The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Y B Lonely?

mc mf ff md ma gr in

Disclaimer: This is an adult narrative, involving explicit sexual activity. If you are under age or are offended by such material, don’t read it. The story is my intellectual property; you may download it for your own amusement, but please do not repost it on any site that charges users for the privilege of reading the story.

1

When did it all start to go weird?

Afterwards, when she thought about it, at those times when she was able to think about it, Sandy supposed it all began the week after her high-school graduation. She had just broken up with Tony Clark, she was moping at home because her best friend Lyda was off on a trip to France with her parents, and she had three long months to go before beginning her first semester at college.

So she moped. And she went online a lot. And one morning, a week after her graduation, when she logged on, there was this enormously annoying pop-up ad: Y B LONELY? FIND UR IDEAL MATE! and a URL that she would never click on, not in ten million years, thank you very much. But the damn thing would not go away. It floated. She exited the browser and then opened it again, and there came the pop-up: Y B LONELY?

When in doubt, reboot. Sandy tried that. The computer seemed slow. And when she opened the browser, yep, it asked Y B LONELY?

Damn it! She closed the browser and ran her virus-checker. It slowed...and slowed....and froze.

“Shit!” Sandy switched off her computer. Had she downloaded some kind of super-Trojan? She didn’t think so—she hadn’t even opened any music files recently. Sandy drummed her fingers and brooded. Who could she get to check out the computer’s misbehavior? Well, there was Eugene. Yuck.

Eugene Stottard was the boy next door, the geek. He was a year older than Sandy, and for somebody who was supposed to be so shit-hot smart, he was pretty much of a washout. He had graduated from school the year before, and to everyone’s surprise he had not gone on to a prestigious university. Or even the local community college. He just lived on with his mom and dad, a funny-looking loner, just the way he had always been in high school, and people forgot about him.

Eugene. Close to six feet, but with a beanpole frame and ribs you could play like a xylophone—Sandy had seen him often enough in the summer pushing the lawnmower around next door. Curly black hair, a face like an acne pizza, and a narrow chin. And glasses. Great big square black-rimmed glasses. What. A. Loser.

But he knew about computers. Two years ago, Sandy’s mom had paid Eugene to set up both her and Sandy’s new machines, and he’d done it in twenty minutes, had everything up and running. Yes, there was Eugene.

With a sigh, Sandy went to the kitchen, where the phone book lived, and looked up the Stottards’ number. She punched it in and heard that bee-boo sound before a recorded voice told her the number she had reached was no longer in service. She hung up with a clack and went to the window over the sink. The Stottards seemed to be at home—anyway, the curtains were open and the morning paper wasn’t on the front walk. Maybe the stupid phone company had made a mistake or something. Anyway.

Sandy walked out into the hot June sunlight and went next door. She rang the bell and almost at once the front door opened and Eugene stood there. “Hi,” he said.

“Eugene, could you come and look at my computer? Something weird’s going on.”

“Like what?”

Sandy told him in a few words. He nodded. “Sounds like a Trojan,” he said. “Let me get a disk and I’ll come and take a look.” He ducked back inside for a moment, then came out with a shiny CD and a compact black tool kit.

Sandy kept darting looks at him. Eugene was—well, different somehow. He seemed more buff, somehow, and his chin was firmer. And his face had cleared up. And—“What happened to your glasses?“she asked.

“Laser surgery. Dad paid for it when he got his promotion.”

“Oh? Your dad got promoted?”

“Transferred. He and Mom moved out to Dallas a month ago. He’s district manager now.”

“I didn’t know they’d moved!” Sandy opened the door for Eugene. “They just left you?”

“I’m nearly twenty,” Eugene said with dignity. “I like this town. I wanted to stay, so Dad said if I’d just take over the payments on the house—”

“How can you do that?” Sandy asked, surprised. “I mean, you don’t have a job.”

“Yes, I do. I build web sites, I do programming, all sorts of stuff. You still have this old computer, huh?” He sat at the keyboard, fired it up, and a moment later said, “Yep. Probably not malware, just some badly-written adware. Let me clean this up for you.” He popped the CD in, ran some program off it, and then nodded as he shut down the machine. “That’s got it. Mind if I open up your machine?”

“No, go ahead.”

Eugene popped the computer case and fiddled inside. “Okay, I’ve got some extra memory you can have. You’re running 512 now. Let me boost that to two gig.” He did some mysterious tinkering, then got up. “Try it.”

Sandy slipped into his place and booted the computer. “Hey!” she said appreciatively as it came on—very quickly. She opened the browser—“It’s so fast now!"—and when everything looked okay, she said, “Thanks, Eugene!”

“Gene,” he said. “Great. Your mom’s computer’s got the wireless router and the cable connection, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Better check hers out, too.”

“Okay.”

They went to her mother’s bedroom, and Eugene—Gene—did his electronic magic. “That’s fixed her up,” he said. “Okay, I’ve installed a virus/spyware filter on both your machines. They’ll run in the background. If anything strange happens, give me a call, but I think you’re both okay, now. Did you check out that web site, by the way?”

“What, Y B LONELY?” Sandy laughed. “I’m not lonely.”

“Don’t check it out. It might try to re-infect your computer. I don’t think it could, but until I’ve done some diagnostics, no sense taking a chance.”

“Can I pay you?”

“No,” he said with a grin. Man, his teeth were white—and even. “Just call it a neighborly favor.”

“Okay,” said Sandy, suddenly feeling unaccountably shy. “Thanks, though.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Really.”

“Hey,” he said, touching the spot she’d kissed. “I can’t wait until you have a really big problem!”

Was that the start? Was it? Or did it happen later, when she. . . . that night when . . . .hmm.

2

For some reason, Sandy forgot to tell her mom about what had happened with the computers. It didn’t seem important. And anyway, Mom looked so worn these days.

Sandy’s dad had, well, deserted the family five years earlier, the year that Sandy had turned thirteen. She had been aware of her parents’ arguments, but then when he just took off without a word—it had been hard. The divorce was harder. Now, in theory, Sandy’s dad paid her mom fifteen hundred a month in alimony, but it had been more than two years since he’d sent a check. Meanwhile her mom worked two jobs, her main one as a receptionist in a doctor’s office and a weekend one as an assistant librarian at the community college. She was faded. Faded blonde hair, faded blue eyes, nested in fine wrinkles. Connie Fawcett was only forty, but she looked a dumpy fifty. It didn’t seem right to bother her, not when the problem had been fixed.

So while Sandy’s mom was away, she stayed on the computer a lot. Chat rooms, shopping (without buying), music, a few games. . . it kept her from going nuts. Had it been that same night? She could never remember later on. It might have been the Monday when the annoying message had first popped up, or it might have been the next night, or even the night after that. Hard to say.

It was eleven. Her mom, who had to get up at six, was already asleep. Sandy was in her room, wearing pink pajamas. She logged off the computer and stretched and yawned. She wandered over to the bedroom window and looked over at the Stottards’ house. Their bedroom, Gene’s mom’s and dad’s, was straight across. She saw that there was a light in the window. Dim, though. A reading lamp or something. The only light in her room came from the little pink-shaded lamp beside her bed.

She saw someone move and then Gene stood in the window of the neighbors’ house. He raised the sash and stood gazing out into the dark. Sandy couldn’t tell if he saw her. She wondered if he did. She waved.

He waved back.

She giggled. A peck on the cheek hadn’t been much of a payment for fixing her computer, for upgrading the memory. Impulsively she reached over and turned on the light in her room. She couldn’t see Gene clearly, just his dark silhouette. But now he could see her.

She took the hem of her PJ top in both hands and playfully, slowly, began to pull it up over her tummy, swaying softly back and forth as she did so. When it was just below her breasts, she paused and looked across the way, head tilted: You like this? her posture said.

As if he read her mind, Gene gave her a big thumbs-up. I like it a lot.

Impishly, Sandy let the PJ top fall back into place. But she began to unbutton the buttons. Top one first, slowly. Next one. Next one. Pause. Another head-tilt. Should I go on?

Gene gave her two thumbs up.

Next button. Last one. Now her pink pajama top hung open, though her breasts were covered. You’d see more on the beach.

Sandy crossed her arms and slipped her hands inside the PJ top, cupping her small breasts. To her surprise, her nipples were stiff and erect. Her boyfriend Tony had played with them often enough, but his touch was rough and clumsy and she didn’t much care for the way he would pinch and pull. That was one reason she put him off with handjobs and had never let him, you know, put it in her. Mm, but now she really felt turned on.

She pirouetted on her heel and wound up with her back to the window. She shrugged off the top and let it drop down to her elbows. Then she dropped her arms, shook them, and let it fall to the floor. She looked languorously over her shoulder. Gene was leaning on the windowsill, staring raptly at her bare back. She looked down at herself, surprised at how sharp her breasts looked...and a little disappointed at how small they were. She covered her breasts with her palms and turned.

Across the way Gene was nodding. He liked the game.

Well, of course, when he saw how small she was, barely a B-cup, he wouldn’t be as keen.

But then this was Eugene. How many real live boobs had he ever seen?

Seductively, Sandy raised her left arm so that it covered her left boob—she was cupping the right one in her left hand—and then, with her right hand free, she put her fingers in her mouth and sucked on them. She had Gene’s attention.

She revealed her breasts to him. She teased her straining nipples with her saliva-slick fingers and felt heat in her center, felt the ooze of moisture between her legs. Then suddenly she reached out and flicked the curtains closed. She held them that way for a count of five, then peeked out. Gene silently applauded, and she took a bow before turning off the light.

Sandy fell chuckling into bed and turned off the bedside lamp, too. What a bitch she had been! Teasing poor Eugene like that!

Y B LONELY. If anyone should have checked out that damn web site, it was Eugene the nerd. He’d probably never had a girl in his life, probably never even touched a boob. Mm, hers still wanted attention. Sandy shucked her pajama bottoms down and lay nude in the darkness. While her left hand caressed and fluttered at her nipples, she let her right slip down between her legs. She dipped a finger into her cleft and writhed, surprised at how slippery-wet she was down there. And her clit felt swollen, demanding attention. Sandy’s hips began to move as she fingered herself. If only Tony hadn’t been such an asshole, she might know what it would feel like to—ahh—to have a boy put his thing there—ahh. She was breathing hard, and she felt sleek with sweat. Now she had slipped her left hand down, around behind her left buttock, and while her right index and middle finger trapped her throbbing clit and rolled it, she dipped two fingers of her left hand into her wet, hot slit and began to finger-fuck herself.

With her eyes closed, Sandy groaned. It seemed to her that she was seeing flashes of color, reds and yellows, timed to the drumbeat of her pulse. Her hip movements were frantic and eager now, God, she was practically gushing, she was so close to the edge—

And then she caught her breath. It was like going over the crest of the first high hill of a roller-coaster, the exhilarating swoop and shudder. She groaned with release and then lay still, panting.

Oh, God, did I just masturbate because of Eugine Stottard? Sandy got a wild case of the giggles, and she put her pussy-scented fingers over her mouth to stifle the sound. Crazy. Crazy, crazy.

But not as crazy as it all got a little later on....

To Be Cointinued