The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tiffany Young glanced around the lavishly decorated ballroom, trying to hide her boredom. Hundreds of people were gathered in the middle, mingling and talking. Talking almost exclusively about football. If one more person tried to talk to her about the team’s chances in the playoffs, she’d scream.

She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be where she’d been every night this week. But Greg had been insistent, saying she went out with her friends every night, and that with the recent upsurge in her social life, she hardly paid attention to him anymore. So she’d decided to give in and come with him to this charity banquet. And, as she’d expected, he’d abandoned her to go chat with his old buddies from the team, leaving her to fend for herself.

His complaints about her absence at home were true enough; she hardly spent any time with him these days, and she was almost never at home in the evenings. She found herself uninterested in her marriage. Greg just didn’t excite her anymore. She felt that she needed someone... younger. However, Greg didn’t know the truth about where Tiffany spent her evenings. She told him she was out partying and dancing with her cheerleading friends. Well, at least the dancing part was true.

Every night when she stepped out on the stage of the Beaver Trap, she felt like she’d gone to heaven. She lived for the time she spent on stage, shaking her tits, wiggling her ass, and spreading her legs for her adoring audience. Seeing all those men staring at her, lusting, knowing they all wanted nothing more than to fuck her, to shove their rock-hard cocks into the glistening wet snatch she was waving in their faces, was ecstasy. Each dollar bill waved in her face was a thing of beauty.

Her pussy grew damp as she thought about it. Damn, she wanted to be there, strutting in front of horny men, showing off her finely toned cheerleader’s body with its pert, round boobs jutting proudly forth from her chest. Her big, juicy tits... Tiffany closed her eyes and sighed as she thought about them. One hand slowly rose to her chest.

“Honey, there you are!” Tiffany jumped at the sound of her husband’s voice. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” Greg admonished, leading a tuxedoed young man over to her. “I’d like you to meet Trent Hillman, the winner of this year’s Jacobsen Trophy. Trent, this is my wife Tiffany, one of the Tigers’ cheerleaders.”

Tiffany shook out of her reverie, struggling to remember her social graces. “How do you do, Trent? I’ve heard so much about you. The Jacobsen trophy—wow!” she exclaimed, trying to force as much interest as possible into her voice. She had no clue what the Jacobsen trophy was, and she really didn’t care.

“Th-thank you, ma’am,” the boy gushed. “It’s really no big deal,” he said modestly.

“Oh, come on!” Greg exclaimed, “He’s the best quarterback in the state! I saw one of his games back in September, and let me tell you...”

Tiffany tuned out, her mind drifting back to the strip club. Her thighs were itching. Those thighs, she thought, should have been spread across a customer’s legs, supporting her as she twisted and turned, shoving her tits in his face.

At first she’d refused the manager’s pleas for her to give lapdances to customers. She’d been content to dance on stage, drinking in the lusty gazes of the men in the crowd. She’d had no desire to come into personal contact with some hairy, sweaty neanderthal who’d no doubt paw crudely at her gorgeous body.

And then something had changed. She couldn’t really put her finger on it, but for some reason she’d found the idea of lapdancing less repugnant. She found herself looking enviously at the strippers giving lapdances. The customers gave them money, and they dispensed... sexual favors. The idea, for some reason, appealed to her. And so, to the manager’s surprise and delight, she had started to give lapdances.

She’d found the experience wonderful. Men gave her money, and she provided sexual pleasure. It was so simple, and yet so fulfilling at the same time. She delighted in the groans she elicited from a customer as she pushed her tits into his face. She thrilled to the stiffening she felt as she rubbed her ass against his crotch. Once she’d even felt a customer orgasm as she danced on his lap. She’d almost come herself as she felt him stiffen underneath her.

She collected twenty dollars a dance, plus frequent tips. She loved collecting the cash, although she wasn’t really interested in making money. She was just fascinated by the idea of getting paid to provide sexual pleasure to men. It made her feel cheap and dirty, and Tiffany had recently discovered that she loved to feel cheap and dirty. In fact, she’d recently started feeling as though she wanted to do even more...

“Tiffany!”

Tiffany shook out of her musings as she realized her husband hand finished the football story and was talking to her. “Yes, honey?” she inquired with forced sweetness.

“Could you entertain Trent for a moment while I go say hi to some folks?” Greg was looking across the room, waving at one of his old teammates.

“Sure, honey,” Tiffany sighed, remembering why she hated these functions. Greg always abandoned her with people she didn’t know, leaving her to make awkward small-talk.

“Thanks,” he said, giving her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek as he strode quickly off toward his friends. Tiffany sighed and turned to face the young guy. What was his name? Terrence?

She found him staring at her boobs, and smiled a bit. Now that she thought about it, he was pretty cute, like a little boy. Like a little brother. Tiffany felt her crotch growing moist as she looked at him. “Like what you see?” Tiffany asked teasingly.

The young man jumped, startled. “Oh! Uh... Sorry, Mrs. Young, I d-didn’t mean to...”

“Oh, that’s all right,” she cooed in her sexiest lapdance voice. She stepped forward, bringing her face inches from his. “Why don’t we go take a walk and maybe I’ll give you a better look?” she murmured.

The boy’s jaw dropped for a few seconds as Tiffany licked her upper lip. “O-okay,” he croaked, allowing her to lead him away by the arm. Maybe, she thought, the evening wouldn’t turn out to be such a waste after all.

“Okay, now bring your other hand down and spread that pussy, you cheap little slut.” Katrina’s ruby-red lips parted at her brother’s words, a soft moan escaping between them. Damn, she was horny. He’d been giving her this sort of verbal abuse all evening—calling her a slut, or a tramp, or a whore—and she’d grown more and more aroused each time. This was the fourth time she’d posed for Alex’s camera. Each photo shoot seemed to be even sexier and more arousing than the last.

This time she was wearing a tight, shiny, pink dress several sizes too small for her. Well, it wasn’t really accurate to say she was wearing it anymore—it had been pulled down off her tits and up off her ass and now lay bunched up around her waist. Her feet were tucked into shiny, transparent plastic pumps and the outfit was completed by a bubbly pink purse. She looked like a cheap street whore, Alex had told her.

A whore. Katrina felt a tingle of pleasure run up her spine as she remembered Alex’s words. She loved it when he talked to her like that. She loved thinking of herself as a whore. A slut. A tramp. It was strange, she thought, how quickly her opinions had changed on the subject. She was sure that even a week ago, she would have gotten angry at Alex if he’d spoken to her that way. Now, though? Well, now he was doing it and she was getting hot as a result. A hot little whore. Oh, yeah.

“Okay, now I want some pictures of you on your back, you horny little slut,” Alex said. “Let’s see you finger that tight, dripping snatch of yours.” Katrina groaned audibly at his words as she rolled onto her back. She didn’t think she could take much more of this.

Alex grinned as his sexy older sister obeyed his commands, turning onto her back and spreading her shapely legs for his camera. “That’s good. Hold it right there, sis. Let’s see that slutty little pussy.” Alex pretended to ignore the effect his words were having on the voluptuous redhead, but noted with satisfaction that she grew more excited each time he talked to her that way.

It was hardly a surprise, of course. The first few photo shoots Alex had done with Katrina had produced some very nice pictures, and Alex had had an easy time selling them to internet porn sites. But Katrina, despite enjoying the photoshoots very much (and being very eager for a fucking after each one) had been nervous when not in front of the camera. She’d started asking him questions about where the pictures went and who would see them. It was clear that although she was excited by the idea of men masturbating to her nubile young body, she was concerned about someone she knew seeing the pictures. She was worried about her friends at school discovering what she was doing. Katrina’s thought processes were still very much governed by those inane teen dramas she watched on TV, and just like the girls on those shows, she didn’t want to be known as a slut. Alex had begun to get annoyed by her constant worrying.

It had annoyed him until he’d remembered he could fix it. It was entirely within his ability to make Katrina not only not worry about having her hobbies discovered, but make her enjoy being a slut. The most recent set of subliminal messages and images Alex had been inserting into her television shows had been designed to give precisely this effect. The messages had been simple statements like “I want to be my little brother’s whore” and “I love being a cheap slut for my little brother.” The accompanying images featured scantily clad women engaging in a variety of sex acts. In each image, the man had a thought bubble containing a phrase like “Wow, what a horny bitch!” or “This bimbo is one hot little slut!”

And now it seemed that the pictures and messages had had exactly the effect Alex had wanted. He’d selected the outfit specifically to provide a whorish look in order to test the most recent set of subliminals. It had only taken the slightest verbal prodding from him to get Katrina excited. “God, you look like a cheap little whore,” Alex had said, and Katrina had gone wild.

“Okay, let’s see you on all fours, slut. Show that slutty pussy to the camera.” Alex grinned as he heard Katrina gasp in pleasure at his command. He raised the camera and began shooting.

Katrina felt herself panting heavily as the camera clicked and whirred behind her. She’d never experienced anything like this before. She loved the idea of being her little brother’s whore. His bitch. His slut.

The noise of the camera stopped and Katrina heard Alex setting it on the bed beside her. She squealed in anticipation. He was going to fuck her! Her already-moist pussy clenched in anticipation as she felt him climb onto the bed behind her, his hands coming to rest softly on her hips. She heard him unzipping his jeans and felt the round knob of his prick softly touching the lips of her pussy. Katrina tried to push herself backward onto his cock, but Alex held her firmly in place.

“Are you a whore, sis?”

“Y-yes, Alex,” she stammered.

“Say it.”

“I’m a... a whore,” she said in a small voice, trembling. Oh, God, it was true! She felt a surge of excitement as she said it. She wanted nothing more than to be her little brother’s property.

“Are you a slut? Are you a bitch?”

“Yes, I’m a s-slut. I’m a... a bitch,” she moaned.

“Then take my cock, bitch,” Alex responded as he shoved his erect member deep inside her. Katrina shuddered in pleasure, squealing as she felt his massive shaft penetrating her damp pussy. Her slutty pussy. She humped frantically against her brother, desperate to stimulate herself to orgasm.

She felt Alex bending down over her, and gasped as she felt him rubbing her clit with one hand. Katrina could feel him breathing into her ear as she desperately humped herself against him. She felt her spine tense with orgasm as he softly whispered in her ear.

“Slut.”

Katrina screamed in pleasure as she felt her brother’s massive shaft explode inside her.

Vincent Stabone cast about the Beaver Trap speculatively, evaluating the various girls with a practiced eye. He recognized most of them from previous visits to the club, but there were a few new dancers. Time to get to work, then.

He took a seat at an empty table and examined the prospects while waiting for a drink. The redhead on the far side of the room looked intriguing. He watched as she gave a lapdance to a middle-aged executive. Vince liked her moves, but they seemed a little too enthusiastic. Too... happy. The smile on her face was almost sickening. She obviously enjoyed being a stripper. Vince wasn’t looking for a happy girl.

A few tables to the right of the redhead, a petite brunette was sitting on a customer’s lap, chatting him up. Vince watched carefully as the drama played out. The stripper was looking for a lapdance, and the customer was clearly trying to keep her on his lap as long as possible without paying. Vince noted her growing frustration with approval. She was definitely a possibility.

He’d been doing this so long it had almost become second nature to read these girls, even without talking to them. The brunette was like an open book to Vince. A snobby college bitch, she had discovered after a year or two that the spending allowance she got from Daddy wouldn’t pay for all the fancy new clothes and jewelry she wanted. So she’d started stripping. It had probably been just stage dances at first, but the call of money had worn down her resistance, and she’d started lapdancing. She lived in fear of her parents discovering what she was doing in her spare time, but she needed the money to fuel her shopping sprees.

Maybe he didn’t have the details exactly right, but he knew enough. Vince knew how to work her. It was a scheme he’d developed and perfected over the last few years. It had started as a hobby, something to do to amuse himself in his free time.

Vince was a dealer by trade. He’d begun in the streets, but his small frame and boyish looks had been a liability. To deal on the streets, you had to be tough, and almost as importantly, you had to look tough. Few of the street gangs had taken Vince seriously, and he’d realized his life expectancy wasn’t very high under those circumstances.

But he’d discovered an alternative almost by accident. At a strip club, he’d gotten into a conversation with a high-powered corporate executive and wound up arranging a sizeable sale. One week later, that executive had turned him on to another sales prospect. Vince had quickly realized that there was a sizeable market of wealthy businessmen interested in high-grade product. These men, by and large, had no contacts with the gangs in the city, primarily because they were intimidated by the violence associated with them.

At last, Vince’s youthful appearance was an asset rather than a liability. The executives didn’t fear him, and he was thus able to gain their confidence. Since Vince was the only real conduit for the product he sold, once he had broken into the rich-executive market he effectively had it cornered. He purchased from the gangs and sold to the executives, making a killing in the middle.

One night, while Vince was living high off the brisk trade with the suits, he’d met a stripper named Cynthia. Vince had never had much luck with women. Most of the women he met in his line of work were interested in men with power. While Vince did have power, in his own way, he didn’t look like a powerful man, and in this case, appearance was at least as important as reality.

But Cynthia reacted differently, perhaps because she hadn’t known what Vince did for a living. She’d spent quite a bit of time on his lap, chatting him up well beyond the usual for a stripper looking for lapdances. It had dawned on Vince that she was interested in him because he looked innocent and non-threatening, and she’d seen far too many seedy men in her time as a stripper.

Vince had played on her attraction to him, bringing her to his apartment that night and drawing her out. She was, it turned out, a college student who’d started stripping “to make ends meet.” Vince explored her psyche, discovering that she was bitter and angry with herself, tired of earning money by offering her body to sleazy men. Vince had played off her emotions, allowing her to talk about herself without revealing much of his own life in return.

At last, when he was sure he had her confidence, Vince had casually mentioned that he had a little bit of cocaine lying around that a friend had given him. He’d been afraid to try it himself, but maybe if they tried it together, it would be fun. After a few seconds of worried thought, she’d agreed.

It had been a simple matter to get her high on the pure-grade stuff while only snorting pure flour himself. Getting flour in your nose was annoying, but there was no way Vince was going to fuck himself up on his own wares. She got high, and they fucked like bunnies.

Over the next few weeks, Vince had played on her affection for him, continually buying little presents for his “girlfriend.” Meanwhile, he’d continued to provide her with a steady stream of high-quality dope, intending merely to make sure she would still need him even if she got tired of him.

It surprised him when he got bored of her, instead. When he’d insisted that she start paying for her own coke, she’d begged him not to. She couldn’t afford it, she said. He then hit upon an interesting idea. If she couldn’t pay for it in cash, she’d have to make good by providing services for his clients. She’d rebelled at that and left, but after a few days away she’d shown up on his doorstep, promising to do anything he wanted, fuck anyone he wanted if he’d just give her a fix.

And thus Vince had begun dealing in a second vice, sex. He already had the clientele; many of his customers were eager for a pretty young piece of ass like Cynthia, and Vince made good money pimping her around. By that time, he’d picked up two more “girlfriends” with his innocent, boyish charms.

Vince was now the proud manager of a dozen different sluts, all of them picked up in high-class strip clubs. He’d found that his customers liked the fresh-faced girls he employed, and were willing to pay premium prices for the chance to fuck some college-aged pussy. Vince had made a killing by combining the two businesses; he had his bitches make deliveries for him. The customer was told to treat the slut like a hotel minibar; she was available for whatever he wanted, and he’d be charged for whatever he did with her. Vince made a killing with this scheme, and supplemented his earnings nicely by arranging extra dates with the whores for his clients.

Vince grinned as he watched the petite brunette trying to elicit money from the man on whose lap she was sitting. He could see her frustration building as the portly businessman continued to string her along. She would do nicely, Vince thought. He accepted his drink from the waitress and tipped her generously. He would probably have to wait awhile until the brunette worked her way around the room to him, but he could be patient.

Tiffany arched her back, thrusting her balloonlike boobs into the face of her grinning customer. It was getting late, and she needed to be getting home soon. Greg still thought she spent most of her evenings hanging out with her cheerleading friends, and she couldn’t stay out too much longer without him getting suspicious.

This had to be her last dance of the night. Determined to make the most of it, the blond cheerleader wiggled her torso, causing her tits to bounce in front of the customer’s eyes. Tiffany giggled as she saw his eyes widen. The song was almost at an end, so Tiffany pulled out her final card. Leaning forward, she mashed her chest into his face, burying him in her cleavage. While he was occupied with this, she slipped one hand between his legs to cup the rock-hard lump in his pants. He gasped in surprise. What Tiffany was doing was against the rules, but she couldn’t restrain herself. Guess I’m just a slut, she thought to herself.

She felt her spine tingle at the thought. A slut. Yes, she wanted to be a slut. She loved the idea of being a slut. Or even a whore. Oh God, that one was even better. Her hand worked on its own, furiously rubbing at the stiff cock as she thought about being someone’s whore. She’d been fantasizing about this for a few weeks, most often while watching TV during the day. She wanted men to think of her as a mere sex object. The idea made her incredibly horny.

Tiffany stifled a moan as she felt the swollen cock under her fingers throbbing with release. The wetness she felt moments later brought a smile to her lips. For a moment she toyed with the idea of going home with this guy, throwing herself at him recklessly, begging for his cock, becoming the wanton slut she so wanted to be. But... well, it didn’t feel right. He was too old. She wanted someone younger. Maybe even younger than her. Besides, she really had to get home.

“Thanks,” she whispered as the song ended. “I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did.” She placed a soft kiss on his cheek and smiled. He gaped at her as she stood up, zipping up the tight white dress. Tiffany favored him with a final wink as she turned toward the door that led to the dressing room.

Tiffany made her way between the tables, politely refusing the twenty-dollar bills thrust at her. “Sorry, I have to go...” she repeated. She wanted to stay, she really did, but Greg would be getting worried soon.

She had almost reached the door when she noticed him. He was seated at a table by himself, nursing a drink. Approaching him from behind, Tiffany could only see his back. He looked... well, he looked young. There was something captivating about him. She cautiously edged forward, craning her neck for a better look at his face.

Tiffany gasped when she saw him. He looked even younger. Hell, he looked too young to even be in the club. Tiffany felt her pussy moisten as she looked at him. He was certainly younger than she was. He could have been her little brother. She gasped at the idea. Being a slut for her little brother.

All thoughts of Greg and getting home left her mind. She stepped forward with as much confidence as she could muster.

Vince relaxed as he watched the brunette give up in frustration and move on around the room. She was heading in his direction. Good. It wouldn’t be long now.

He was startled by a hand on his shoulder. “Hi there, handsome,” he heard a soft voice say. “Looking for a little fun?” Vince turned to see a stunning blonde addressing him.

She was amazing. Everything about her radiated class, from her immaculately-applied makeup to her elegantly styled hair to her smooth, tanned legs. Vince couldn’t recall ever seeing a woman this attractive lapdancing before.

He knew there was no chance of seducing her the way he’d seduced those insecure, self-loathing college girls. This babe was clearly an expert. Her appearance showed an obvious expertise in making herself look good. An experienced stripper, likely.

And yet, somehow, she didn’t quite look like it. She seemed less confident than he would have expected. Nervous, somehow. Uncertain. Vince knew that he shouldn’t accept her offer; he didn’t want to be occupied when the brunette finally reached him. But he was curious as to what was going on in this stripper’s head. Besides, she was fucking gorgeous. “Sure, honey,” he replied casually.

He sensed something like excitement from her as she slid down to sit on his lap. Her eyes remained locked on his, her lips slightly parted. She bit her lower lip nervously, something Vince found incredibly appealing. “You... you wanna see my tits?” she asked, one hand going to the zipper at the top of her dress. The question stunned him for a second. He recovered, but he was still mystified. Vince noticed her breathing was quick and shallow. She was clearly excited. This was just weird. Her appearance was that of a seasoned stripper, but she acted almost like a nervous schoolgirl on a first date.

“Sure, babe, I’d love to see your tits,” he replied. A happy grin spread across her face as she pulled the zipper downward, allowing her boobs to spring free. They were impressive: large, round, and obviously fake. Vince gazed at them intently, admiring them while trying to understand what was going on.

“Do you like my boobs?” she asked timidly.

“Yeah, they’re fabulous, honey,” Vince responded. “Nicest pair I’ve ever seen.” The delirious smile on her face grew wider at his words. Vince couldn’t understand. The blonde’s augmented chest was another clear indication that she was a professional, but her giddy reaction to his compliments made that hard to believe.

She was facing him now, straddling his legs, the firm, round globes of her tits rising and falling inches from his chest. Her eyes were still locked on his, her lips parted and moist. He watched in fascination as she unzipped her dress the rest of the way, exposing her sleek, tanned stomach and the soft thatch of her pubic hair. Vince gulped. Jesus, she was hot. He hadn’t even paid her yet.

And there was still the look of nervousness in her eyes.

Tiffany struggled to stay calm. He was so goddamn cute. She wanted to throw him on the ground and fuck him right there in the club. But that wouldn’t be right, she though. She wanted him to fuck her, but she wanted more than that.

She reached down to rub his cock through his pants, just as she had the customer she’d been lapdancing for a moment earlier. But this was different. Before, she had been teasing. Now, she was serious. Her hand squeezed him tightly and began rubbing urgently. He groaned out loud at her touch.

She didn’t want to ask him. Not here, not now. But she had to know. She had to know if he would be what she needed. Her breath grew even shallower as she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “I want... I want to be your slut.”

She leaned back and watched his reaction, her heart in her throat. Her pussy clenched with desperate need as she waited for his reply. She needed this so badly. She needed to belong to this... this boy. “Please,” she pleaded softly, “let me be your slut. I w-want to be your whore.”

He was silent for a long moment before responding. “Okay.”

Tiffany almost collapsed with relief. She leaned forward and kissed him hungrily, her lips and tongue struggling to taste him. Her hand squeezed his cock through his pants as her hips humped up and down involuntarily. She began to unzip his pants.

It came as a surprise when he pushed her away. She blinked, gasping. Had she done something wrong?

“Not here,” he told her firmly. “Go into the back, get your things and freshen up. Don’t change. Keep that dress on. Meet me at the side entrance in five minutes. She mewled plaintively and reached for his cock again. He slapped her hand away. “Do it,” he said firmly. “Do it now.”

Chastened, Tiffany stood up and hurried toward the door, looking back only once. He was still sitting there, watching her. “Go,” he mouthed at her. She obeyed, only dimly aware of how many people were staring at her.

She stumbled into the dressing room and found the athletic bag she’d brought with her street clothes. She opened it to change, but then remembered her lover’s instructions and closed it again. She zipped up the skimpy white dress and freshened her lipstick. She heard one of the other dancers enter the room, fresh from the floor, followed by furtive whispers among the girls in the room.

Tiffany finished touching up her hair and stepped back into the hall just as a chorus of derisive laughter erupted from the room behind her. She heard one of the girls muttering in a voice just loud enough to hear. “What a slut!” Her legs almost buckled. God, yes. A slut. A slut for her little brother.

Vince idled his engine by the side door of the club. He still couldn’t believe what had happened. The stripper, the gorgeous blond stripper with the perfect makeup and the boob job, had actually begged him to make her a whore. It couldn’t have really happened, could it? Part of him didn’t really expect her to come out the door. It was probably some sort of joke. Right now, she’d be inside with all her friends, laughing about how she’d toyed with the little boy.

But the door opened, and there she was, still wearing the slutty white dress and the matching heels. She’d freshened up a bit, as per his instructions, but otherwise she still looked like a stripper. Vince popped open the passenger-side door of his red Porsche. “Get in.” She did so, seating herself opposite him in the low-slung sports car. She closed the door and Vince peeled out of the parking lot, heading for his house.

He looked across the seat at his new bitch. She still looked nervous as she stared back at him. She was for real. Vince still had no idea why this babe was so hot to be his slut, but it was obvious that she was. She’d need some training, but her looks alone guaranteed that once he’d taught her how to fuck she’d be the most valuable piece of pussy in his stable.

Training, he decided, could start right now. “What’s your name, honey?” he asked.

“Tiffany,” she replied in a small voice.

“And you want to be my whore, Tiffany?”

She licked her lips. “Y-yeah,” she responded.

He grinned. “Well, you can start by giving me a blow.”

Her blue eyes flicked momentarily downward to his crotch. “You... you mean n-now?” she whispered.

“Yeah, now, bitch,” he replied, allowing a touch of anger into his voice. “A good slut does what she’s told.”

Her eyes closed and Vince could have sworn he saw her shudder at his words. “O-okay,” she replied. Ever so slowly, she leaned over and began to unzip his pants.

Vince groaned as he felt his cock straining to get free. There was a look of almost rapturous pleasure on the blond stripper’s face as she pulled his pants open. His cock sprang forth, already erect. She reached out gingerly to touch it, then looked up at him questioningly. “Well?” he asked impatiently. “I don’t have all day, whore.”

She quickly took him into her mouth and began to pump her head up and down. Her technique was inexperienced, but she was definitely enthusiastic. Vince could hear her moaning as he watched the mass of blond hair rise and fall in his lap. Damn, the bitch was hot! “A little deeper, babe... That’s it...” he coached. “Now use your tongue on the underside... oh, yeah!”

He sure as hell didn’t want to get pulled over by a cop tonight, but he couldn’t help breaking the speed limit as his foot grew heavy on the pedal, his engine stoked by the eager mouth of his newest whore.

“Oh God, yes, fuck me!” Tiffany screamed as she felt Vince’s cock pounding in and out of her pussy. She’d learned that being vocal was really important to Vince. “A good whore always makes a lot of noise while she’s getting fucked,” Vince had told her. He’d been giving her all sorts of instructions, teaching her how to talk like a whore, how to suck cock like a whore, and finally, how to fuck like a whore. Tiffany found the whole thing incredibly sexy; she’d lost count of how many orgasms she’d had.

Vince’s house was quite fancy, sitting on a large lot in the suburbs. His lawn was nicely manicured, and there was even a gate at the bottom of the driveway that Vince had opened with some sort of electronic key. Tiffany had been amazed at the opulence; she couldn’t believe that someone so young-looking could be so wealthy.

After parking the car in the garage, Vince had wasted no time ushering her into the bedroom, where he’d begun to lecture her on exactly how she was supposed to behave. Tiffany had been confused by this; she was horny and she just wanted to fuck. But it seemed terribly important to Vince; he seemed to have very definite ideas about what it meant for her to be his whore.

So she’d played along, listening as he’d instructed her on how to walk and how to talk. He’d made her approach him again and again, offering herself in a different way each time, sometimes pretending he was someone else. “Wanna fuck, baby?” “Here’s your package, Mr. Johnson. Is there anything you’d like to give me?” “Oooh, I’ve got an itch I was hoping you could scratch.” And so on.

It had been repetitive, but it had also been extremely arousing. Tiffany had found herself getting wetter and wetter between her legs as she repeated the sexy come-ons to her boyish lover. She loved playing the part of the slut. Her little brother’s slut.

At long last, he’d ordered her to get on the bed and undress. “And make it sexy,” he’d added. That she could do. Tiffany went into her best routine from the club, licking her lips seductively as she pulled the zipper down the front of her tight white dress. She noted with delight that Vince’s eyes were locked on her balloonlike tits; she made sure to wiggle them slightly as she slipped the dress off her body.

Apparently, Vince had been satisfied with her performance; at least he hadn’t forced her to repeat it over and over again. Her pussy had clenched involuntarily as he’d made her unzip his pants and pull out his swollen cock. She’d wanted to jump him right then, but he’d lectured her again, telling her that a slut’s duty was to pleasure her man first, and only after that to worry about her own orgasm.

He’d then gone into exactly how she was supposed to behave while he was fucking her. She was supposed to be talking the whole time, telling him how good his cock felt inside her, how hot she was getting, begging him to keep fucking her. Tiffany was starting to get a little annoyed at this. Sure, she wanted to be his whore, and she was ecstatic that he wanted to treat her like one. But all this talk was just getting in the way of getting her slutty pussy filled with his cock. Christ, how big was this guy’s ego that he had to give her all these instructions? But she sat through it, and at long last he’d finished. “Now, just like I told you. I want to fuck you.”

She’d struggled to remember his instructions. Laying back on the bed, she’d spread her legs wide. He grinned in approval, and Tiffany thanked her cheerleader training for giving her such flexibility. She’d licked her lips lustily, spreading her pussy open with one hand while the other idly cupped one tit. “There, that’s a good little whore,” Vince had praised her. As usual, the mere sound of the word “whore” was enough to send a tingle up her spine.

It had taken Vince mere seconds to jump on top of her and thrust his cock into her damp snatch. “Now remember what I told you, bitch,” he’d moaned as he began to stroke his cock in and out of her. Tiffany had done her best, continually rubbing her tits, caressing his shoulders and chest, tossing her head back and forth, and keeping up the dirty talk as best she could.

Vince seemed pleased enough with her performance. “That’s it, honey...” he moaned. “Oh, yeah, gonna fuck you good, you little slut!” he growled, emphasizing the point with a quick thrust of his cock.

Tiffany squealed in genuine pleasure, but kept enough presence of mind to keep talking. “Oh, yeah, baby, give me that cock! Give it to me hard and deep! Fuck meeeeeeee!”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a good whore,” Vince growled as he continued to fuck her. “You’re going to be the best slut I ever had, Tiffany.” Tiffany humped furiously against him, desperate to bring him off, desperate to fulfill her duty like a good whore. She felt him stiffen as he thrust his cock deep inside her snatch one final time. “I’m coming, bitch!”

“Oh, God! Give it to me!” she screamed. It was no longer an act. She felt a desperate need for Vince’s jism. She wanted it inside her, to prove that she was really a slut. Vince’s slut. Her little brother’s slut. He gripped her tightly as he erupted into her, shooting wad after wad of jism deep into her pussy. She arched her back as her orgasm crested and rolled over her.

It was nearly a minute before she came to her senses. Vince pulled his spent cock out of her still-twitching pussy. “That was fabulous. You’re one fine fuck, Tiffany,” he remarked casually. Tiffany sighed contentedly, still basking in the afterglow of her mind-shattering orgasm.

She felt Vince get up from the bed. “Okay, I want you dressed when I come back. I need to get some sleep. And fix your makeup, too. A whore should always look sexy.” Before she could respond, he walked out of the room, throwing on a bathrobe as he did so.

A little miffed at his perfunctory treatment of her, Tiffany stood up and dressed herself. It didn’t take long; she’d kept the heels on all through the sex (because Vince had told her that was that a good whore did) and the only other thing she’d had on was the skimpy dress.

She’d just finished reapplying her lipstick when Vince came back in. He handed her a small cel phone. “When this rings, answer it. I don’t care where you are or what time it is. You can set it to vibrate, but you’d better answer it. Answer it and do exactly what I tell you. Understand?”

Tiffany didn’t really, but she nodded anyway. “Good. There’ll be a cab at the front gate in five minutes. Here’s some money to get home. And a little extra for the fuck. Now go let yourself out. I want to get some sleep.”

Dazed and confused, Tiffany stumbled out of the bedroom and down the hall. She found the front door and walked down to stand in front of the driveway gate. The cab, as expected, showed up momentarily, and she got inside, all the time hating herself for fucking that asshole.

She was aware of the cabbie’s eyes on her upthrust tits as she gave him directions to the strip club, where she had to go to retrieve her car. It was obvious what he was thinking. A young woman in a sexy dress taking a cab back to a strip club was obviously a whore.

A whore. Well hell, she pretty much was a whore now. She’d met a strange man, gone home with him, fucked his brains out, and then gotten some money in return. That was it. She was Vince’s whore. Little Vince’s whore. Little brother Vince’s whore. Her hand crept down to the hem of her dress as she thought about it.

Five minutes later, the bumpy ride in the cab and the urgent movements of her fingers brought her to a climax. She no longer cared what the cabbie thought.