” it. Otherwise, it wouldn’t work. She noted that bit about “unsubstantiated by research”. Which meant, it was just mumbo-jumbo, like she’d expected.

She closed the browser and very nearly went to the IT help desk page to create a support request asking them to reinstall her computer. She hesitated, though. It would mean lots of disruption. She would have to cancel several meetings, and then spend hours getting thing back to working order. Since the program didn’t work anyway, maybe she should leave it running. It might be doing something else, though, like mine bitcoins. She hadn’t noticed anything different with her computer. The fans weren’t running more than usual, it didn’t seem slower. Later, she thought, and opened her notes from her previous meeting with the next employee she’d meet.

After work that day, she had to run some errands, and as she walked through the mall, crossing the errands off one by one, she noticed there was an unusual amount of babies there. They seemed to be everywhere, and it seemed to be a trend by the parents to either use a pacifier, or let the babies suck their thumbs to calm them. Maybe, she thought, this is selective perception—when she’d been pregnant she’d seen parents and kids all over the place, because she noticed them. But she wasn’t pregnant now. It could be that there really were a lot of babies around.

The next day started off with a long meeting about a new process for tracking competence development. Amanda thought the existing process was good enough, but she still paid attention and tried to give the HR people some useful feedback. A few of her points were picked up by others and would be considered, but there was also a lot of discussion around words, and around things where people obviously thought they were talking about the same thing—but weren’t. She knew better than to try to correct them, and so she sat back, smiled, and followed the discussion.

“Scalded yourself?” Linda asked with a sympathetic smile as she came up to Amanda’s desk after that meeting.

“What?” Amanda said, and realized she had the tip of her thumb in her mouth. She stared at it. She hadn’t even noticed it there. She looked at her coffee cup. It was nearly full, with steaming hot coffee, newly fetched. Maybe she had scalded herself. She’d been deeply focused on a report...

“Mmm,” she said noncommittally, and smiled back. “So. What brings you here?”

“I was wondering if you had any lunch plans,” Linda said.

Amanda hadn’t, so they settled on a restaurant and a time when both were free.

When Linda left, Amanda sipped her coffee, frowning. She didn’t remember scalding herself, but she had gone off to the coffee machine already deeply immersed in the report she was reading. Well, things happened. She put down her coffee and went back to the document.

During the lunch, Linda and Amanda chatted as usual, about work, about the doings of their children, about things they’d heard and read. Right towards the end, over coffee, Linda looked down at her coffee, then back up at Amanda with a frown.

“So... have you talked to Andy anything?” she asked.

“No,” Amanda replied. “I haven’t even seen him. Oh yeah, once, in the kitchen. Which is just as well. I’m still angry with him. I sent an email to his manager, mentioning his problematic attitude towards women.”

“Ah, good. I’ve seen how he looks at us. At all women, really.” Linda paused. “How about.. that program?”

“Yeah, that stupid program.” Amanda groaned. “I guess it’s there. It’s not mining bitcoin though, the fans would run full speed then! I’ve been thinking to call the help desk and get them to remove it. It would be embarrassing, but even worse if it drags in a virus or something.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Linda said. “I was surprised when you let him install it.”

“Mm, yeah.” Amanda grimaced and looked away. “Yeah, it was stupid. I... got angry, I guess. It was so, so amazingly dumb. And he sounded like, well, my kid brother. He had this idea he could use subliminal messages to get my friends to be interested in him. We teased him, really, really hard. And he had X-ray glasses too!” Amanda grinned at Linda. “So I think Andy sort of triggered the same reaction.” The smile faded. “But yeah, I know it’s not a good idea to install software on your computer just because other people want you to.”

When Amanda came back to her computer, she found an email from Andy. It was a link to a site called “How I learned to stop worrying and embraced my inner MILF.” What the hell, she thought. Andy had written something too. This site is full of testimonials from women who tried the same thing you’re doing, seeing the world from a MILF’s eyes, he’d written. She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t decide if she should forward this to his manager too.

As the week wore on, Amanda found herself... restless. She couldn’t put her finger on it, unless it was the approaching fall. She’d always felt a bit of restlessness, mixed with a longing to go somewhere, do something, around the time school started. But it was already mid-September, and besides, her kids had both moved out, so there hadn’t been any school start feelings. It could just be old habits, she knew.

Then someone asked her again if she’d scalded herself, and she realized she had her thumb in her mouth. She shrugged it off. The third time, though, she wondered. And then she caught herself, and realized that when she took it out, the restlessness increased. Annoyed, she resolved to stop this bad habit before it got anywhere. She wasn’t a baby, sucking her thumb—or a pacifier!

Thursday evening, she sat down and checked the texts on the site Andy had sent her. It was like he’d written—texts that sounded like testimonials from women, around her age and professional situation, who had tried seeing themselves as MILFs—and found themselves liking it. All my negative thoughts about my body just disappeared, one wrote. I’ve never had this much—and this good!—sex, another wrote. It’s not just about sex—from a third woman—being a MILF is even more about being confident, sure, and knowing what you want. There were lots of them, and they painted a very positive picture of MILFness, a picture fully compatible with being a capable, competent professional. That bit made her suspicious. Were these texts real—but if not, somebody had put in a lot of effort making MILFs sound like... Well, like herself and her colleagues. She shook her head. From her perspective, “MILF” was a degrading, objectifying word—just one more way for men to control women and women’s sexuality.

Once she’d read the texts though, she found they stuck in her mind. She kept thinking about them, and rereading them. It made her angry with herself—she had no intention or desire to play Andy’s stupid game—but she found herself drawn back to them. The idea of the MILF seemed to be hovering in her mind, and to have some kind of magnetism—it drew her thoughts back to it, over and over.

In the weekend, she and her husband James went out to see a movie and have dinner at a nice restaurant, followed by a great session in bed. She’d always enjoyed sex, and had enjoyed sex with James, but years of child-raising had reducing their love-making to a minimum. After the kids had moved out, they’d restarted it, and it was even better now. They knew each other and knew each other’s bodies, so they could do what both liked without a lot of fuss. She sometimes wanted more, and she sometimes wanted more of that wildness and playfulness from twenty years back, but she knew she was happy with what she had. Both of them were busy with their careers, and didn’t have the same energy anymore. This time, it was great—but not enough. It seemed to feed into her restlessness. She didn’t know what she wanted, but she wanted—something. And her pussy wanted more attention, as part of it.

On Sunday evening, for the first time in many years, she spent some more time in the bathroom after taking a shower, and gave herself two orgasms. Then she looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look too bad, she thought. Sure, she wasn’t as smooth as a teenager, but as compensation her breasts, hips and ass weren’t teenager-like either. She’d filled out over the years, first after childbirth, and then, well, simply due to time passing, she supposed. She’d kept herself in good shape, but the pounds slowly added up. She turned around, and looked at herself. Curvy, was a pretty good word, really. Not like the poster girls, but better. She cupped her hands under her breasts and lifted them slightly. I’m not smooth and perfect, but on the bright side, I’m real, she thought, and grinned at herself in the mirror.

As she went into work next week, she found herself even more restless. Everything somehow looked—stale. Like there was a thin veneer of dust, of lethargy, of stasis, over it.

“Hi Amanda,” Linda said as they met in the kitchen, for coffee.

“Good morning. How was the weekend?”

“Pretty good. Much like last weekend, but after the summer I like the routine.”

Amanda nodded, but her smile felt forced. She’d often said the same thing, but this time she almost felt revulsion. She did not want more routine, that much was clear.

Back at her desk, she tried to understand it, without much success. She’d always enjoyed her life—her job, her home, most of it. Now, for no good reason, she felt smothered by it, like wrapped in a tight blanket. It was perplexing, and made her uneasy.

She felt even more uneasy when she tried to pick up her coffee, and found she had to take her thumb out of her mouth first.

“I’m not sure,” Dave, the young man across the table said. “I’m pretty happy where I am, I guess.” He smiled uncertainly at her.

“I understand,” she said, feeling frustrated. “You haven’t been out of school for that long.”

“No, just three years. I still feel I’m learning a lot.”

Amanda nodded and smiled. Forced herself to smile. She was aware she’d been pushing Dave a bit, on his future plans, and she thought she was projecting. Back off, she thought, he doesn’t have to change his life just because you want to.

As the week went on, she began to feel frazzled. I need to relax, she thought, and on impulse, canceled her meetings, took an afternoon off and went to a spa. It felt great, if only for the change, but it didn’t relax her. Instead, she got more keyed up when she saw other women in the spa, and thought—MILF. She tried to force her mind away from it, but it was as if she’d gotten a pebble in her shoe—but in her mind. It felt like that word MILF was stuck in her mind, and her thoughts circled around it like moths around a streetlight. A woman going into a pool: too young. Another woman, taking off her bathrobe: not bad, especially the legs should attract men. And of course going to the spa instead of working was a MILF-y thing to do—taking care of her body, keeping it looking good.

She tried to doze in a recliner, but found herself getting up her phone and rereading the stupid stories Andy had sent. Annoyed, she went to the hot and cold pools, to shock herself out of this hangup, and it worked, for a while. Until she was alone in a sauna, and her pussy suddenly wanted attention. Those two orgasms had been good, it said, gimme more! She struggled—she couldn’t masturbate in the spa sauna!—but she felt hot, wet and tingly, and finally let her hand sneak down between her legs. She came, twice, and it felt heavenly.

It was a mistake. It encouraged her pussy even more. She found herself low-level horny, constantly, a warm tingle down there, which just returned as soon as she fingered herself to orgasm. Back at work the next day, she had to sneak off to the bathroom even before her first meeting. And then between that and the next meeting. Leaving the bathroom for the fourth time, after her fourth orgasm, she met Claire, one of her employees. She forced a smile, but couldn’t meet her eyes. This was not proper manager behavior. But it was horny manager behavior... Then she got something else to think about.

Linda had asked her last week if she’d scalded her thumb. So had Kevin, Becky, Priyanka, Mona, and a few more. She’d realized her thumbs were somehow ending up in her mouth, and worse, despite her efforts she seemed to be unable to stop them. It wasn’t just the tip either, she was somehow sticking her whole thumb into her mouth. Like a baby. Whenever she focused on something else, one of her thumbs just... floated up, and into her mouth.

Andy caught her like that. She’d been hiding away in a meeting room, to get some privacy, and avoid the embarrassment of sitting in an open office and suddenly finding herself with her thumb in her mouth. As she left the room, she opened the door with one hand, carrying her laptop under her arm, and turned to step out. Andy was walking past outside. And she still had her thumb in her mouth. He stopped, his eyebrows rose—then he grinned at her and winked.

“Amanda,” he said, nodding, still grinning.

“H-hi,” she stammered, feeling her face burn with shame.

“Some of us stop doing that, you know.”

She didn’t answer. She took her thumb out of her mouth, lowered her gaze and walked away, towards her desk. As she turned the corner, she glanced back. He was watching her—and winked again. She realized he’d been watching her ass, and felt a flash of annoyance, together with a flash of—arousal. Her pussy woke up and demanded attention now. Angry with Andy and herself, but horny, her face still burning, her pussy burning, she headed for the bathroom.

Amanda was starting to feel confused. She knew her work performance was dropping, and she found herself scheduling meetings with larger gaps in between. Gaps she used to reread the MILF testimonials, and to masturbate.

On Thursday, she was doing both. She was in the bathroom, her pants down, working her clit with her right hand and scrolling through the MILF texts with her left. As she neared orgasm, she squeezed her legs together, put her phone on her thigh, and stuck her left thumb in her mouth. She sucked on it, hard, pressed two fingers into her pussy, and twiddled her clit with her right thumb—and came, in an amazing orgasm. It was good she had her thumb in her mouth, or she would have screamed, or at least moaned loudly. She heard her phone falling to the floor, but she couldn’t do anything, she just rode her orgasm, felt her burning pussy clench around her fingers, and sucked and licked her thumb.

Slowly, she came down. She blinked, and stared at her thumb. That... had been one of the greatest orgasms of her life. She knew it was because she’d—sucked her thumb. Unsteadily, she rose, got dressed, and washed her hands. Her phone hadn’t broken, thankfully.

After that, she was a thumb-sucker.

She simply lost the will to resist it, and went from having her thumb floating into her mouth on its own to actively sucking her thumb as soon as she could. Happily, this switch to actively sucking on it gave her greater control. She wanted to suck it essentially all the time, but she could easily choose not to, when other people saw her, or in meetings. Whenever she did, she felt not just a lot calmer, with the restlessness subsiding, but it also felt almost like a soft touch on her pussy. She could cut back on the bathroom trips if she just kept her thumb in her mouth. Her pussy seemed to think this was a reasonable substitute. She still came several times per day, but now she could at least keep it down to three or four bathroom visits. Before, she’d been up to six or seven, and wanted even more.

She was sitting in a boring meeting, trying to look reasonably attentive. This meeting would have been boring before as well, but she would have paid attention. Now it was excruciating, and she couldn’t focus. She desperately wanted to suck her thumb, just suck on it and let the project manager drone on in the background, but she couldn’t. Not in the middle of a meeting room.

“Amanda, what do you think? Do you think those teams could take on the extra work?”

She started, and smiled at the speaker. She’d completely missed the question.

“Um, well, yes—or rather, maybe,” she temporized. “They aren’t slacking off as it is, but if we can make a detailed analysis and then perhaps prioritize in smaller pieces, it should be possible.”

The project manager nodded.

“Susanne?”

“I think Amanda’s right,” the business analyst said. “We need to go over the requirements and work packages again, but it should be possible.”

“Great,” the project manager said, and continued.

Amanda almost groaned. She’d had no idea what they were talking about, but her empty answer had been good enough. It was crazy. She needed to unwind, needed her thumb in her mouth... Heck, she could feel her mouth slightly open, ready. Instead, she looked at Susanne. She was around thirty, or maybe just over, and starting to transition from the “young woman” look, into something more mature. She could become a pretty MILF in ten, twenty years, she had a nice face and a broad mouth with a bright smile...

What am I thinking? Amanda closed her mouth and bit her tongue. She looked out the window, away from her colleagues. Focus, dammit.

Afterwards, she stalked back to her desk, frustrated, annoyed, and horny. She swung past the kitchen for coffee, and met Andy.

“You!” she exclaimed. “You—you stupid... I saw you staring at me, and I’ve seen you stare at other women. Stop it! Just stop it! We’re not—we’re not objects for you to stare at, we’re not—we’re not your...” She almost said “MILFs”, but stopped herself. Panting, she stared venomously at him, and crossed her arms.

“Hi Amanda,” he said, soothingly. She felt her anger surge. “Of course not. You’re my highly valued colleague, of course.” His smile was mild, but she could see the insincerity beneath.

“Careful, mister,” she growled. “You think you’re cool, and slick, but you’re just a dumb overgrown boy thinking with your dick. You’ll learn better, but it won’t be pleasant. Just you wait.” She turned and walked away. As she turned the corner, she glanced back. He was watching her ass again.

She wanted to go back and rip into him some more, but her pussy felt like it was on fire. Hurrying, she went to the nearest bathroom and calmed herself down, thumb in her mouth, the other hand on, and in, her pussy.

Later, she regretted losing her temper, but the meeting, her confusion, her annoyance with Andy, her annoyance with her own behavior... It had all boiled over. Worst of all, she didn’t understand what was going on. She felt disoriented and confused. The thumb-sucking calmed her, but she had a hard time focusing. Despite what she’d said to Andy, she couldn’t stop thinking about—MILFs. She kept rereading the MILF texts, and found herself thinking about herself as a MILF, and other women she saw as MILFs. Like poor Susanne. It was weird, it was stupid, but it was so very hard to stop. Being a MILF—yes, it could mean being a hotshot manager, or a doctor, or lawyer, but there was no way around the fact that it also meant being sexy. Sexy for men. She’d always enjoyed that and wanted that, but apart from a few years in her late teens, it had never been all that important. Her style had been along the lines of “demurely sexy”. It should be clear there was a woman’s body under those clothes, and she liked hinting at her best features, but it shouldn’t be too clear. She wasn’t comfortable at the beach, for example. Too exposed.

Now, as her thoughts circled ever more tightly around the idea of being a MILF, she found herself wondering. What would it be like, to—let go? To drop the demure bit from her style? She had a pretty nice body, she should show it off. What’s the good in hiding? She could enjoy the men’s attention. Especially the younger men. For some reason, her pussy tingled and flared some extra when she thought about younger men. It would be good for them if they didn’t just have young, skinny women to look at. She should be a role model, and show that mature women could be really sexy too. She should walk through the office like a sex goddess.

The reasoning didn’t make sense, she felt, but she couldn’t sort it out. Her thoughts just seemed to flow from step to step, and they found their way onto this chain of thoughts from all sorts of directions.

She wasn’t getting anything done that Friday, and decided to leave early. Just before she left, she got a new email from Andy. More of those testimonials. She’d have opened them right away, if it wasn’t for Andy’s note. Careful, these are NSFW—don’t read them over the office network! he wrote.

She stared. Her pussy flared. She forwarded the email to her private address.

In the evening, they had friends over for dinner. They were James’ old friends, but she knew them pretty well by now. Amanda was hopelessly distracted, between judging Danielle for her MILF qualities, and evaluating Larry as potential MILF admirer. He was too old, she thought, he was her age. Which was probably good, considering the heat and wetness between her legs. She had to sneak away a few times and suck her thumb. It calmed her.

After Larry and Danielle left, Amanda went straight for James. To her immense frustration, he claimed to be too tired for fucking, and just wanted to cuddle. They did, for a while, until he yawned and went to bed. She was way too keyed up, and way too horny, so once she was alone she opened the link from Andy. She moaned, but managed to keep it fairly quiet, when she saw that yes, it was indeed testimonials from women who were now getting lots more sex, after realizing they were MILFs.

The literary quality wasn’t great, but Amanda didn’t care. She stumbled downstairs to the guest bedroom, closing the door, and then just fell back on the guest bed, and descended into sex-crazed bliss, reading story after story with her hands moving between her mouth and her pussy. She came, and she came, and she came.

Finally, she blinked, feeling dazed, and looked at the time. It was almost 3am. No wonder she was tired. Her pussy felt... sore. She looked down at her crumpled and wrinkly dress, and her torn pantyhose. She’d drooled all over herself as she’d sucked, licked and kissed her thumbs.

She got up from the bed, swaying, feeling ashamed and aroused at the same time. She still felt dazed, but as she stumbled off to the bathroom, she felt like a MILF. Sure, there hadn’t been anyone there to fuck her, but if there’d been... A young man, nicely muscled, preferably with a large cock.

In the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror. She looked wild. Wildly horny, wildly sexy. She dropped her clothes in a heap on the floor, took a very quick shower to clean her juices off her skin, and then tiptoed up to the bedroom. James was firmly asleep and didn’t notice when she crept down beside him. She still felt horny, but as she curled up and put her thumb in her mouth, sucking at it like a baby, she sank right down into sleep.