﻿Torrid Tales

by Pan



Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2023-07-15
Packaged: 2024-02-16 23:04:17
Chapters: 25
Words: 35,911
Publisher: mcstories.com
Story URL: https://mcstories.com/TorridTales/index.html
Author URL: https://mcstories.com/Authors/Pan.html
Summary: A collection of sexy mind control stories.
Erotica Tags: mc, md, mf, mm





TABLE OF CONTENTS


In the Shop

Library

Car Trouble

Selfie

Cafe Ong

Fuck the Police

Qiqi Zhou

Suggestible

That Can’t Be Right

Bad Boss

Don’t Touch Me

Teach

We’ll Just Have To Fuck

You’re A Good Girl

Confiscation

Doctor, Doctor

The Power

Rebel

Nurse

Practice

The Stranger at the Restaurant

Taken Seriously

It’s For You

Haze

Win-Win



	In the Shop

“The customer is always right,” Stacey’s manager droned. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes—when she’d gotten the job at the kooky little store, she’d thought it would be a breeze. Not like the huge department store, where her boss was constantly breathing down her neck.

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

The store was so small that her boss would literally breathe down her neck a lot of the time. She counted down the minutes until he was out, so she could pull out her phone and check her messages, but today he’d decided to give her a primer on how to be the best sales assistant she could be.

“Yes, sir.” she said dutifully.

“Now,” he said, looking her up and down. “When the customer comes into the store, we want them to see our best side, don’t we.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what does that mean?”

A smile? Stacey thought to herself. Me looking at them attentively? What the fuck is he talking about?

“That means a professionally dressed sales associate, doesn’t it?”

Sales associate. Jesus Christ.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, step out from behind the counter and show me what you’re wearing.”

Stacey obediently walked into the middle of the cramped store, showing off her short pleated skirt, and her socks, ending just above her knees. It left a few inches of her leg exposed, but her boss had never complained, so she’d figured it wouldn’t be a problem. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone saw what she was wearing on her lower half—she spent most of the day behind the counter.

“Good.” he said with a smile, and she relaxed a tiny amount. Not that she ever thought she’d be in trouble—her manager was a total pushover. “Now, I think having you behind the counter whenever someone walks in sends the wrong message. Let’s try something different.

“Yes, sir.” Stacey replied, a note of confusion entering her voice. What was he talking about?

“Stand in front of me, where a customer would stand if he was buying something.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now lean on the counter.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, take half a step back, but keep on leaning just like that.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stacey did as she was ordered, blushing slightly at the realization that her ass was now pointed directly at the door.

Ah. This is what he meant about putting one’s best side forward.

“Good girl,” her manager said softly, and Stacey found herself getting warm at his words. “Now, how about you flip that skirt up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Okay—I’m going to be the customer. I’m going to come in and tell you exactly what I see. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

Staring at the spot where she normally stood all day, Stacey heard her boss’s footsteps, the creak of the door, and the jingle of the bell as he re-entered.

“Excellent,” he said, and she smiled. “Almost perfect.”

Almost?

“I’m just going to make a few adjustments; stay still, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

Stacey held her breath, attempting to make as little movement as possible. She felt the movement of fabric as her boss lowered her panties, moving them down her legs and letting them rest on the floor.

“There. That’s better.”

Relaxing slightly, Stacey let her breath out as she heard the sound of a zip from behind her.

“Now,” her manager said soothingly, “I’m just going to measure you up. Everything in this store was chosen for its aesthetic appeal, and it’s very important that you match the rest of the decor.”

“Yes, sir.” Stacey replied, wincing slightly as he began measuring, slowly slid inside of her, resting there for a few seconds before rapidly pulling out and pushing back in again, over and over.

While she was measured, Stacey practiced a few choice phrases. “How can I help you?” “How would you like to pay for that?” Her manager was being unexpectedly thorough today, and she wanted to make sure that she was ready for anything he could throw at her.

“Excellent,” he gasped, reaching down and grabbing her hips for leverage. “Amazing.”

Stacey was glad that she was doing well, but wished he would hurry up and finish. She’d felt her phone vibrate in her bag earlier, and the sooner he left, the faster she could reply to whoever was messaging her.

The sound of the bell rang, and Stacey cursed—a customer. And here she was, showing off her best side...but her manager was in the way.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Stacey wanted to turn and see who the customer was—an older gentleman, she guessed—but her manager hadn’t said anything about turning and facing the customers, so she stayed exactly where he had positioned her.

“Ah,” her manager replied, pulling out and stepping back. “I was almost finished, but please, take my place. Is that okay with you, Stace?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he said, causing that strange warmness to pass through her body once more. “After all, the customer’s always right, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir.”

Stacey felt the stranger’s hesitant hand upon her back—in an eager to be as accommodating as possible (after all, her manager was watching) she arched back against it and moaned softly. He seemed to take this as an open invitation, and she could hear his belt hitting the floor as he took her boss’s place. and slowly thrust forward.

Her manager came and stood at the counter. She tuned out as he had a brief conversation with the man slowly moving in and out of her, and as he rang up the sale, he looked down at her face.

“I think you’re going to find yourself having a lot more fun working here from now on. Don’t you, Stacey?”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a smile.


	Library

“Shhh!”

Maureen Miller scowled at the small group of teens, giggling over the comic they’d pulled from the shelves. Frankly, she didn’t know why they had comics at the library.

Or teens, really.

Despite only being in her early twenties, Maureen had long since settled into her role of an old, bitter librarian. She wore a long plaid skirt that went down to her ankles, and thick tights underneath that. Flat-chested and fairly plain, Maureen’s hair was pinned back, and her white shirt was covered by a grey cardigan.

In the young woman’s perfect world, librarians would contain no people—no co-workers, certainly no patrons, only books. Endless shelves of books.

“Excuse me,” Maureen heard a tiny voice say. “Can you point me towards the section on the occult?”

“Right there,” she sneered in reply. “As always.”

“Thank you,” the old man said, and slowly shuffled towards the section Maureen had pointed towards. He stood no more than 5 feet tall, and looked to be in his seventies at least; he’d come in every day for the last few weeks, and always asked after the same books. He spent hours on end poring over them, sometimes reading them out loud in his frail old voice.

People. Why did they have to come and spend time in _her_ library?

Her head dipped back down to the computer, as she continued entering data. For the next several minutes, the only sounds that could be heard in the library were her fingers tapping away at the keyboard, and the occasional muffled giggle of the group of teens—not loud enough to be worth disciplining, but still enough to make Maureen grit her teeth in annoyance.

“Hakara, haka _ra_!”

Maureen’s head snapped up at the sound, but even as her lips were pursing to shush the old man, a wave of goosebumps spread across her body and left her slightly disoriented.

What on earth had distracted her from her work? It couldn’t be the tall old man reading the occult book—he might be forgetful, but he was always quiet.

No, it must have been the teens. Maureen lowered her glasses, and stared at the group—there were two guys and three girls. They didn’t look like they were causing any trouble, however—the guys were just sitting there with lazy smiles on their faces as the girls made out with each other, struggling with the logistics of a three-way kiss.

With a sigh, Maureen returned to her work. She wondered if her housemate’s boyfriend would be over—it had been so long since they’d made out for his entertainment, and watching the teens enjoy themselves had reminded Maureen of how much she missed it.

“Huginn, muninn, ruin, zhu!”

This time, Maureen didn’t look up immediately. Instead, she took a deep breath, enjoying the prickling of the goosebumps as they slowly coursed through her body.

Only once the tingling sensation had passed did she look up to see what had distracted her this time. At first glance, nothing seemed to be amiss—the handsome man reading the occult book seemed to be focused on his task, and the teens seemed to have settled down again.

As she glanced at the teens, however, the problem quickly became obvious.

Marching across the room wasn’t easy—the soft carpet made it hard to walk in heels, and Maureen suspected that the knee-length dress she was wearing didn’t quite carry the weight of authority she wanted to project. When the teens looked up, she noticed that the two guys immediately focused on the hint of cleavage her top showed, but she didn’t let that stop her from immediately launching into a tirade.

“ _What_ do you think you are doing?” she hissed, and the five teenagers looked at each other, confused. As she paused to let her anger sink in, Maureen noticed that two of the girls’ hands were under the desk, and the movement of their arms suggested that they were jerking their male friends off.

_At least they haven’t _completely_ forgotten that they’re in a library,_ she told herself.

“You. Are. All. Wearing. Tops.” she said, looking between the three girls. A blush immediately spread across their faces as they glanced down and realized she was telling the truth.

“Oh my god,” one responded immediately.

“I am _so_ sorry,” the blonde added, taking her hand out from beneath the table and quickly licking it before she began unbuttoning her blouse.

“I don’t know what we were thinking,” the other one gushed.

It was only a few seconds before the three young women were topless, their perky young nipples staring straight at Maureen.

“Phyre, demon, fist and grudge!”

For a moment, everyone’s attention turned to the muscular man reading from the book of the occult in the corner. As a wave of goosebumps passed over all of them, however, one of the young men spoke up.

“Miss,” he started, but Maureen snapped at him before he could go any further.

“Call me slut,” she said sternly.

“Sorry, slut.”

“What is it, master?”

Despite the glare on the librarian’s face, the teenager continued.

“I can’t help but notice that…that…”

“What is it, my lord?” Maureen said with a glare.

“Well, _your_ top is still on.”

Now it was Maureen’s turn to flush, as she glanced down and noticed that her double-D breasts were, indeed, still contained by a shirt and bra. She frantically tore them off, and looked at her nipples in puzzlement.

“These should be harder…” she murmured, and before she could even give the command, two of the three girls had latched their mouths onto her large brown nipples, while the third carefully reached up her mini-skirt and pulled down her panties.

“Kaargra, pinion, tusser, flay…”

“Oh my god,” Maureen said, suddenly flustered. “What on earth are we doing?”

Everyone paused briefly as a wave of pleasure passed over them, then the sexy librarian continued.

“We’re taking care of ourselves before the men. What are we, apes?”

The girls immediately realized what she was saying and dropped to their knees. Maureen watched as two of them began fighting over the one cock they had to share; for a moment she thought she would have to step in and ensure that they shared as per the library rules, but it wasn’t long before they found their own rhythm.

Pinching and tugging at her inch-long nipples, Maureen considered sharing the other teen with the redhead who was furiously swallowing down his cock as she fingered herself, but a glance around the library reminded her that there was someone else she could be serving.

“Hi,” she said with a saucy grin.

“Hi,” the confident young man boomed back, his smile matching her own.

“I thought you could use some help,” she purred, and he pushed back his chair and nodded his approval.

As Maureen sat on his lap, slowly lowering herself onto his thick rod, she couldn’t help but moan loudly with pleasure.

“Oh god,” she cried. “Fuck me! Use me like a fuck-toy!”

Unable to resist, the man shut the occult book, leaned forward, and whispered into her ear.

“Shhhh…”


	Car Trouble

“Ugh,” Nick said, throwing the wrench down. “It’s no good; I just can’t get it to start.”

Craig and his best friend had been driving for fifteen minutes when the car screeched to a halt. To Craig, it had just felt as though Nick had stomped his feet on the brakes…but what did he know about cars?

They’d pulled to a secluded nook by the side of the road and Nick had spent the last fifteen minutes messing around in the engine to no avail.

“So we’re stuck out here?”

“Looks like,” Nick replied glumly. “There’s just no way I can get enough thrust into the engine.”

“God damn it.”

They were on their way to a double date; Craig had spent weeks convincing Nick to come out of his shell, leave the house and finally meet someone, and now it looked as though it was all going to be ruined by a freak accident.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Craig said, trying not to let his frustration show in his voice. It wasn’t Nick’s fault that the car had broken down, after all.

“Well…” Nick said hesitantly, and Craig perked up at the note of hope in the younger man’s voice.

“What can I do?” he asked. “Remember, I know fuck all about cars.”

“Look,” Nick said, after taking a moment to appraise the seriousness of his friend’s offer. “The issue is that I can’t reach all the way to the bottom. Maybe if you gave me a boost…”

“Of course,” Craig responded, and positioned himself behind his friend. “Just tell me what to do.”

“Okay,” Nick said. “On the count of three, lift me up.”

Craig paused, not entirely sure how lifting his friend was any better than Nick just leaning over further, but hey—what did he know about cars?

“One, two, three…lift!”

With a grunt, Craig lifted his friend’s small frame, and was disappointed to hear a noise of frustration emerging from his mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your clothes are chafing me. Can you take them off?”

“Uh…”

“Come on, Craig. We need to get this repaired.”

Craig wanted to argue, but he knew that they didn’t have the time. He glanced at his watch—if they could get the repairs done quickly, they could still get to the restaurant before the girls left.

“Fine,” he said, and quickly stripped down. To his surprise, Nick did the same.

“What are you…”

“I don’t want my clothes to chafe against you.”

“Oh.”

“Just trying to be a good dude.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“No worries,” Nick said, getting back into position. “Okay, do you want to try lifting me again?”

Craig moved behind his lithe friend, and with a grunt, lifted him up once more.

“God damn it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can reach it, but I can’t fix it by myself.”

That sounded odd, but Craig knew that he didn’t know enough about cars to argue it.

“Okay,” he said. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“The easiest way to get this to work would be if you lifted me with your cock.”

Craig did a double-take at his friend’s words.

“Hang on, what?”

“That way your hands will be free. If you lift me with your cock, we’ll easily be able to get this engine working.”

“But how can I…how can I lift you with my cock? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Easy. Just…”

“Whoa, what the hell are you doing??”

“Craig, calm down. Do you want to get this fixed or not?”

“Yeah, but I don’t…”

“How can you lift me if your cock is soft? This is pretty basic stuff, Craig.”

Craig stared uneasily at the man kneeling in front of him.

“Well sure, but I’m not exactly…”

“Let me help you out.”

Craig froze as Nick’s hand wrapped around his cock and started slowly stroking it up and down. As he watched the younger man’s skillful fingers manipulate his flaccid penis, it slowly began to harden.

“There we go. Now you’ll be able to lift me without a problem.”

“Yeah, I’m still not sure that’s going to work. How are you going to be able to balance?”

“I mean, isn’t it obvious? I’ll slide my ass over your cock; then I’ll be able to fix the car, and your hands will be totally free to help.”

“But…isn’t that…”

“What?”

“Gay?”

Nick stared at Craig in shock.

“What? Why would you think that was gay?”

“Well, it’s just…”

“Dude, how is fixing a car gay?”

“No, not the car, the bit with…the bit with my cock up your ass.”

“Okay then Craig, what’s your plan?”

Craig thought for a few seconds, until shrugging in defeat.

“I really don’t know anything about cars,” he said.

“Exactly. So trust me; this is our best bet. Now, I don’t want your cock in my ass without lube, so I’m going to have to get it nice and wet first, okay?”

Crai nodded, totally defeated, and shut his eyes with pleasure as Nick’s mouth closed over his erection, and the younger man started bobbing up and down.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, he started to get more and more turned on as Nick lubricated his cock. To his dismay, he soon found himself cumming inside the younger man’s mouth.

“Nick! Nick, I’m…”

Swallowing it down, Nick looked up at Craig with a smile.

“Dude.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fine,” Nick shrugged. “Only trouble is, you’re soft.”

“Ah.”

Craig didn’t know much about cars, but he knew his own cock intimately well. It would be at least a few minutes before he could get an erection, and he knew every second counted.

“Sorry.”

“Well,” Nick said thoughtfully, “this might not be a total wash. I’m still hard—let’s see if I can lift you.”

Craig hesitated, not sure if Nick was kidding. He was easily twice the size of Nick, but his hairless friend had an earnest look on his face, and so he slowly nodded his agreement.

“Okay,” Nick said. “Lube me up?”

Again, Craig paused, but only for a second. He could imagine the girls arriving at the restaurant immediately, and the longer he delayed things, the lower their chances of having a date were. Nick stood up as Craig dropped to his knees, and soon his mouth was filled with the unfamiliar taste of cock.

After a few minutes, Nick tapped Craig on the head.

“That should be enough,” he said, and Craig bent over the car.

“What do I do if this works?” he said, the unfamiliar view of an engine filling his view. “I really don’t know anything about cars.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Nick replied with a grunt as his cock entered Craig’s ass. “How does that feel?”

“Weird,” Craig answered honestly. “And it doesn’t really feel like you’re going to lift me…”

“Hang on,” Nick said, as he slowly filling more and more of Craig’s ass with his cock. “Let’s not give up before we’ve started.”

It wasn’t long before Craig could feel Nick’s curly pubic hair pressing against his cheeks.

“Any luck?” he said, trying to ignore the feeling of Nick’s hot breath on his back.

“Just gotta get the right angle…” Nick replied nonchalantly. “I think this might work.”

Privately, Craig didn’t see any way he was going to be lifted by the 130-pound man, but he waited patiently for Nick to wear himself out. As his friend repositioned himself over and over again, his smooth cock slid in and out of Craig’s ass, over and over again.

“Nick…” he said, alarmed by the grunts being emitted from his friend’s mouth.

“It’s fine,” Nick huffed. “Almost there…”

To his dismay, Craig found his erection returning as Nick tried to lift him.

“Nick…” he said again, but Nick clearly wasn’t listening. With one enthused thrust, he pushed forward, his body twitching against Craig’s. “Are you okay??”

“I’m fine,” Nick panted, gently withdrawing his softening cock. Craig was fairly sure he could feel his friend’s cum dripping from his ass, but he didn’t want to say anything to embarrass Nick. After all, the same thing had just happened to him while Nick was trying to lubricate him.

Craig turned to face Nick, and there was a long pause as they just stared at each other, a soft smile on the younger man’s face.

“You want me to lift you?” he asked, and Nick shook his head.

“While I was trying to lift you, I came up with an idea.”

As he spoke, Nick slipped his pants back on.

“Sometimes the best way to fix these problems is to just wiggle the key a bit. It resets the ignition.”

Craig got dressed as Nick walked over to the car and got into the driver’s seat, desperately not thinking about the wetness he could almost definitely feel in his underpants, he glanced at the clock. If this worked, they could almost definitely get to the restaurant in time.

“There we go!” Nick said triumphantly as the engine roared. “Good as new.”

It seemed far too easy to Craig, but he shrugged and sat back as they hit the trail again.

After all, what did he know about cars?


	Selfie

“I’m sorry, do you mind if I sit here? The other pods are all taken.”

“Thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you again, but is that the new iPhone?”

“Do you mind if I take a look?”

“This is lovely. What’s your passcode, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Thanks. I promise not to snoop around.”

“Haha, I’m sure you don’t. So you don’t mind me looking at your photos then?”

“My word, what a lot of…what are they called? Self-shots?”

“Selfies, that’s it. You certainly do take a lot of selfies.”

“I bet he does! Would you like me to take one for you now?”

“Nonsense. It’s still a selfie if someone else takes it. Excellent, now just smile.”

“Sorry, I’m not quite sure how…ah ha! There we go. I think that’s the camera.”

“Oh dear. I took a photo of myself. Just…”

“Ah, there we go. Thank you, young lady. Now smile!”

“There we go. I’m sure your boyfriend will be very happy to receive that.”

“Why don’t we take another one?”

“Smile!”

“Actually…”

“Oh, no, never mind. It was just a silly idea that I had.”

“Well, since you insist: what if you sent him another self-shot, one that’s a little more…risqué.”

“No, of course. I understand. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable—it was just an idea that I had.”

“Well, something like this. Smile!”

“Superb. Now maybe unbutton your shirt a bit, show a tiny bit of cleavage. He’ll love it.”

“That’s great!”

“Have you ever sent a nude self-shot before?”

“I bet he did. Well, there’s no one else around—why not take that shirt off entirely.”

“I hope it’s not out of line for me to say, but that is a very lovely bra you have on there.”

“Excellent. Let’s take one more—this time, lick your lips and grab that bra.”

“Now pull the bra down, slowly…slowly…”

“This time, I want you to pinch that cheeky little nipple that’s poking out.”

“Well I actually meant the other one, but…yes, both is fine.”

“Pull and tug, my dear. Show him that you’re thinking of him.”

“Now slip one hand down your jeans, and give the phone that desperate look.”

“Great. Let’s get that bra out of the way.”

“Excellent. Those breasts are barely more than a handful, are they? Here, just let me…”

“There we go. Now look at the camera in shock.”

“Grab your breasts, show off the fact that you can barely hold them any more.”

“Pardon if this is a personal question, but have you ever taken a photo of you and your boyfriend…in the act?”

“Oh no, trust me—it’s very sexy. I’m sure a strapping young lad like yours would love a few photos to commemorate the act.”

“I’ll tell you what: since he’s not here, how about I fill in.”

“How about you just push it up against your cheek, look up at the phone.”

“You’re a natural at this, my dear.”

“Bite your lip, really show off how naughty you’re being.”

“For this shot, let’s put it in your mouth. I want to see your cheeks bulging, your lips really stretched.”

“Perfect.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh yes, what an excellent idea. We’ll get one of your new boobs wrapped around it…yes, that’s the ticket.”

“I promise, he’ll love them.”

“How about we finish these with…what do they call it? The money photo?”

“The money shot! Exactly.”

“Just use your tongue a bit more, my sweet.”

“Pump the base, that’s perfect.”

“I’m almost ready.”

“Big smile!”

“There we go, my dear.”

“No no, don’t wipe it off. We can still get some more photos.”

“What sort of underthings are you…oh, the library’s closing?”

“Well, how about I put my number in your phone.”

“You’re going to have to help me, I can’t work out…”

“Ah, perfect. There we go.”

“Please do let me know what your boyfriend thinks of the photos, and if you have any trouble, just give me a call.”

“Yes, it was a pleasure meeting you too. Best of luck!”


	Cafe Ong

The cafe’s lights flickered slightly as the door opened, and Ann Ong looked up in surprise.

“Oh,” she said in relief. “It’s just you.”

“Just me?” Wee Chiat Ying replied, raising one eyebrow. “What kind of a greeting is that.”

“You know what I mean, Ms Wee. The usual?”

“Yes. And be snappy about it.”

Ms Wee worked around the corner, and so had become a regular of the small cafe—Ong’s was the only place open late at night, so whenever she needed to clear her head, she’d drop by.

Internally she looked down on the harried cafe owner; being a barista, in Ms Wee’s opinion, was no way to spend your life.

Had she looked closer, she would have seen more in common between the two of them than she thought. Like Ann, Ms Wee spent more time working than not, and Ann’s opinion of her customers closely mirrored Ms Wee’s opinion of her.

_Lazy,_ she thought to herself as her small hands deftly prepared the drink. The fact that she relied on people she considered too lazy to make their own coffee was an irony that she was well aware of, but that didn’t stop it from entering her head each and every time she prepared a drink. _Lazy and ungrateful._

Still, she had to admit that she was glad to see a familiar face coming into her cafe so late at night. There was something about the air that night—a strange chill. It had left her feeling uneasy, and the…

“Christ!” she exclaimed, turning around to present Ms Wee with her coffee. Standing at the counter was a small man, dressed all in black. There was something extraordinarily off-putting about his eyes, but the reason for her exclamation had been his silent approach—she hadn’t heard the door opened, she hadn’t heard him cross the room, and Ms Wee hadn’t said anything in response to the man’s sudden entrance.

She was saying something now.

“Excuse me,” she sneered, giving the man a cruel glance. “I was here first.”

“Oh?” the mysterious man said, his teeth and eyes glinting in a way that made Ann feel the chill of the night’s air even stronger than she had before.

“Yes,” Ms Wee replied, before turning her attention back to Ann. “Please, Pam, get mine before you serve this…”

Ann gritted her teeth at the use of the wrong name, but as she glanced back at her regular late-night customer, her heart-rate quickened. Ms Wee’s tirade had abruptly halted, and now she looked totally…blank. Like someone had switched her off.

“I do need to get hers first.”

“But surely you can take my order,” the stranger said, one eyebrow raised. “What kind of customer service is this?”

“I’m sorry,” Ann lied.

The odd-looking gentleman just stared at her, and for a moment Ann felt flushed. She turned to the coffee machine, acutely aware of the man in black’s gaze on her back.

Her head swam as she stared at the controls. She’d been serving coffee for years, but in that moment, all her knowledge of how to operate the espresso maker seemed to have completely slid from her head.

Ann Ong’s hand trembled. She suddenly felt completely off-kilter.

_Not like Ms Wee._

Her brow furrowed. Where had _that_ thought come from?

It was a correct one, of course. Glancing over, Ann couldn’t help but admire how composed the older woman looked. She was half a foot shorter than Ann, standing at almost exactly five feet. Slim and small-breasted, Ms Wee had long, dark hair and was always perfectly clad in business casual.

_Yes,_ Ann reflected. _She’s always so poised—not like me._ Compared to the tiny elegance of her late-night regular, Ann felt like a clomping giant. Her hair was shoulder-length (to prevent it getting in the way while she worked) and she was curvier all over; totally unlike the slim lines that Ms Wee carried so well.

“A-hem.”

Ann blinked twice. Somehow she’d totally forgotten that the man was even there—she’d been so distracted, admiring Ms Wee’s form. She was so pretty, so attractive—sure, she probably couldn’t make a coffee to save her life ( _Used to constant service,_ Ann thought to herself, unsure why the word “service” caused a tingle to run up the back of her spine) but not everyone had Ann’s work ethic.

“Just give me a minute, sir,” Ann said demurely. The chill had faded, filled with a warmth that grew and grew as she thought more about Ms Wee. She was so in control, so calm and collected.

_I bet she’d be an incredible lover._

A blush appeared on Ann’s face at the thought. Where had that come from? She wasn’t even interested in…in women. Truth be told, she wasn’t even that interested in men—they inevitably ended up boring or disappointing her, and so she’d decided to pour herself into her business instead of wasting her time with sex.

“I really can’t wait all night,” the man said, and Ann realized that she still hadn’t even started on Ms Wee’s order. “Are you sure you can’t do mine first?”

“Well…” Ann said, suddenly wavering on her previously strong stance. “If Ms Wee doesn’t mind…”

“I’m sure she doesn’t. Do you, dear?”

“Mmmm,” Ms Wee responded dreamily, and Ann was convinced.

“Very well,” she said, trying to ignore the warmness growing between her legs at the sound of Ms Wee’s soft response. “What would you like?”

“Coffee,” he said immediately. “With milk, please.

“Your milk.”

Ann’s brow creased as she parsed the man’s unusual phrase. She owned the cafe—of course she was going to use _her_ milk. But as he pointed to her breasts, her eyes widened as she realized what he was saying.

“My…”

“Yes,” he said, and the glint was back. There was something odd about it. Something dangerous.”

“Sir, I…”

A wave of arousal passed over the barista as she said the word “sir”, and it distracted her so much that she couldn’t even finish her sentence. Against her will, she fell to her knees, so overcome with lust that she couldn’t resist.

“Your milk,” he repeated. “I insist.”

Before Ann knew what was happening, she felt her breasts begin to swell. They ballooned inside her shirt, and soon her buttons were popping off and flying everywhere. She was sure she’d worn a bra to work that day, but now…it was nowhere to be seen.

Gasping, breathless, more turned on than she could ever remember being, she watched as her breasts grew and grew, until they were roughly the size of her head.

“Please,” she managed to get out, but before she could convey whatever half-thought had popped into her head, her breasts had started gushing milk all over her normally pristine cafe.

With a grunt, she managed to grab one nipple (almost passing out from the pleasure) and aim its milky offering into a cup. To her surprise, Ms Wee had made her way behind the counter, and immediately latched onto the other nipple and started swallowing down the white liquid.

The man grinned as, dazed, she handed him a cup.

“Thank you,” he said softly as he sipped at the fresh beverage, watching the scene unfold in front of him.

The more of Ann’s milk Ms Wee swallowed, the more her breasts grew, until soon the two women’s chests were equally matched. Only then did Ann’s lactation cease, and Ms Wee’s eyes found their focus.

“I…what’s happening?” the business woman said in horror, looking at the pair of enormous breasts in front of her face.

“I’m sorry,” Ann said, her blush spreading down her neck.

“What the hell have you done to me, you stupid bitch?”

“She hasn’t done anything,” the strange man tutted, and Ann watched in fascination as Ms Wee’s anger turned into arousal. Her eyes grew stormy, and her attention turned to the barista.

“Pam,” she moaned, and Ann was so happy to hear the erotic tone of the businesswoman’s voice that she didn’t even bother to correct her. “What’s…”

“Don’t fight it,” the man purred, and Ms Wee obeyed unquestioningly, leaning forward and placing her lips on the taller woman’s—she was prepared for rejection, but in response, Ann wrapped her arms around her customer’s body and pulled her closer.

“Please…” Wee Chiat Ying moaned. “What’s…why…”

“Don’t question it,” the stranger said, unzipping his pants, smiling as the two girls turned to him with lust in their eyes. “Just enjoy it for what it is.”

As the women fought to be the first to take his hardness down their throats, he sipped at his drink once more.

This was going to be a good night.


	Fuck the Police

“License and registration please.”

Nick sighed, and leaned over to his glovebox. Pulling out the necessary documentation, he passed it over to the female police officer who had pulled him over.

“Is there a problem, officer?”

“No problem, sir. Just a routine check.”

Despite her words, Officer Hurwitz didn’t like the look of the teenager, driving a car that was clearly far too expensive for a kid his age to be behind the wheel of.

_Must be a rich brat,_ she thought to herself. _That, or there’s something fishy going on._

“Where’s your partner?” he asked, as she shone her flashlight onto his papers. Everything seemed to be in order—the car was in his name. New, too—he’d just driven it off the lot that morning.

“Don’t need one,” she replied shortly. “Not for highway patrol.”

“Of course.”

After a quick check of his vehicle’s perimeter, Officer Hurwitz handed back his license and registration, and thumped the roof of his car twice.

“Okay sir,” she said. “You’re free to go.”

“Are you sure?” Nick said, a concerned look on his face. “You haven’t even given me a breathalyser.”

A part of Officer Hurwitz wanted to write the kid a ticket for talking back, but after a second she realized he was right. She wouldn’t be doing her duty if she wasn’t thorough.

“Wait here,” she said.

“Why?”

“So that I can get the breathalyser.”

“Oh, I promise I’m not sick,” Nick said, staring into her eyes. “You can quite safely administer it yourself.”

Reaching out and grabbing his chin, Officer Hurwitz moved her mouth onto his and began breathalysing the teen boy. It took longer than normal—she thought she detected a hint of alcohol on his breath, but after thoroughly exploring his mouth with her tongue for a few minutes, she was confident that she’d been mistaken.

“Thank you for your time,” she said. “You’re free to go.”

With a smile, Nick nodded in response. He lowered his sun visor to return his license, but as he did, a small plastic bag with a single pill fell onto his lap.

“I swear, that’s not mine,” he said far too quickly, a terrified tone suddenly entering his voice. Officer Hurwitz smiled. She hadn’t managed to get him for drinking, but she knew there was something odd about this kid.

“Sir, I’m going to have to search the car.”

“Strip search?”

“Of course.”

Nick stood beside his car, holding Officer Hurwitz’s torch for her, as she slowly and systematically strip-searched his car. By the time she was done, her uniform, gun, and underwear were in a small pile beside his door, and she was shivering slightly at the cold.

“Did you find anything?”

“Sir,” she said, frustrated by the results, “I’m going to have to ask you to remain silent while I call for backup.”

To her surprise, no one responded to her call. Her increased bust-size meant that she normally got a great signal, but as she tweaked her dials again and again, they just got harder and harder while her calls went unanswered.

“Do you want me to try?” the kid asked politely, and Officer Hurwitz just glared at him.

“Of course not,” she snapped, before taking a deep breath. She couldn’t let him get to her. Punk kids like this were the worst part of working the highway patrol—they were so used to getting their own way.

But she _did_ need backup, and so after a few seconds, she went against her instincts and caved.

“Fine,” Hurwitz said through gritted teeth. “See if you can get anyone on the line.”

To her surprise, Nick seemed extremely familiar with her equipment, clamping his mouth over the microphone and doing a call-out on all channels. He switched between the two radios a few times, eventually standing up proudly.

“I think I got someone,” he said. “They should be here in ten.”

“Perfect,” she said with a smile. The policewoman knew exactly what she could do to knock the kid down a peg. “That leaves us just enough time for a cavity search.”

Nick gulped.

“All the cavities?”

“All the cavities,” she said, enjoying his discomfort. “Now strip.”

Getting onto her knees in front of him, Officer Hurwitz took her time in exploring Nick. Even after her jaw started to ache, she kept on going, knowing that she was finally giving the cocky teen a taste of the real world, where not everything went his way.

It wasn’t until he was gasping and panting that she decided he’d had enough. Spreading her legs, she leaned against the car and turned around with a cruel grin.

“Cavity number two,” she said, enjoying the sweat that coated every inch of his naked body.

She gasped as the cavity search began. It wasn’t yielding any results, but she’d suspected it wouldn’t—this was just for her. His panting got louder and louder as he slammed her against the car. A part of the policewoman wondered if she was going a bit overboard, but she remembered that she _had_ found a pill in his car—legally speaking, she was well within her rights to search him as thoroughly as she liked.

Officer Hurwitz was just about to finish the search, when to her surprise, her young perp started twitching and shaking.

“Jesus,” she said in shock, “are you alright?”

A few long, loud grunts were the only answer she got, and Nick slammed her against the car so hard she was worried that it would do damage to her dual-radios.

He pulled out, and slithered onto the ground, where the policewoman stood over him in concern.

“Kid…kid, are you okay?”

“I’m great,” he said, sounding exhausted.

Officer Hurwitz’s hands immediately went up to her radio, tweaking and pulling as she desperately tried to get a signal.

“Tell me—what are you on? What was the pill?”

“The pill? Oh, that…it was just a tic tac.”

Her eyes widened as she realized what he was saying. She’d just conducted an illegal strip-search AND explored two of the three cavities…all over a tic tac.

“Okay, Nick, here’s the deal. How about you drive on, and we pretend this never happened. Sound fair to you?”

Smiling, Nick looked up to her.

“Hmmm…” he said. “On one condition.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, kid. Take it or leave it.”

“Hear me out.”

“Fine—what do you want?”

“We’ll call it even…if you complete the cavity search.”


	Qiqi Zhou

Qiqi watched nervously as the man undressed in front of her. Something about this wasn’t right, she was sure…but Dr Phillips had assured her it was vital to helping her self-esteem, and so she patiently waited on the bed, her heart and mind racing.

Surely her first time shouldn’t be like this. Surely that was wrong…but Dr Phillips had insisted, and she trusted him.

She trusted him more than anything.

* * *

Qiqi Zhou had been seeing Dr Phillips for the past six months. After the unexpected death of her father, Qiqi’s life had been spinning out of control, and it had been a huge effort to admit that she needed help.

That’s when she’d found the card.

“Dr Ron L. Phillips, Therapist.”

Something about the glossy finish had attracted her attention—she’d picked one up, and after a few days of pulling it out and glancing at it, enjoying the semi-sparkly gleam, she’d made the call.

Dr Phillips’ receptionist had told her that he wasn’t taking new patients, but she’d mentioned the card, and the woman’s voice had changed. It had grown warmer, softer somehow, and she’d suggested that Qiqi come in for a free consultation.

Her first session had been on a Friday afternoon, right before the weekend. Qiqi had been planning to spend the weekend like she’d spent most weekends since her father’s death; clubbing, drinking, dancing. Anything to clear her mind of the fact that her father had abandoned her, had willingly and knowingly taken his own life, leaving her alone in the world.

Qiqi was only 18, but her looks ensured her uncarded access into the clubs of Little Beijing, where she let herself get lost in the music, alcohol, and advances of strangers.

Not, of course, that she’d ever done anything with them.

Not yet.

Dr Phillips was in his late 40s, his hair already starting to grey. He beamed at the sight of her.

“You must be Qiqi,” he said, and her eyes widened at the deep tone of his voice. “I understand my card…caught your eye.”

She just nodded in response, and he opened a cupboard and began to rummage through it as he spoke.

“I wouldn’t normally be able to see you on such short notice, but the card was the first step in an experiment I’m running. I have a theory that some people—mostly females—are susceptible to being entranced by certain reflective materials. It’s possible that you’re one of those women, Qiqi, and so I was eager to meet with you as soon as possible. To find out if my suspicions are correct.”

The hairs on the back of the young woman’s neck were beginning to rise with suspicion, but before she could do anything about it, Dr Phillips pulled out a piece of cardboard, and suddenly her suspicions completely faded away.

It was…it was beautiful.

Clearly made of the same material as the good doctor’s business cards, but unadorned with words, or details, or anything that could distract from its shiny, shimmery perfection.

Dr Phillips was still talking, but Qiqi wasn’t listening. Not on a conscious level, anyway. She just stared, stunned, at the cardboard.

For the next few hours, Dr Phillips talked while Qiqi gazed at the board. All he needed to do was slowly tilt it from side to side, and it created an endlessly fascinating array of reflections, shapes, patterns. It was more watchable than anything she’d ever seen, and it was close to 8pm when he finally put it away, and she returned to reality.

“And so,” Dr Phillips concluded, “if you’ll have me, I really think I could be helpful.”

“Of course,” Qiqi said without hesitation, blinking rapidly. What had they been talking about? How long had she been there? “If you think it’ll help.”

“I do,” Dr Phillips said, and Qiqi tried to ignore the chill that his predatory grin sent up her spine.

Ever since then, she’d been visiting him twice a week. Something about the arrangement always made her feel slightly uneasy, but she had to admit that he’d been helping her.

No longer was she drinking to numb the pain, or dancing until she was close to collapsing from exhaustion. No, since seeing Dr Phillips, her life was steadily improving.

Wasn’t it?

At his suggestion, she’d quit drinking, quit going out each weekend, and cut off ties with all her friends. It had been difficult, but he had assured her she was doing the right thing—anything that reminded her of her old life had to go, and soon he was her only contact.

She’d thought about going back to school, but Dr Phillips had told her that was a bad move. It was better to spend her time, he’d suggested, learning to cook and clean, and going to the gym. The suggestions didn’t quite sit right with her, but she’d done as he said. She trusted him—more than anything.

A lot of his insights were spot-on. He’d—correctly—observed that her father’s death had left a hole in her life, a hole that had caused low self-esteem. Even at her most suspicious, she knew that he was correct about that.

But his suggested solution—breast implants—hadn’t immediately made sense to her. It had taken several weeks before she’d given in and made an appointment. It hadn’t been cheap, but she now sported a perky pair of C-cup breasts.

She’d been reluctant to admit that Dr Phillips was right, but the appreciative glances, the wolf-whistles…they _had_ improved her self-esteem. Her new tits were impossible to tell from the real thing, and they gave her a burst of confidence every time she looked down at her new cleavage.

But Dr Phillips hadn’t been satisfied. The death of her father had been a devastating blow, he’d told her, and she would need to take drastic measures to transform her into the powerful, confident woman he was sure she could become.

If she hadn’t been staring at the shining, glimmering card, she would have verbally objected to his next suggestion. But she was helpless while it slowly shimmered in front of her, and so Dr Phillips’ suggestions sunk directly into her brain, joining all the other suggestions he’d made to her over the months.

“A stripper?” she’d finally said, when he put the card away at the end of the session. But it wasn’t the indignant response she’d wanted to give—it was a sad, resigned question. Dr Phillips knew best, and she could spend the next few weeks resisting, or she could just accept his wisdom immediately.

“Yes,” he said excitedly, a speck of his spit landing on her cheek. She didn’t reach up to wipe it off. “It’s exactly what you need, my girl—positive attention. Hundreds of eyes on you, each and every night.

“It’s ultimately up to you, of course, but that’s my professional advice.”

And so Qiqi had gone straight out and found herself a job.

It hadn’t been hard—if her beauty hadn’t been enough, the tinge of desperation in her voice, the form-fitting clothes that Dr Phillips had suggested she begin wearing, and the body that they showed off would have certainly sealed the deal.

Within an hour of leaving her therapist’s office she had a new job, and soon she was spending every night onstage, earning more from tips and private dances than she knew what to do with.

Again, she was forced to admit—he wasn’t entirely wrong. The positive attention she got from all those eyes, the rush she got from slowly exposing her new and improved body…even the adrenaline she got from moving around so much.

It made her feel better. Weirdly good about herself.

She’d been dancing for two weeks when the thought struck her. At the start of the month, no one had even seen her topless—now she was getting naked every evening, showing her body to hundreds, spending hours alone with strange men giving private dancers…

This wasn’t right, was it?

The thoughts had continued to bounce around her head, feeding off each other, growing and amplifying until they were all that she could think about. Something was wrong. Dr Phillips had done something to her. The card—it was more than just a relaxation technique, “the latest in psychotherapy and getting patients to open up”—he was putting ideas in her head, wearing down her resistance, controlling her life.

Every piece of clothing she owned, she’d bought at his suggestion. Every hour of every day was filled with activities that he’d persuaded her to take up…and now she was stripping, exposing her body to people she’d never met.

Qiqi was furious. Furious and terrified, in equal measures.

She skipped both her appointments that week. Her phone lit up with messages and calls from the doctor, but Qiqi refused to look at it, afraid to hear what he had to say. She locked herself in her room, missing her shifts at the club, missing her appointments with Dr Phillips. Whenever she shut her eyes, she could see the shimmering card, but she tried to ignore it.

_I’m stronger than that,_ she told herself, and with every day it became more and more true.

Eventually, her apartment ran out of food, and so she decided to brave a trip to her local grocery store. After all, Dr Phillips had other patients, other responsibilities—it wasn’t as though he could just be camped outside her house, waiting for her to exit.

Right?

Opening the door, she glanced up and down the hallway, relieved to discover that there was no one there. She made her way to the local store, and one uneventful shopping expedition later, she returned home.

That was when she saw it.

It was on her door—pinned to the door itself, which was why she hadn’t seen it when exiting.

A large piece of the card. The shining, sparkling, flawless, fascinating card.

And on it, in block letters, was an address.

The address of Dr Phillips’ office.

* * *

“It’s simple,” Dr Phillips said soothingly, as a tear silently ran down Qiqi’s face. “Our relationship has been acting as a parental substitute of sorts. You lost your father, you found me, and so to some part of your brain, I took his place.

“And obviously you didn’t want to face rejection from another father-figure, so you decided to avoid that by rejecting me first. Does that make sense?”

Qiqi nodded. Everything he said made sense. Dr Phillips always made sense.

How had she ended up back here?

“No, the club tells me that you haven’t been showing up for your shifts. I hate to say it, but I think these shenanigans of yours have rather doomed that career option. Fortunately, I’ve been thinking about it, and I have another solution to your self-esteem problem.”

The young Asian woman sat in silence as Dr Phillips continued.

“You need to feel wanted. You need to feel desirable, attractive. You need to feel sexy.”

Qiqi went to speak, but Dr Phillips held up a finger to silence her.

“Sex isn’t enough. No, you need more than that—you need to _know_ that you’re wanted. Desired. Men will have sex with anyone, but you’re special.”

_I’m special,_ Qiqi thought, unable to turn her head away from the piece of card that Dr Phillips was holding in front of him as he spoke, a slightly manic look in his eye.

“If a man pays you for sex—that’s when you _know_ you’re desired. That’s when you know you’re gorgeous, lovable…fuckable.

“This is going to be the end of all your self-esteem issues, Qiqi. This is going to be the beginning of a whole new life for you.”

_liked my old life,_ Qiqi thought briefly, but she knew it was just wasted energy. Dr. Phillips was right.

Dr Phillips was always right.


	Suggestible

Pamela grimaced. Her son Dan’s friends were around again, and it looked like they were making a mess. Pizza boxes strewn everywhere, and—if past patterns were anything to go by—no chance that they were planning to clean it up any time soon.

“Oh, hey Mom,” her son said, not even looking up from the video game he was playing.

“Are you boys planning on cleaning this up?” she asked, and the look of mischief that passed between them didn’t escape her.

“Do you think it’ll work?” one of them said—Tom, she thought his name was.

“Only one way to find out.” Sam replied, a particularly lanky fellow whom her son had known since the fifth grade. “Mrs Stegmaier, I think you should clean it up.”

“What?” she said, her forehead creasing as she’d tried to follow their odd exchange. “No! I’m not doing that—you made the mess, you have to clean it up.”

“Ah shit,” Tom said. “I told you it was bupkis.” said the other one—the one whose name she didn’t know.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Dan chimed in, his attention still wholly on the Xbox. “You have to give a reason.”

“Like what?”

“What on earth are you boys talking about?” Pamela asked, but her inquiry was ignored.

“Anything,” Dan said, exasperated. “Literally anything.”

There was a pause, and Pamela used it to try to deduce if her son’s friends had all gone mad.

“Mrs Stegmaier,” Sam eventually said, “I think you should clean up…”

Pamela opened her mouth to reply in indignation, but before she could say anything, Sam continued. “I think you should clean up, because you’re older than us—you’d be better at it than we would.”

The middle-aged woman closed her mouth. He had a fair point.

Age brought experience, and having a clean house was very important to her. She’d do a far better job at ensuring the house was clean than a group of teenaged boys.

“Okay,” she said, not entirely sure why everyone except her son raised their eyebrows in shock at the sight of her opening up the pizza boxes and moving all the leftover crusts into the one box.

It was a good thing she was doing the cleaning, if the simple act of organizing the waste was enough to warrant this kind of a reaction. Imagine what they would have done when it was time to actually move the garbage into the trash can.

She was about to leave for the kitchen when the other boy—the one whose name she didn’t know—spoke up.

“Wait!” he said, and she paused at the doorway. “Throw all the crusts onto the floor. It’s…it’s good for the carpet.”

Without hesitation, she opened the box containing the dozen or so pizza crusts, and tipped them onto her freshly-vacuumed carpet. This was even better than vacuuming.

“Why the hell did you make her do that?” Tom asked, and the other boy grinned.

“I just wanted to see if it’d work. Hey Dan, do you mind if we…”

“Go right ahead,” he said casually.

“Hey Mrs Stegmaier, come back in here.” he said, shrinking slightly under her withering glare. “Because, uh…”

“Because we’re worried you might get lost,” Sam said.

“Of course,” Pamela replied, moving into the middle of the group of boys. It was a big house, after all.

“My final assignment is on bras. Do you mind taking off your top so that I can see it?”

“That’s totally inappropriate!” Dan’s mother snapped, “I would…”

“You can’t ask,” her son said. “You’ve just got to tell her.”

“Take off your top,” Sam said. “For our assignment.”

The three boys stared in wonder as Mrs Stegmaier slowly unbuttoned her crisp black browse, shrugging it off to reveal the dark red bra underneath.

“Wow,” Tom finally said, breaking the silence. “That’s spectacular.”

“Dan, I never knew your mom had such a rack…”

“Yeah,” the teenager replied distractedly. “She does her best to hide it.”

“Let me know when you’ve got all you need for your assignment,” Pamela said, and her son’s friends all tried to speak at once.

“I’m doing an assignment on tits…—”

“I need to take the bra to pass…—”

“If we could get some photos…—”

Pamela blinked twice, and suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable about the fact that she was standing in front of her son’s friends in nothing but a long purple skirt and a red bra.

“It won’t work if you all speak at once,” her son said. “You’ll overwhelm her.”

“I have a psychiatric condition!” Tom blurted out, and everyone in the room—even Dan—turned to him, curious to hear what he’d say next. “As a child, I didn’t get enough love from my mother. My shrink says that I might be able to get over it, if I can…um…if I can make up for the love that I didn’t get as a child. I was never breastfed, Mrs Stegmaier—let me suck on your tits. It’ll really help me.”

“Of course,” Pamela replied, and as she undid her bra and allowed her huge breasts came into view, Tom’s face lit up as if all his Christmases had come at once.

As his mouth latched onto her thick red nipple, Sam spoke up.

“I haven’t tested the camera on my phone yet. Take off your skirt so I can test how well it works on naked women.”

It was a bit of a struggle to completely undress without letting her tit fall from Tom’s urgent suckling, but Pamela somehow managed. She would have felt dreadful if she’d been responsible for a relapse in his therapy.

“My cock is cold,” her son’s other friend said. “I’m going to warm it in your mouth.”

As the three teenaged boys enjoyed Dan’s mother, a smile spread over his face. It seemed they were getting the hang of it.


	That Can’t Be Right

Inspired by [Kris P. Kreme](https://mcstories.com/TorridTales/../Authors/Kris-P-Kreme.html)’s [“My, How You’ve Changed”](https://mcstories.com/TorridTales/../MyHowYouveChanged/index.html).

“Meg? Meg Fortescue? Is that you?”

“Edward?”

“Oh my god! It’s been so long.”

“I can’t believe it. I haven’t seen you since…god, highschool?”

“Graduation day! I remember, you gave me a quick blowjob with your robes on. One of my fondest memories.”

“What?? I did no such thing.”

“Whoa! Calm down, Meg—it’s okay. I never told anyone about it.”

“But…I didn’t do that. I’ve never done anything _like_ that. I didn’t even lose my virginity until my second year of college.”

“Megan, I don’t want to argue, but you definitely did. You were known all over school as the Queen of BJs.”

“I most certainly was not! I only went down on you that one time, it wasn’t like it was something I did for everyone. It was…it was a special occasion.”

“Haha, it sure was.”

“It was fun, but I have no idea where you got the idea that I was the…the ‘queen of blowjobs’.”

“Well, I mean…that’s what your flyers used to say.”

“Flyers?”

“Oh yeah. It’s only been five years—I’m surprised you don’t remember. You were so proud of your oral skills, you made those flyers and distributed them all around the school.”

“Edward, I did no such thing! What an insane suggestion. I was the Queen of Blowjobs—I didn’t need to advertise. Everyone _knew_ that if they came to me, I’d go down on them, no questions asked. Why would I bother putting time and money into printing flyers?”

“I did wonder that. I always guessed it was to attract teachers—god, was there a single teacher at that school you didn’t blow?”

“Edward, I know it’s been a while, but I’m really worried about your memory. You know I would never perform oral sex on a teacher—it was clearly marked at the top of my flyers. ‘Queen of BJs: Students only’. There wasn’t a single student I wouldn’t go down on, but a teacher? Ew. That’s just gross.”

“I guess we’re remembering it differently.”

“I suppose. What have you been up to since school?”

“Well, after walking on you fucking our math teacher, I realized how much potential there was in education. I’m a professor now, over at the local college.”

“Oh that’s great! Although I’m afraid you must be misremembering—I would never fuck a teacher. Like I said, it wasn’t until college that I lost my virginity. No, I just used to blow them.”

“For better grades?”

“No, just for fun. My grades were already pretty good.”

“Really? I always thought…”

“What?”

“Oh, I don’t want to say it.”

“Go on. I promise I won’t be offended.”

“Well, I remember you being…a bit dumb, I guess. You were always giggling and playing with your hair, and it was obvious that you cared way more about your social life than you did about school.”

“Wow.”

“You did promise not to be offended.”

“Well, apparently my mouth wrote a check that the rest of me won’t cash. That’s a pretty fucking insulting thing to say.”

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

“God, what a shitty thing to say. I’m really annoyed about this—you were probably just jealous that I only ever fucked our math teacher, and not _you_.”

“What? Meg, we used to fuck all the time.”

“Oh! Did we? That’s…that’s not what I remember. Sorry! (giggle) I get confused sometimes.”

“Aw, I can’t stay mad at you.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a phrase, Meg.”

“Oh! (giggle)”

“Anyway, I promise I’m not mad.”

“That’s okay! It’s so weird that I can’t remember fucking you. I remember fucking the math guy. We used to fuck all the time. He taught numbers!”

“He sure did.”

“I was never good at numbers, but I’m real good at fucking!”

“I know you are. You used to fuck everyone in school.”

“No way!”

“Yes way.”

“No way!”

“I promise, you did.”

“That can’t be right! I only remember fucking you.”

“And the math teacher.”

“Oh yeah! I forgot about him. (giggle)”

“Oh yeah, you were a total slut. You used to fuck anyone who wanted it—guy or girl.”

“Ewww! (giggle)”

“What?”

“I would never fuck a _girl_ , silly! How would that even work? I don’t have a…you know. A thingy.”

“Haha, you definitely used to make it work.”

“No waaaay. I only fucked guys. I was real good at fucking! I fucked every guy in the school.”

“And the girls.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure, yeah.”

“Huh! I know I’m not the brightest…thing. In the thing. But I reckon you mighta got something mixed up there, mister!”

“No, I distinctly remember. For my birthday one year, you organized a threesome with you and your best friend.”

“Cyndi?”

“That’s right!”

“Well now I _know_ you’re wrong, because Cyndi doesn’t even like boys. She’s a total gay! She was the first girl I fucked, and she was sooooo good at it that I didn’t stop. Cyndi is real good at fucking girls. Just like me!”

“That must be why you guys moved in together after high school.”

“Wrongggg! You’re such a dummy, dummy. After high school I went to college, and then I moved in with my husband! It was tough giving up the threesomes but Cyndi understood.”

“Think about what you’re saying, Meg.”

“What?”

“You? At college? Does that sound right?”

“Ummmmm…”

“And you definitely don’t have a husband. If you did, why would you be meeting me here for a date?”

“Okay maybe I was lying about college, but I definitely have a husband. Don’t I?”

“Nope.”

“But…but…”

“It’s okay, Meg. It seems like Cyndi is running late for our threesome. Do you have her number?”

“Ummmm…I think I have it somewhere.”

“Here, why don’t you give me your phone?”

“Okay! Phones are hard. (giggle)”

“Hello, Cyndi? It’s Edward—from school. I know, it’s Meg’s phone. We’re catching up—we were just talking about you, and she suggested I give you a call. You should come down to the bar on fifth, we’re sort of having an impromptu reunion of sorts. 

“Well heck, of course you can bring your girlfriend…”


	Bad Boss

“You’re a bad boss,” Jeremy said.

“I’m not,” Vicky gasped. “Am I?”

“You are,” he said. “Everyone thinks so.”

Vicky sat down, her head spinning. Managing the hot dog stand was her first time in a leadership role; she’d been working there for six months when she’d been offered the opportunity.

She couldn’t be messing it up already…could she?

“ _Everyone_?”

“Everyone,” Jeremy nodded.

“Oh, no.”

“It’s okay,” he said with a smile. “I can help you.”

“Yes!” she said. “Please. I’ll be ever so grateful.”

She grinned back at the teenage boy. Jeremy had only been working at the stand for two days; if he’d already noticed that she was a bad boss…well, no wonder everyone agreed.

“Okay,” he said. “It’s easy to be a good boss.”

Then why hadn’t she managed it? She’d been trying so hard.

“It is?”

“All you have to do,” Jeremy explained, “is do the _opposite_ of what a bad boss would do.”

Vicky nodded her head. That made sense.

“So, let’s look at what a bad boss does.”

“Yes! Please.”

“A bad boss talks too much, don’t you agree?”

“Of course! I’ve had so many…”

“Ah ah ah,” Jeremy interrupted, holding up one hand.

She was talking. A bad boss talks too much.

Dang it.

“To be a good boss,” Jeremy explained, “you should barely talk at all. Only speak when spoken to, okay?”

Vicky nodded. The opposite of a bad boss. That made sense.

“What else would a bad boss do?”

Vicky hesitated. Was…was she supposed to talk?

Jeremy gave her a little nod, and she answered, trying to use as few words as possible.

“Be…mean?”

“That’s right!” Jeremy said, smiling broadly. “A bad boss would be mean. That means a good boss should be nice, all the time.”

Vicky nodded, trying to store all these great tips in her head.

“A bad boss would be grumpy, wouldn’t they?”

“Yes.”

She had just been spoken to, so Vicky was fairly sure that it was acceptable for her to respond.

“He’d have a big ol’ grumpy face.”

She nodded.

“So a _good_ boss would always be sure to smile and have a pleasing face. Doesn’t that sound right?”

Again, Vicky nodded, this time making sure to plaster a huge, warm smile on her face. What an excellent suggestion!

“Okay,” Jeremy said thoughtfully, looking his boss up and down. “Let’s talk clothing.”

Vicky loved clothing.

“I don’t know about you, but all the worst bosses I’ve ever had dressed super professionally. Ties, suits, all that. So stuffy!”

Stuffy. Professional. That was…bad?

“So a _good_ boss, to do the opposite, would dress really casually, wouldn’t they?”

That didn’t sound right.

“No, I don’t…—“

Jeremy held up one hand.

“Come on, Vicky, what did we say about talking?”

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Have you ever had a bad boss who showed a lot of skin?”

Vicky thought about it.

“No…”

“So, we should be doing the opposite. A bad boss hides their skin away, which means a good boss…”

It still wasn’t quite making sense to Vicky.

“I don’t think that’s…”

Jeremy sighed, and she again fell silent.

“Have you ever brought a boss a bunch of suggestions, and had them shoot them all down?”

“Yes,” Vicky responded without hesitation.

“And was that a _good_ boss or a _bad_ boss who did that?”

Again, Vicky didn’t hesitate.

“A bad boss.”

“Right. So, to be a good boss, you should…”

Jeremy paused, and Vicky filled in the gaps.

“Accept…suggestions?”

“That’s right. Or, to put it simpler: say yes more. You should say yes more.”

“Yes!”

Vicky smiled. She was going to be the best boss in the world.

“So. Bad bosses hide their skin away, which means a good boss should show off as much skin as possible. Right?”

“Yes!”

Jeremy grinned.

“Great.”

Vicky looked down at her outfit. Button-up shirt, pants…god, what was she thinking?

But how could she…

“Y’know, if you stripped down to your underpants, that would be pleasing AND show a lot of skin.”

“Yes!” Vicky said without hesitation, then stopped to actually consider what he’d said. Well, he was right…it _would_ accomplish two tasks at once.

Slowly, nervously, the young woman started taking off her clothes. It wasn’t long until she was standing in front of her employee wearing nothing but a lace pair of panties and a grey sports-bra.

“Great job, Vicky.”

She remembered to smile.

“A lot of bad bosses are always closed off from their employees, behind locked doors. A good boss should be accessible, shouldn’t they?”

“Yes!”

“Great. Of course, if you wanted to be a _great_ boss…”

“I do!” Vicky blurted out, unable to stop herself. She really wanted to be a great boss.

“I was hoping you’d say that. A great boss would be _completely_ accessible. Not just to talk to, but their whole body. Right?”

“Yes,” she said, even though she didn’t really follow.

“So if you’re a great boss, you should give your employees full access to your body at all times, right?”

“Uh…”

He was giving her that stern stare again.

“Yes…” she said, with a gulp.

Jeremy smiled, and began roaming his hands around her body.

She made sure to smile as he did.

“You know what I hate?” he asked, and she tilted her head to the side. She wanted to hear any and all suggestions he had to make. “I hate bosses that act like they’re smarter than you.”

Vicky nodded. She’d had _plenty_ of bosses like that.

“So a really good boss be the opposite of that, wouldn’t they?”

“Yes.”

“You want to be a good boss?’

“Yes!”

“All you have to do is act dumb. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Of course, a _great_ boss wouldn’t be acting. If you were a great boss, you’d really be dumb, wouldn’t you?”

Vicky thought for a long time, but then it started to hurt.

“Yes?” she eventually said, and Jeremy nodded. He seemed happy with her, so she smiled at him.

“And, of course, a bad boss would be dry and stuffy.”

“Yes!” she said. It seemed easier than thinking.

“So a good boss would be nice and wet.”

“Yesss…” she moaned. His finger moved below the waistline of her panties, and he grinned at what he found.

“You’re such a good boss,” he said, and she smiled as her employee lowered his pants.


	Don’t Touch Me

The stranger walked up to me, a huge smile on his face.

“Do I know you?”

“I’m pretty sure you do,” he said, laying his hand on mine. I tried to pull back, but his grip was too strong.

“What are you doing? Don’t touch me!”

“Okay,” he said, and moved his hand up to my face.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I asked, furious. “You’re welcome to touch my hand, but please stay away from my face.”

“Now that’s not very polite,” he said, but to my relief he returned to touching my hand. As he started running his thumb up and down the back of my hand, I mirrored the action, smiling at the casual intimacy.

“I’m Donald,” he said casually.

“Annette.”

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“No, actually. I had fifteen minutes to kill, and so I thought I’d get a coffee and some…—WHAT the HELL do you think you’re doing?”

The stranger—Donald, I suppose—had moved his hand up from mine, and was firmly cupping my breasts.

“You have a most lovely bosom,” he said with a smile.

“Get your hands off me! I don’t mind if you touch my hand—or my face—but we’re in public! What if someone saw you, groping me through my shirt?”

“Well, there wouldn’t be a problem if you took your shirt off.”

I could feel my face getting red with anger.

“I will NOT! Touch my breasts if you must, but you must be mad if you think I’m going to strip down in public.”

To my horror, Donald reached forward and started undoing my buttons, one by one.

“What the _hell_?” I hissed, but in response he simply moved one hand up to my mouth, and put two fingers inside.

“Suck,” he said, and I spat his disgusting fingers out angrily.

“I’m not going to suck on your fingers!” I declared, not even caring that the couple at the next table glanced over at my outburst. I pushed his other hand out of the way, and undid the rest of my buttons. When the last one was done, I shrugged off my shirt, and glared at the awful man.

“Okay then. How about my cock?”

The thought of sucking on a stranger’s cock was enough to make me gag, and to get the idea out of my head, I pulled his fingers to my mouth and started licking and sucking on them.

“No?”

I shook my head, gently tonguing his digits. He moved his other hand to my cheek, and stroked it comfortingly.

“Ah well. Let’s get this bra off, shall we?”

Again, I shook my head, and he looked at me sadly. To cheer him up, I dropped to my knees, and began undoing his fly. His cock, to my delight, was standing at attention, and I glanced up at Donald with a smile as I started sucking it.

For the next few minutes, we stayed there, me happily fellating the strange man, him happily being fellated. But then, of course, he had to push it—he firmly grabbed my hair, and started forcing his cock deep down my throat.

Pulling his erection out of my mouth, I looked at him sternly as I undid my bra.

“Really? Come on, now. Quit that.”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, eyeing off my firm tits as they came into view.

“That’s okay,” I said. “Just…respect the limits, okay?”

“Of course,” he said…but, unsurprisingly, it wasn’t more than a few seconds before he was reaching down to play with my nipples. Without missing a beat, I firmly moved his hand to the back of my head, and soon he was fucking my throat raw and leaving my nipples completely unmolested.

At least, until I reached up and began pulling and tugging on them myself.

It wasn’t long before Donald’s cum was splashing into my mouth—I swallowed it down obediently, and then stood up.

“It was really nice to meet you,” I said with a polite smile, “but I’m going to be late for my meeting if I don’t…hey!”

As I was talking, Donald had reached down and begun to unzip my dress with one hand, while grabbing my ass with the other. For a second, I was too overwhelmed to do anything, but I quickly collected my thoughts and moved his hands to my nipples.

“May I suck?” he said, and I rolled my eyes in fury.

“You just can’t leave it alone, can you?” I spat, wriggling out of my dress and turning around to give Donald easy access to my butt. “Men! You’re all alike.”

“You’re single?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”

Donald was simultaneously caressing my ass and tweaking my nipples at the same time, and I was starting to get warm.

“Divorced?”

I blushed. Was it that obvious?

“Yes.”

“How long has it been since someone touched you here?”

As he asked, one hand moved between my legs, and started stroking the gusset of my panties.

“Two years,” I answered quietly, and pulled his mouth to my breast so he’d stop asking such embarrassing questions. As he nibbled and sucked at my nipple, I moved my own hand between my legs, and continued where he’d left off.

“How about I fuck you?” Donald asked, and I froze, too scandalized by the question to answer. “You can come live with me, and I’ll fuck you all day long.”

“Of course not!” I said, shocked. “My daughter is at home waiting for me.”

“How old is she?” he asked, pushing my panties to the side and feeling my wetness. I shivered at his touch. Two years was _far_ too long.

“Eighteen,” I mumbled, not liking where this was going.

“How about she comes with us?” he leered.

“She’s my _daughter_ , you pig!”

I was trying to sound furious, but…well, Donald was really _very_ good with his hands.

“I’ll come with you,” I added, “but my daughter stays out of it.”

Donald considered my offer, as his hardness replaced his fingers.

“Final offer,” he said calmly, enjoying my sharp breath as his last few inches slid inside me. “I’ll come and live with the two of you.”

As he slowly pumped in and out, I considered it. He was very attractive, and I was sure Stephanie would like him…but what would the neighbors think?

“No,” I said finally, enjoying the man’s firm grip on my breasts as he fucked me over the cafe table. “We’ll have to come with you.”

“Very well,” he said, and I allowed myself to be lost in the pleasure of his touch.


	Teach

“Miss…”

Lucinda sighed, and turned. It was Patrick. Of course it was Patrick.

As a teacher, she knew that she wasn’t _supposed_ to have favorites. And if she was forced to say something nice about Patrick, it would be that he made that much easier. She’d never been even remotely tempted to favor him over the other students.

He was the worst, most inappropriate student she could ever remember having. It seemed to be his life goal to find lines and step over them—comments about her clothes, her body, her personal life; he never stopped.

She’d finally had him transferred out of his class, and hoped that would be the end of it.

No such luck.

“Yes, Patrick?”

“I have a question for you, Miss.”

“We’ve talked about this, Patrick. It’s inappropriate to…—“

The boy laughed.

“Oh no, Miss, it’s nothing like that.”

“What is it, Patrick?”

“We’re learning about different geometrical shapes, Miss, and I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Then ask your teacher, boy.”

“You were my teacher.”

“And now I’m not. Goodbye.”

Lucinda went to turn away, but she noticed the boy was holding something. Something…glittery.

“It’s just…”

She forced her attention away from the glittery object, and back to Patrick’s face.

“What?”

“It’s just that I’m struggling to identify this shape, Miss. All I need is for you to tell me what shape it is, and I’ll be on my way.”

Lucinda’s attention was forced back onto the shape. It was a…well, it was a…

It was one of the most fascinating things that she’d ever seen.

As she stared at it, she was aware that Patrick was talking. Whatever he was saying…didn’t seem important, somehow. At least, not important enough for her to consciously remember. She’d remember what he said, but not consciously. And once he snapped his fingers, she’d…

Lucinda blinked twice. She was alone.

She felt like she’d been doing something, talking to someone, but…no. No, she was alone.

Marching to her office, the young teacher started running over her plans for the evening. She was going to go home and…no, that didn’t seem right. She had a date with…no, that wasn’t right either. She was going to…

It wasn’t until she entered her office and closed the door that Lucinda remembered: she had a special, one-on-one tutoring session. In her office. That night.

Offering one-on-one tutoring sessions wasn’t strictly _allowed_ , so she had to be sneaky about it. If anyone found out, she could get in serious trouble.

Yes, it was a secret. A secret that no one could know about. She would not tell anyone about her secret tutoring session.

She sat behind her desk and patiently waited. Exactly as expected, at the correct time, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in!” she said, and was horrified to see her least favorite student walk through the door.

_Patrick_. Why had she offered a private tutoring session to _Patrick_?

“Come in,” she said curtly. “And lock the door behind you.”

Lucinda didn’t want anyone to know about the one-on-one class…and she _especially_ didn’t want anyone to know it was with the creepiest student in school.

“Let’s get this over with,” she snarled.

“Of course,” Patrick said. “You said this had to be a secret, right?”

“Yes,” Lucinda said with a sigh.

“If it’s really a secret, we’d better not leave any evidence.”

“Of course not,” Lucinda agreed impatiently. She wanted to get this class over and done with.

“Well if we’re both wearing clothes, we might accidentally get some evidence on them. Shouldn’t we take them off?”

Lucinda’s eyes widened. Patrick may have been a creep, but he certainly had a point.

“Quick quick,” she said, gesturing to his clothing. “Take everything off.”

“After you,” he said with a smile.

He just had to be difficult, didn’t he?

Lucinda quickly stripped out of her stuffy clothes. Patrick was staring at her DD breasts, slackjawed, and she suddenly realized what she’d done.

“Don’t _look_ ,” she hissed, trying to cover herself up with the paperwork on her desk.

“Don’t do that, Miss,” he said, eyebrows raised. “ _Evidence_.”

He was right. Lucinda immediately returned the paperwork to her desk, hoping she hadn’t ruined anything.

She raised her arms, barely managing to cover much of anything.

Patrick, in turn, quickly stripped off. His teacher rolled her eyes as his erection came into view.

Teenagers. Disgusting.

“Now,” she said. “Let’s start the class.”

“Of course,” Patrick said, staring directly at her tits. “But before we do, we should take some photos for the yearbook.”

“Fine,” Lucinda groaned. “But be quick about it!”

Patrick was not quick about it. But, the teacher admitted, she had to admire his thoroughness. He spent more than half an hour taking photos with his phone—her by herself, the two of them together, her on her desk, her on a chair…he wasn’t shy about directing her to strike all manner of poses.

Finally, he was done, and she returned to covering her nipples with her hands.

“Shall we begin?” Lucinda asked, and Patrick nodded.

“I need to learn about opposites,” he said.

“Opposites?”

Lucinda crinkled her nose. This wasn’t a part of any high-school curriculum she’d learned about.

“That’s right,” Patrick said. “‘Big’ and ‘small’, that kind of thing.”

“Very well…”

“The only trouble is, to avoid leaving any evidence, we can only use our bodies for examples.”

“Of course,” she nodded. Why was he wasting time telling her things she already knew?

“I want to start with big and small,” he said. “I have heard that all women have one boob that’s slightly bigger than the other. Is that true?”

“It can be,” Lucinda admitted reluctantly. He sounded like he was approaching one of his favorite hobbies; moving conversations into inappropriate territory.

“Is it true of you?”

And there he was.

“Patrick,” she began sternly, but he cut her off.

“Remember,” he said, “I only agreed to let you tutor me if you promised—no telling me off.”

Lucinda fell silent. She _had_ promised that. God knew why.

“Now, for the sake of my education…”

“It’s true,” she said softly. Something about this didn’t seem right.

“Don’t tell me which one.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Let me see if I can work it out.”

Lucinda wanted to object, but she couldn’t quite reason why. Patrick moved her hands, and began feeling and groping her breasts. The teacher gritted her teeth as she stood there, uncomfortably unwilling to disrupt the boy’s education.

Finally, he sat back with a huge smile.

“The right!” he said proudly, and the teacher couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s it!” It seemed the boy _could_ learn, after all.

“The next opposite,” Patrick continued, “is ‘wet’ and ‘dry’.”

“Okay,” Lucinda responded, her mind turning the idea over. “I suppose we could…”

“Let’s use that,” her student interrupted, pointing between her legs.

“I _beg_ your pardon?” Lucinda gasped. “You can’t honestly be suggesting…”

“It’s the best possible way to demonstrate wet and dry, Miss.”

Lucinda paused. He was right.

Again.

“Okay,” she gulped, slightly spreading her legs. “So, the, uh…”

“The pussy,” Patrick helpfully prompted.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Lucinda responded in a strained tone. “The…the _pussy_ is a naturally-lubricating sexual organ, which…—“

“This isn’t sex ed,” Patrick interrupted. “I just need to learn about opposites. Is it currently wet, or dry?”

“Dry,” the teacher rasped. “It’s definitely dry.”

“Can I feel?”

Lucinda paused. Her impulse was to say no, of course…but she was here to teach him opposites. How could he possibly be expected to learn the difference between wet and dry if he couldn’t even feel it?

“Of course,” she soon replied. “Just…be gentle, okay?”

Patrick was anything but gentle. Lucinda winced as he roughly separated her pussy lips, and ran his fingers up and down her slit.

_I hope this doesn’t confuse him,_ she thought. She wasn’t even remotely aroused, but she was worried that her normal level of lubrication would confuse him.

Finally, he stopped.

“Okay,” he nodded. “I think I understand.

“Now show me wet.”

Crinkling her forehead, Lucinda wondered how on earth he expected her to do that. He grinned arrogantly at her, clearly waiting for her to figure it out.

“Oh!”

She gulped.

“Oh.”

Looking around, as if something in the room was somehow going to save her, Lucinda mustered up the courage to start. She’d never touched herself in front of anyone before; previous partners had requested it, but she’d always refused.

But this…well, this was her job. She was an educator.

With a sigh, she reached down with one hand, and started lightly pinching the skin at the top of her slit. Patrick’s brow furrowed.

“How is that going to get you wet?” he asked, staring straight at her exposed pussy.

“This isn’t sexual education,” she reminded him, and—to her surprise—he fell silent.

For the next few minutes, Lucinda stimulated the very top of her clitoral hood. As her arousal built, slowly but steadily, she could tell that her musk was starting to fill the small office.

How embarrassing.

She fought through the shame, and—once she was sufficiently aroused—began moving her motions down. She used her dainty fingertips to expose and then softly rub her clit, dipping into her slit several times for lubrication.

“Ohhh…”

The teacher’s face went red as she involuntarily moaned with arousal. She’d never done this standing up before, and the sensations were different to what she was expecting. Still, she couldn’t sit down—that would risk leaving evidence.

After five minutes of playing with herself, Lucinda was breathing heavily. Her face was flushed, her nipples were standing at attention, and her student’s mouth was wide open, watching as she twitched with pleasure.

If she continued this way, she knew that she’d cum.

“I’m wet,” she finally gasped. “I’m…I’m wet.”

“Let me feel,” Patrick said.

As she expected, he crudely thrust his fingers into her hole once more. As promised, she was soaking wet, and he amused himself by reaching deep inside her, wiggling his fingers around, and then pulling them out to stare, fascinated, at the milky residue that her wetness left on his digits.

Then, he surprised her. Moving his hand up and using her own juices as lubrication, he mimicked her actions of the past few minutes, gently rubbing and stroking at her clit.

“What are you doing?” she asked, horrified. “Stop that!”

“I want to see if you can get any wetter,” he replied with a grin.

“I _can’t_ ,” Lucinda said, shutting her eyes. She shouldn’t have been enjoying this. He was a _student_ , and a horrible one at that.

He was just…surprisingly good with his fingers, and she’d been extremely turned on even when he’d begun.

“Stop it,” she reluctantly repeated, and to her great relief, Patrick obeyed.

“Okay,” he said, standing up. His erection was somehow even _harder_ than it had been earlier. “Now, I want to learn about ‘in’ and ‘out’.”

“Of course,” Lucinda said, looking around the room. Her mind was slightly hazy.

“But we can only use our bodies,” Patrick reminded her.

“Oh. Right.”

Before she could formulate a message, Patrick moved his fingers to her mouth. They were still covered with her wetness, and she could smell her own juices.

It smelled surprisingly good.

“Is this in or out?” he murmured, moving his fingers inside her mouth.

“Nnnn,” she said, tasting—for the first time in her life—her own lubrication.

“What’s that?” Patrick whispered, moving closer. She didn’t want him to bite her ear. Why would she want him to bite her ear?

“ _Nnnn_ ”, the naked teacher responded.

“I don’t understand,” Patrick smirked, removing his fingers.

“ _In_ ,” Lucinda said.

“This is in?” he said, a confused tone in his voice.

“No,” the teacher snapped. She was hot and bothered. “This is out. _This_ is in.”

Returning the boy’s hand to her mouth, she stood still, her tongue resting against his fingers. Her clit was throbbing, begging for attention.

Patrick pulled his fingers out of his mouth.

“I don’t understand,” he said, sounding strangely husky for a teenaged brat. “Maybe there’s something else we could use…”

Lucinda rolled her eyes. She wanted to finish the lesson and get the boy out of her office, so she could finish what he’d made her start.

She’d never cum at school before, but she knew that today would be her first time.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to think of a solution. Before she could, she gasped.

Patrick had moved his erection between her legs, and was pushing forward.

“ _What_ do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, wishing it didn’t feel so good.

“I’m learning in and out,” Patrick said. “This is the most obvious way to do it.”

Lucinda groaned. He was right. 

Why did it feel so _nice_?

“How long has it been since you were fucked?” he said, his voice quavering as he entered her.

“That’s a totally inappropriate question,” the teacher gasped. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked her.

“It’s for my unit on time,” he said, and Lucinda made a mental note to investigate why the boy had such a strange curriculum.

“Eight years,” she finally admitted.

“Wow,” Patrick said, and they both moaned as his pubic hair mingled with hers. “Well, it’s a good thing we have one of these sessions every few days.”

“It is,” Lucinda agreed. She had no idea why she’d organized to privately tutor Patrick, but she was starting to be glad that she had.


	We’ll Just Have To Fuck

“What do you mean you ‘don’t like giving head’?”

Cody raised one eyebrow, lowered her glasses, and stared over them at her boss.

“Mr. Monaghan,” she said, her smile audible. “May I remind you that you are my boss, and that we are at my place of employment.”

Jason laughed, and waved one hand at her.

“Mrs. Levine,” he said back, taking on a faux-haughty tone, “I am just expressing bewilderment at your statement of sexual preferences.”

The two of them laughed, and Cody leaned back in her chair. They hadn’t had any customers for half an hour.

“You’ve never met a girl who doesn’t like giving head?” she asked, and he scrunched up his forehead.

“No,” he answered, after a pause. “I really haven’t.”

“Well,” Cody said, striking a pose. “I guess I’m unique.”

A customer entered the store. As Jason talked him through the range of bookshelves they had available, Cody watched, a half-smile on her face.

“What’s to like, anyway?” she asked as soon as the store was empty.

“What do you mean?”

“Giving head. What’s the appeal meant to be?”

Jason chuckled.

“You’re asking me? Fucked if I know. Never done it, never want to.”

“Not even to a girl?”

Jason threw a pillow at her.

“That’s not giving head, you knuckle duster. That’s…”

He trailed off.

“Well, fine. I guess that’s giving head as well.”

“Do you like it?”

“Well enough,” Jason shrugged.

“How often do you…—”

“May I remind you, Mrs Levine,” Jason said, cutting her off. “That you are…—”

“Ha ha ha,” Cody said. “Seriously though—how often do you go down on your wife?”

She didn’t catch his reply.

“What was that?”

“When she asks me to,” he repeated. She thought she could see a tinge of red beginning to make its way up his neck. “How about you?”

“Never,” she said, looking him dead in the eyes. “I _never_ go down on your wife.”

She ducked, but the pillow still hit the side of her head.

“How often do you go down on Bradley?”

“Never,” she said. “Seriously. I don’t like doing it.”

“That’s so weird,” Jason said, staring into space. He turned to her and shrugged. “So I guess we’ll just have to fuck.”

Cody blinked twice.

“What?”

“You don’t like going down on guys, I’m not really that into going down on girls. So we’ll just have to fuck.”

Cody stared at Jason.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh.”

There was a long pause, before she shrugged back at him.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Come on,” Jason said, shucking his jacket and beginning to unzip his pants.

The young woman hesitated.

“You don’t like to go down on guys,” he repeated, staring into her wide eyes. “I don’t want to go down on girls. We’ll just have to fuck.”

“Okay…” she said slowly. One of her hands reached up and undid her top button.

“Do you like anal sex?”

“No,” she replied immediately. “But…”

Jason pulled his T-shirt off over his head as he waited for her to finish her thought. She didn’t.

“That’s fine,” he finally said. “We’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

Cody pulled her shirt off, and blushing slightly, unzipped and lowered her skirt as well. She was standing in front of her boss wearing nothing but a pair of black boots, a black bra, and a pair of white panties.

“You like it when a guy cums inside you?”

“Yeah,” Cody admitted. “But I always make my boyfriend wear a condom.”

“I’m not your boyfriend,” Jason replied. Cody nodded. He wasn’t.

Cody’s boss pulled his underpants down, revealing his erection. Cody’s ears were starting to feel warm.

“Last chance,” he said with a grin. “You sure you don’t want to taste this?”

She shook her head.

“Well then,” he said, grabbing his cock with one hand. “We’ll just have to fuck.”

Cody could feel the chill of the air conditioner on her skin as she undid her bra. As Jason stared at her hardening nipples, she smiled at him. She thought she was his erection thickening as she lowered her panties, and stood in her place of work, naked but for her boots.

“Bend over,” Jason ordered, and Cody nodded.

In a room full of furniture—including bedding—she thought that fucking her over a desk was an odd choice, but as his cock entered her, she closed her eyes and focused on the sensation. Inch by inch, his hardness entered her; her soft lips parted as she gave an unwilling moan of pleasure.

“You ready?” Jason asked, when he was halfway inside her, and she nodded.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, as he pushed the rest of his erection into her.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes,” she moaned.

“You like being fucked?”

“Yes…”

“Good,” he said, and began fucking her.

Jason grunted every time his public hair pressed up against her ass. Cody soon found herself huffing loudly, as she began breathing faster and faster.

“I’m…cumming…” she panted as she climaxed.

“You really like being fucked,” Jason groaned, and Cody nodded fervently in response.

She came twice more as she was fucked over the desk, alerting her boss each time. It was almost fifteen minutes before a red-faced Jason began twitching and bucking arhythmically; even though he didn’t announce it like she had, Cody could feel his cock spasming inside her, and knew that he was pumping a load deep inside her.

Cody shuddered with a fourth, much smaller orgasm as Jason pulled his cock out. Looking down, she could see globs of his cum on his dick.

She smiled at Jason, and he smiled back. The two of them started getting redressed.

“Oh, duh!” she said, as she pulled her panties back up.

“What is it?”

“I just remembered…”

“What?”

“Hand-jobs. I don’t like giving head, but I love giving hand-jobs. There’s something fun about having a guy finish on my face.”

Jason shot her a grin.

“You nincompoop,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Looks like we didn’t have to fuck after all.”


	You’re A Good Girl

“You’re a good girl,” Melissa’s boss said, nodding as she unstacked the shelf.

What the hell did he mean by that?

A part of Melissa wanted to turn around and just slap him. It was totally inappropriate. She couldn’t imagine the old man saying that to any of his other employees. ‘You’re a good boy,’ to one of the clerks, as he put a customer through—it wouldn’t happen. He was being totally sexist.

But he didn’t mean it that way, she knew. He was just a harmless old man. From a different time.

She tried to remind herself of that as she continued working, biting her tongue.

“You’re a good girl,” he said the next day, as she clocked in.

That one confused her a little. What exactly was she a good girl for doing? Coming to work?

He clearly didn’t mean it as a come-on. She was a fifth his age; no part of him could _possibly_ think that she was going to be interested in someone old enough to be her grandfather’s grandfather.

I mean, he wasn’t _that_ old, but still.

Perhaps he genuinely thought he was complimenting her. It made a certain amount of sense—‘good girl’ could hardly be interpreted as an insult.

He was probably using it in the same way as one might say ‘nice dress’, or ‘great shoes’ to a woman, when you’d never say anything even remotely similar to a man. Sexist, obvs, but fairly harmless, in the scheme of things.

“You’re a good girl,” he said again, nodding his approval as she tied her shoe. Before she could see the expression on his face, he was gone, pottering around the corner to do whatever he did when he wasn’t complimenting her.

What on earth was that about? She hadn’t even been doing anything work-related. Maybe the old man was starting to get a little dotty, moving around the store, spouting off outdated phrases at random.

It was so off-putting, it stuck in her head all day.

_You’re a good girl. You’re a good girl. You’re a good girl._

The next morning, she found herself hovering around his office. She tried to tell herself that her duties required her to do work in that particular area, but after she’d restacked the tomato cans half a dozen times, she couldn’t lie to herself any more.

She wanted to see him again.

She wanted to hear him say it.

To her disappointment, he must have had a lot of emails to catch up on (or whatever his generation used to communicate. Telegrams, or carrier pigeons or whatever), because she didn’t see him for the remainder of her shift.

“I’m a good girl,” she muttered, as she stayed back for fifteen minutes after the store closed, making sure that everything was spick and span.

To her delight, Melissa saw him as soon as she entered the next day. She’d gotten up early to iron her uniform, and she was even wearing makeup.

She knew that her boss liked women in makeup.

But as his eyes ran over her, her tension wasn’t relieved. He smiled at her—the kind, gentle smile he’d given her so many times before—and said nothing.

_Nothing_.

Melissa worked harder that day than she could ever remember working. To make up for how little she’d gotten done in the previous shift, she told herself. By the time it was time to go, every aisle of the store was spotless, every stray item returned to its proper place. She’d even sorted the toy rubber balls by color, leaving a tidy rainbow of bounciness.

She knew that he’d seen her, how hard she was working. He’d even stopped to make casual conversation for a few minutes; Melissa had hung on his every word, but he hadn’t said the specific four that she was holding out to hear.

More than an hour after she’d clocked out, Melissa finally called it a day. She wanted to get home in time to get a good night’s sleep, make sure that she was well-rested for her early shift the next day.

A month passed, in which Melissa tried harder each day to improve. All day, as she worked, a single phrase repeated in her head.

_You’re a good girl. You’re a good girl. You’re a good girl._

When she wasn’t working, she was doing research. The history of the company, the history of retail. Every site she could find, that described the attributes of a model employee.

Melissa was doing all she could to earn her boss’s praise.

Late at night, when her brain felt as though it was as full as a brain could be, she’d stagger into bed and masturbate to get to sleep.

As she did, she pictured the old man who owned the store, bestowing on her the four sweetest words in the English language.

The words had become more than an obsession, more than a phrase. They’d become a mantra. She lived her life to the beat of ‘You’re’, ‘a’, ‘good’, ‘girl’—after six weeks without hearing anyone but herself say them, Melissa had a revelation.

She was being a good _employee_. That wasn’t what her boss meant—if he’d meant ‘you’re a good employee’, he would have said so.

No, he’d been quite specific.

A good girl.

A good _girl_.

The next day, Melissa broke some of the rules. Instead of the regulation pants that the employee code of conduct demanded, she wore a black skirt. She eschewed the tie, and undid her top two buttons.

Her boss’s eyes lit up when he saw her.

“Very nice,” he said, giving her a kindly smile.

As he entered his office, Melissa followed him, closing the door behind him.

“Did you need something?” he asked, standing beside his desk.

“Please,” Melissa said, putting her hands on his concave chest. “Sir…”

As Melissa dropped to her knees in front of her boss, he grinned down at her.

“Melissa,” he said softly, enjoying the sensation of her lips wrapping around his cock. “You’re a good girl…”


	Confiscation

“Ms. Fontana?”

The raven-haired teacher looked up from her desk, to see Blake Black—one of her least favorite students—standing at her doorway.

“Mrs.,” she corrected him. “What is it, Blake?”

“You said I could come by after class to get my stuff back,” he said, crossing the room and standing at her desk.

The teacher’s brow furrowed, but after glancing into Blake’s dark eyes, she blinked twice.

“Ah yes,” she said, opening the top drawer of her desk. “Of course. Close the door, would you?”

“Yes, miss.”

As the door to her classroom swung closed, Mrs. Fontana stared into her drawer, confused. There were some paperclips, an old comic book, a rubix cube, and a handful of packets of gum…for some reason, none of these looked like what she’d confiscated from Blake.

What _had_ she confiscated from Blake?

“I’m afraid…—”

The words died in her throat as she glanced into her students eyes once more. There was a long pause, until the silence was broken by her student’s polite cough.

“The top, ma’am,” he said helpfully.

“Ah yes,” she nodded. “Of course.”

It took a minute to wriggle out of her top—not so much because it was tight-fitting, more because of the teacher’s ample bosom. As she removed it, she managed to knock her glasses from their perch on her nose, but once she’d disentangled those from the top, she handed it over to her student.

“There you go,” she said. “Now please, don’t let it distract you in class again.”

“I can’t help it,” Blake replied, grinning as though he was saying something clever. “This top is _very_ distracting.”

Mrs. Fontana sighed.

“Blake, we both know you’re a smart boy. But if you’re not going to pay attention, you’re never going to get anywhere in life.”

“If you say so,” he said. The grin was still there, as he ran his eyes up and down his teacher’s body. For a brief second, she felt self-conscious about sitting there in front of him, wearing nothing more on her top half than a black bra, but the feeling soon passed.

“Now, if there’s nothing else…”

A hurt look appeared on Blake’s face.

“You mean, I’m not going to get the rest of my stuff back?”

“N-no,” Mrs Fontana said. “That’s right.”

She had no recollection of confiscating any more of Blake’s stuff, but she wasn’t going to admit that to him.

“No, I’m going to hold onto the rest until you learn to behave yourself better.”

“Please, Mrs Fontana,” he said, a tone of worry in his voice. “If I don’t bring the bra home, I’m going to get into so much trouble from my parents.”

The dark-haired woman sighed, and reached behind herself.

“ _Fine_ ,” she grumbled, unclasping her bra. “But only because you said please.”

As she pulled her bra away, her large tits fell into view. A slight thrill ran through the teacher’s body at the adoring look on Blake’s face—she’d always been proud of her body, and it was a pleasure to get to show it off to someone other than her husband.

Wait, that wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be…

Another glance into Blake’s eyes distracted the teacher. She clasped her hands behind her back, pushing her chest forward, and tilted her head to the side.

“Now,” she said patiently. “If you don’t mind, I really need…—”

“I can’t go yet.”

Blake’s interruption made Mrs Fontana’s nose crinkle with annoyance, and her nipples hardened accordingly. No, that wasn’t…—

“Surely there’s something I can do to get the pants as well.”

Mrs Fontana tore her eyes away from her student’s, and glanced down at her pants. Why the hell had she even confiscated these from Blake?

Her first impulse was just to give them back, but she knew that she couldn’t make it too easy. If this problem student thought she was a pushover, she’d lose any chance of maintaining control in class.

No, she’d have to make him work for it. It was the only way of earning his respect.

“Blake,” she said. “You know I can’t just hand them over. You’ll never learn your lesson if—…stop that!”

While she was talking, Blake had reached out and begun tweaking and pulling on her nipples. She glared at him, but he didn’t seem even slightly deterred.

“You see,” she said, a frustrated tone in her voice. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! I am your _teacher_ ; you shouldn’t just be…oh!”

Blake had given one of her nipples a particularly hard pinch, distracting her and lighting up her nerves. He’d completely fluked upon one of her turn-ons, but she wasn’t going to let him know how much having her nipples pinched turned her on.

“If you want to get everything back,” she said, after taking a moment to calm down, “you need to show me that you’ve learned the error of your ways. By _behaving_ yourself.”

Despite her emphasis, Blake’s assault on her nipples never slowed for a second.

“Yes, Ms Fontana,” he said, staring straight into her eyes. “What would you like me to do?”

“You can start by calling me _Mrs_ Fontana, for a start,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“What if I just call you Louise?”

“Fine,” she sighed. Blake’s hands had gone from attacking her nipples to cupping her breasts. That was better, she supposed.

“What else, Louise?”

“Well…”

The teacher stared into her students eyes as she racked her brain, trying to think of something that would be appropriate.

“You could use your mouth, instead of your hands,” she eventually concluded.

“Yes, miss.”

Blake leaned forward. As she hoped, his mouth was just as talented as his hands. A warm feeling filled her body, and she could feel her toes curl. It had been almost a week since Mr Fontana had last brought her to orgasm, and she could feel the familiar tingles running up and down her spine as her student sucked on her bosom.

“Oh!” she groaned, as Blake bit down hard. “Yess…”

As Blake rolled her sensitive nipple around in his teeth, Louise rolled around in her chair with pleasure.

“Okay,” she gasped, after several minutes had passed. “That’s enough.”

With a nod, Blake stood straight, his eyes burning into her eyes once more.

“The pants?” he eventually asked, and she nodded.

“Take my shoes off,” she whimpered. She couldn’t wait to get home and ride her husband. For a moment, a worry hit her—how was she going to get home without a top?—but before she could explore the thought too deeply, Blake’s eyes had met hers once more, as he held her plain black shoes in his hands.

“You really should wear something more flattering to school, Louise,” he instructed, and she nodded.

Wait. Why was she…—

“Heels,” he said, and the teacher found herself nodding at his words once more.

There was a long pause as the pair stared at each other. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her nipples red and visibly excited. As she stared into her student’s eyes, she knew that she’d follow his suggestion. She’d wear heels to school the next day—black pumps, with a one-inch heel.

Two inches.

Three inches.

Four inches.

Five…

Before the number in her mind could climb any higher, Blake interrupted her thought process once more.

“The pants, miss?”

“Of course,” she nodded. She got up from her chair, turned away, and slowly removed her trousers. As she bent over, she wondered if Blake would be able to see how wet she was, how wet he’d made her. She bit her lip as she pictured him staring at her ass, and imagined him getting hard at the sight of her…

No.

No, this wasn’t right.

She shouldn’t be imagining her student getting hard. She shouldn’t be…stripping!? Why was she stripping in front of a student?

A blush covered the teacher’s face as she realized she was topless. And worse, she’d allowed him to…to _bite_ on her _nipples_. To openly fondle her in the middle of her classroom. What if someone came in!?

Her pants around her ankles, Mrs. Fontana turned to give Blake a piece of her mind. Before she could say anything, her eyes met his…and all of a sudden, she felt calm once more. Centered.

“Here you go,” she said, stepping out of her pants, bending at the knees so she could pick them up without breaking eye-contact. “Now please, I really should be getting home…”

“One more thing,” her student replied calmly. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

The teacher wanted to roll her eyes, but she found herself completely unable to look away from Blake’s gaze.

“What?” she asked softly.

“You said if I came by after class, you’d give back _everything_ you confiscated.”

Mrs. Fontana wrinkled her nose.

“I have. Haven’t I?”

“Almost,” he said, so softly it was almost a whisper.

A worried feeling appeared in Mrs. Fonana’s gut.

“What else?” she asked nervously.

“The panties,” Blake replied, smiling like a shark. “Can I have those back as well, please?”

The teacher’s hand unconsciously moved to her waist, and she felt the band of her panties. She hadn’t confiscated these from Blake, had she?

His gaze never faltered, and she realized she must have.

She could feel the black lace against her fingertips. She remembered the day that her husband had bought her these panties. She remembered trying them on for him, showing off her body, showing off his gift.

But at the same time, she knew that she’d confiscated them from Blake. It was a simple fact, like the fact that she was going to wear five-inch black pumps to school the next day.

Six-inch.

“No,” she replied, her voice cracking at the sheer effort it took to stand up to her student. That didn’t make sense either—she was a teacher, he was a student. _He_ should be afraid of _her_.

“No?” he said, a smile dancing around the side of his mouth.

“That’s right,” she said insistently. She was standing in her classroom wearing nothing but a black pair of panties and a pair of white socks. Her nipples were still throbbing from Blake’s stimulation, and she was soaking wet, but she knew that she couldn’t hand over her panties.

She couldn’t.

She _couldn’t_.

…not unless he proved that he deserved it.

“What do you want me to do?” Blake asked gently, and Louise almost fell over herself to answer him. She felt like she’d been falling down an endless pit, and he’d thrown her a rope. She was going to grab it, to pull it as hard as she could.

She stared into his eyes. She could practically hear the crackle of their gaze. At some point, his hand had moved to the gusset of her panties, and he was slowly stroking, touching her wetness, making it hard for her to concentrate.

“Please…” she said, not sure what she even wanted. ”Please…“

“You’re all wet,” he said. “Are you turned on, Louise?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she replied softly. “Umm…”

He’d moved her hand to the front of his pants now. She could feel his hardness. He was so big. So hard for her.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked again, and the teacher shook her head.

“Shouldn’t…” she gasped, as her hand attempted to encircle his erection.

“What should we do, Louise?” Blake repeated, and Louise could feel her inhibitions collapsing.

“Fuck me,” she panted. “Please…”

Blake nodded. “If you insist,” he grinned, unzipping his pants. Louise gasped at the sight of her student’s hard cock, the first cock she’d seen since she’d gotten married.

“Make me cum,” she purred. Her brain had given up the fight; her sexual organs were in control now. “Make me cum, Blake, and you can have…”

She trailed off. What had she promised him?

“…whatever you want,” she finally concluded, lowering her panties and spreading her legs. “Take whatever you want.”

“Thank you, Louise,” Blake said with a smile. “I’ll take you up on that.”


	Doctor, Doctor

“Not at all. This should be a routine check-up, nothing to worry about.”

Dr. McGill smiled comfortingly at her patient. Her concern was understandable; not all doctors were as tolerant as her. For many, an eighteen-year old woman with a penis between her legs would have been a medical anomaly, but she’d always ensured that Joanne felt comfortable when she came to visit her practice.

“Okay, doctor.”

Dr. McGill bustled around for the next few minutes, performing the standard tests. Temperature and pupil dilation were both normal, and nothing looked unusual when she looked deep into the woman’s throat.

“Yes,” she eventually concluded. “It looks like everything is fine. Unless, of course, you were worried about any particular condition.”

“Not at all, doctor.”

The middle-aged doctor opened her mouth to dismiss her patient, but she hesitated. Normally she’d conclude that everything was fine, but…well, it was always best to be safe.

“One last test,” she said confidently, and Joanne nodded obediently. “Just need you to take that off.”

“My…dress?”

“That’s right dear,” Dr. McGill said, trying not to let her annoyance show in her voice. “Hurry up now.”

Without another word, Joanne slipped her thin blue dress over her shoulders, and soon the young woman stood in front of her physician wearing nothing but a white bra and a matching pair of panties, against which her flaccid cock strained.

Again, the doctor moved around her patient, checking every inch of her exposed skin. Again, nothing looked amiss. Again, Dr McGill was about to let her put her clothes on again, when that same thought struck her.

She was a doctor, after all. She couldn’t let her patient go without being one hundred percent sure that _everything_ was okay.

“Remove these,” she said, breaking the silence. Joanne jumped slightly—it was clear to the doctor that her patient’s mind had been elsewhere.

“What?”

“Remove your bra. Panties, too.”

Without a word, the young woman completely disrobed, a slight flush in her cheeks as her doctor’s eyes ran up and down her body. Yes, she seemed to be completely healthy. Truth be told, there was very little more that she could ascertain about her patient’s health from seeing her completely nude.

The doctor suddenly found herself mirroring her patient’s blush. She had just asked a patient to strip nude. It had seemed medically relevant at the time, but now, she couldn’t remember why. If Joanne decided to tell anyone, another doctor, she could find herself having her license taken away.

What was she doing?

_No,_ she told herself. _Better to make it seem like this was totally intentional. After all, she’s a hermaphrodite—she’d expect a routine checkup to involve a close inspection of her penis._

_Hopefully._

To sell the inspection, Dr. McGill dropped to her knees in front of the nervous young woman. Reaching out with one hand, she lightly prodded her patient’s penis. It seemed to be a normal, healthy penis—and quite an attractive one at that. Thick, veiny, but not cartoonishly so.

She was about to get up and conclude the checkup when she remembered a new technique for checking the sexual health of young men. True, Joanne wasn’t a young man…but she did have a penis, and to ensure her patient’s wellbeing, she would have to perform the test.

“Don’t be alarmed,” she said, in the most professional voice she could muster. “But for this next test, I need to make you erect.”

Joanne nodded, and blushed deeper. Dr. McGill found herself blushing as well. Making her young patient erect? That couldn’t be right…but no, it was part of the procedure. She remembered it clearly.

Without hesitation, the doctor removed her glove, and wrapped her soft hand around her young patient’s penis. She’d never done anything sexual with anyone but her husband before, and she was relieved when Joanne’s penis started reacting in a similar manner as a result of her ministrations.

“There we go,” she said comfortingly. “Almost done now.”

She smiled up at the young woman, whose face was bright red. Her cock was fully erect in Dr. McGill’s hand—it had grown to be about three inches longer than her husband’s, and she was embarrassed to find that she quite liked the look of it in her hand.

“Almost done,” she repeated. “To ensure that absolutely nothing is wrong, I just need to taste your semen.”

Both the doctor and patient’s eyes widened simultaneously, and Dr. McGill briefly questioned her own sanity. Taste the semen of a patient? Was she mad?

_No,_ the more reasonable part of her brain reminded her soothingly. _It’s the only way to ascertain that there was no chemical imbalance._

_It’s medically necessary._

With a deep breath, Dr. McGill leaned forward and engulfed her patient’s penis with her mouth. Joanne let out a small squeak—a mix of pleasure and embarrassment—but Dr. McGill tried to ignore it as she began fellating her patient with gusto.

_The faster you go, the sooner this is over._

To her great shame, Dr. McGill found her body responding to the fellatio she was performing. Despite being for purely professional reasons, it was still a cock—and rather a nice cock at that—in her mouth, and she had always enjoyed going down on her husband.

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before the nervous young woman reached orgasm, reaching down and grabbing the doctor’s head as she did. Dr. McGill allowed Joanne to guide her mouth as she shot a thick, healthy load of cum into her mouth.

She stood up, a smile on her face.

“You’ll be pleased to know, you taste absolutely normal.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Joanne mumbled, and looked around the room nervously.

Dr. McGill was about to dismiss her, when a final thought struck her.

_You’ve gone this far,_ she realized. _It would be foolish to send her away without performing a fertility test._

A smile appeared on the doctor’s face.

“Now, Joanne,” she said calmly as she began undoing her white lab coat. “How quickly do you think you could get hard again?”


	The Power

The evil cackle was what should have given it away, Emily reflected.

When the witch had said that the Power would come at a cost, she’d agreed nonetheless. Not foolishly or impulsively—no, quite the opposite. Emily had vowed to use her new talents slowly, carefully. She’d intended to work out what the cost was, and then evaluate each use of her power on whether or not it would be worth the cost.

But that cackle.

Emily should have paid more heed.

The first time she’d used the Power, she’d found herself getting turned on by it. _That’s power,_ she’d told herself as she drove through the string of green lights she’d given herself for life, idly running her hand across her leg. _They say it’s seductive._

She’d watched carefully for the cost, but hadn’t been able to detect it.

The idea that her arousal _was_ the cost had never occurred to her.

Over the next few weeks, she’d only used it twice more. Just on little things—acing a test (and indeed, all future tests) at school, and fixing her eyesight.

Emily noticed that the answers in class came easier to her, and she _definitely_ noticed not needing to worry about glasses any more.

But she didn’t notice that she was near-constantly rubbing her legs together.

She didn’t remember that she hadn’t _always_ masturbated several times a day.

In an attempt to seek out the cost, she’d given into temptation. When the quarterback broke up with his girlfriend and asked her out, she’d noticed the thrill that ran through her body, but had put it down to the attention of a boy she’d had a four-year crush on.

Even as she climaxed in her car, rubbing one out in the parking lot, she didn’t notice anything strange.

The date.

That was when she’d started to piece it together. Benjamin’s attention, it was…electric. She wanted it. She wanted it with an intensity that surprised her.

And so even though she hadn’t worked out the cost yet, she started to make changes.

Her bust. Her hips. Her legs. The last of her acne.

With each small change, she felt more and more turned on, more…wild.

_This is what it’s like to be wanted,_ she told herself, preening as Benjamin’s eyes openly devoured her body. _God it feels good._

Benjamin had fingered her to orgasm on the date, and she’d gone home to get off twice more.

The next day at school, it felt like everyone was staring at her.

She loved it.

Unable to resist, she made a few more changes. Just a glance at her was now enough to turn a woman bi. Morality about cheating was eradicated by her touch. Any reason not to want her, not to have her…gone.

And with each change, she found herself wanting more, more, _more_.

That was when she realized. Her arousal was the cost. Each time she used the Power, her will was weakened, her resolve crumbled just a little bit more.

Emily tried to go the rest of the day without using the Power.

She failed.

Benjamin found her at lunch—as he ran his fingers through her hair, she almost came on the spot. She needed him, then and there. Biting her lip, Emily used her Power to ensure that she wouldn’t get pregnant, that nothing transmittable would be transmitted. A burst of Power meant that the room would watch her and Benjamin without judging, watch him take her, watch her squeal with pleasure under his muscular body.

As he came inside her, her whole body trembled.

It was the best sex she’d ever had.

And she wanted more.

Emily couldn’t resist using the Power again in her next class. She didn’t need to study, after all—not while she had the Power. And so she’d taken her two lab partners in Chemistry, one of them taking her (now ultra-lubricated) pussy, the other fucking her throat. In Biology, she’d had two women sucking on her tits while she bounced up and down on the largest cock in her classroom. And in Ancient History, she’d given up on any pretense of class, and fucked the teacher while the entire room masturbated.

Had fucking a teacher always been a fantasy of hers, or was that the Power at work?

With each change, with each use of the Power, she felt like she was spiraling further out of control. She needed to be touched, to be wanted, to have as many eyes and hands on her skin as possible. Crashing the cheerleader practice after school, she had all nineteen of them worship her body, bringing her to screaming orgasm after screaming orgasm. At the football game that night, she was coated with the cum of both teams and half the crowd.

By the time sunrise came, Emily was a sex goddess. She made every change she could think of to make herself more desirable, more able to bring people pleasure. Her soul was chipped away until she was nothing but walking sex. Everyone wanted her, and she wanted them.

As the sun rose, she heard it again.

The cackle.

“Well well well,” the witch said.

Emily was surrounded by half the town, in a naked pile of lust. As she stood, the dried cum slid off her perfect skin. As she smiled, everyone in the room immediately felt revived, replenished, ready for more.

But the witch was unaffected.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve never been this happy.”

The witch waved off her words dismissively.

“Happy isn’t what I do,” she said. “The Power has a cost, but you’ve nothing more to pay.”

“What do you want?” Emily asked.

“I too used the Power,” the witch replied gleefully. “I used it frugally, but my cost was ambition, and I’m nearly out. You took the Power to get into law school, yes?”

“Yes.”

“People will come,” the witch said. “You’ve corrupted more than yourself; you’ve put the entire town at risk. But I will protect you. You may keep the changes, you may keep the town. All I ask is your ambition.”

Emily hesitated. Her ambition? Ever since she was a little girl, she’d dreamed of saving people, putting wrongs right, doing all she could to make the world a better place.

She glanced around. Would she rather follow that dream, or spend every day of every hour being fucked from all sides, used for pleasure?

“Take it,” she said quietly.

The witch cackled as she left. Emily dove back into the pile of flesh, a smile on her face.

She had no regrets.


	Rebel

The therapist looked over his glasses at the young woman sitting in front of him.

“Now,” he said, his words slow and deliberate. “Adriana, is it?”

“Yes,” she sullenly replied, rolling her eyes. She didn’t want any part of what was happening. She didn’t want to be sitting in the expensively-furnished room, she didn’t want to be talking to the weedy-looking man in glasses, and she especially didn’t want to be answering his dumb, pointless, stupid questions.

“Tell me why you think you’re here.”

“Isn’t that your job?” she snarled in response.

The therapist grinned in response—a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I think you’ve confused therapist and psychic,” he replied, lightly tapping his pencil against the pad in front of him.

Adriana’s eyes were drawn to the pencil. It was unusual that he was using a pencil at all—when she thought of pencils, she imagined being back in grade school, working to earn her ‘pen license’. It was almost comical, a fully-grown adult like him using a pencil for professional work. Pencils were for play.

This was going to be fun.

But more than that, it wasn’t a standard pencil. She could imagine a standard pencil easily. Made of a light brown wood. Yellow sides—schoolbus yellow. Capped off with a pink nub of an eraser. Perhaps some black writing down the side, listing the brand.

The image was clear in her mind.

Instead, the therapist had a sparkly pencil. The kind that the richest boy in class would have. Where everyone else had the standard, unbranded pencil, one kid would come in with a case full of sparkly pencils covered in glitter. You’d know that they were his. They would be returned to him whenever one was found.

Everyone knew they belonged to him.

Why did her therapist have a sparkly pencil? At least it was in blue—not pink or purple or green. Nothing light and flippant and girly. Not the kind of pencil you’d expect an airhead to carry, someone who was desperately trying to project an image of youth, childishness. Glittery and sparkly, yes, but masculine. A man’s pencil.

Her therapist was a man.

As he tapped it, Adriana couldn’t look away. The sparkles reflected every light source in the room. Staring into them, she felt like she almost tell exactly where each glimmer came from. The window, behind her. The lamp, by her therapist’s side. The light, in the middle of the ceiling. So many light sources in the room. That was a good thing. It made everything so easy to see.

Everything was clear now.

“What was that?” she said, looking up from the pencil. How long had she been staring at it? She felt slightly dazed.

“I said that your mother told me the issue was one of rebelliousness.”

If he’d said that to her ten minutes ago (had she even been here ten minutes?) Adriana knew that she would have rolled her eyes and gotten annoyed. Her mother was a bitch.

But something about the way the question was asked stifled Adriana’s natural impulse to be mad about it, and instead she nodded.

“Mm-hmm,” she said, wondering if her therapist noticed the way her breasts bobbled slightly when she nodded. She wasn’t wearing a bra—he must have noticed. Men always noticed.

She knew her mother had noticed. That’s why she wasn’t wearing one; her mother hated it, and Adriana practically lived to piss her mother off.

“Talk to me about that.”

Again, Adriana’s reaction surprised her. If he’d asked her the same question when she’d first arrived half an hour ago, she would have snapped at him, maybe thrown in a swear word just to see the look of shock on his face. To show him that she meant…well, not business. Whatever the opposite of business was. Anarchy.

To show him that she meant anarchy.

But again…there was something about his tone. His demeanor.

She still wanted to get a reaction out of him, but not the same reaction she strived to evoke from her mother.

Adriana didn’t want to shock him. She wanted to…impress him.

She wanted his respect.

“I hate her,” she replied simply. Politely.

Demurely.

“She’s constantly trying to enforce her rules on me.”

“That sounds frustrating,” the therapist said sympathetically, and Adriana’s heart swelled. Yes! He _got_ it.

She’d only gone to this therapy session because her mother had forced her to. She’d planned on behaving so poorly that the therapist would report back that she was a lost cause, an uncrackable case. Then her mother would be fucked.

But—to her utter surprise—Adriana seemed to have found an ally. A therapist who _actually cared_.

She never would have believed it.

“So you rebel to get her attention?”

“No,” Adriana said, after a moment’s thought. “Not exactly. I could do any number of things to get her attention. I rebel to piss her off.”

“Ah,” the therapist said with a smile. “Nice.”

The teenage girl’s eyebrows shot up at her therapist’s reaction. The sympathy, that was unexpected but made sense.

The support? She hadn’t seen that coming at all.

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” he said, jotting something down with his sparkly pencil. Adriana’s eyes were briefly drawn to it once more, before her new friend continued, and her focus returned to his face. It was a handsome face. Masculine.

Strong.

“Trust me, I talk to a lot of kids with shitty parents. If you’re completely disempowered under them, sometimes that’s the only thing you can do—a sort of non-violent resistance, so to speak.”

“Exactly!” Adriana replied, throwing her hands in the air triumphantly. “You get it!”

“Of course…”

He frowned, and Adriana leaned forward, suddenly desperately curious to hear what he had to say. He was so understanding, he seemed so intelligent. She was sure that any advice he offered would be well worth hearing.

“What?”

“Well, I was just going to say…I don’t want to sound like I’m overstepping, of course.”

“Please,” Adriana said. “I want to hear. I promise.”

“There’s always a risk of being slightly too obvious about it.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“It might seem so, on the surface level. But if she _sees_ you trying to piss her off, it’s going to lose its effect over time, isn’t it?”

Adriana narrowed her eyes as she processed what her therapist was saying.

“I guess…”

“I mean, if you’re rebelling against the state and they catch you, they’ll just execute you. If you really want to implement change, you can’t get caught.”

The young woman licked her lips in confusion.

“I don’t mean your mother will execute you,” her therapist clarified with a laugh. Adriana found herself laughing along as well—this guy was _funny_. She hadn’t been expecting that, either. “But…well, she knows what you’re doing, and that’s why you’re here. She’s caught you, so to speak, and sent you to me.”

“Yeah,” Adriana nodded. “But I don’t mind. You seem great.”

“Well, thanks,” the therapist said, nodding his acknowledgement of her compliment. “But you’ve got to understand—I’m the best of the best. Parents who send their kids to me always, always get a well-behaved kid back.”

Adriana felt her guard starting to rise, but the man’s next words were delivered with a comforting smile.

“…or so they think.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning forward.

“Well, as you can probably tell, I tend to be on the kids’ side. I think the parents deserve everything these kids can throw at them. But rather than rebelling openly, I encourage a more…subtle approach.”

“Like what?”

The therapist grinned—a broad smile that seemed to fill the room.

“Why aren’t you wearing a bra?” he asked, gesturing at the teenage girl’s more-than-generous chest.

“To piss off my mother,” Adriana replied immediately and honestly. She was glad that he’d noticed. She did it to piss off her mother, sure, but the attention it drew from men was a welcome side-benefit.

“And why do you think that pisses her off?”

The young woman considered the question. She’d never particularly thought about it before—she’d just known that it _did_ piss her mother off, and hadn’t bothered breaking down the reasoning behind it.

“Because,” she eventually answered, “she wants me to be a proper lady.”

“Exactly,” the therapist said, his smile turning up at the corners. “Your mother wants you to be a good girl. So to rebel, you dress like a slut.”

A strange feeling came across Adriana, like she wanted to object.

But she didn’t. The man was right.

She was dressed like a slut.

“Now, dressing as a slut is effective. It pisses your mother off. But it’s too obvious—she can see it, tell you to change. Right?”

“Right,” Adriana nodded. Her mother tried to tell her what to wear _all the time_.

“So do the same thing, but in a more subtle way. Stop dressing like a slut; your mother can shut it down too easily.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“ _Be_ a slut,” the therapist hissed, and Adriana widened her eyes at the suggestion.

“Ohhhh,” she gasped. He was so right. It was such a good idea. She had to become a slut.

The image was clear in her mind.

This was going to be fun.

“Your mother would be so pissed off by that, wouldn’t she?”

Adriana nodded.

“Her daughter, on her knees, sucking cock. Getting her holes stretched by cock. Can you imagine her reaction?”

“Yesss,” Adriana said. God, her mother would be _so mad_ if her daughter was a slut.

It would be the perfect way to rebel.

“You’ll have to be careful, of course,” the therapist warned. “Don’t fuck anyone at school, or take anyone home. Nowhere your mother could catch you and shut it down. No, you’d need someone secret. Someone confidential. No connections to anyone else…someone who your mother would never suspect.”

As he spoke, the therapist rolled the pencil around in his fingers. Perhaps it was the glimmering lights, or perhaps it was just a random flash of inspiration, but Adriana knew exactly what to do.

Everything was clear now. She needed to find a man to fuck. To suck off. She needed to find someone who would use her like a cum dumpster, treat her like a slut.

She needed a man.

Her therapist was a man.

“I think I have an idea,” Adriana said, pulling her shirt over her head, allowing her large breasts to fall into view.

“Oh yes?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, dropping to her knees. “I think I know exactly what will piss my mother off the most.”

As she fumbled with her therapist’s belt, trying to get his cock into view as quickly as possible, he murmured a question.

“What’s that?” she asked, letting out a small gasp as her therapist’s erection sprang free.

“I said that if you want this to work, you’ll have to be the perfect daughter in every other way. Otherwise your mother will suspect something, won’t she?”

Adriana nodded.

“I can help you with that,” he continued. “I’m an expert in these things. I can tell you exactly what to do, exactly how to behave. Does that sound good?”

“Uh huh,” Adriana murmured, before slipping her mouth over the head of her therapist’s cock.

“You’ll do everything I say, won’t you?”

The teenage girl nodded her approval, hoping he could distinguish it from the bobbing of her head as she slowly began blowing him.

“And in return, whenever you come in here, I’ll fuck you. I’ll treat you like a slut. I’ll stretch out each of your holes. You’ll be sticking it to your mother. You’ll be a total slut. And all you have to do is obey my every command.”

She grunted her approval.

“Good girl,” her therapist said with a smile. “Good little slut. Good little rebel. You’re mine.”

_I’m yours,_ Adriana thought, closing her eyes as her therapist began to fuck her throat. She wondered how many of his other patients he’d suggested something similar to. How many other teenage girls he’d made into his own personal sluts. How many other rebels walked out of his office knowing they were his.

Everyone knew they belonged to him.

* * *

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	Nurse

Nick smiled as the nurse entered the room. Josie grit her teeth, and tried to ignore his leer.

She was used to this reaction from male patients. She knew that she was attractive, but meeting dozens of strangers each and every day had quickly removed any thrill she got from male attention.

Now she just tried to get through her shift without being clumsily hit on.

“What seems to be the problem, Nick?” she asked, crossing the room and turning off the call light.

“This,” he replied, and lifted his blankets to show her.

The young nurse’s eyes widened—there was an odd swelling between Nick’s legs. It looked like it was a painful, throbbing red, clearly not natural…but at the same time, strangely familiar.

As Josie stared at the young man’s malady, she tried to place it. In her three years working at the large hospital, she’d seen a lot, but this was…different. Like it wasn’t something she’d encountered professionally.

Like it was something she’d seen in her personal life.

She tried to focus. “I’ll get a doctor,” she said firmly, but before she could even turn towards the door, Nick stopped her.

“Please,” he said, a note of urgency in his voice. “I need _your_ help. Now.”

“The doctor will know…—“

“No!” he interrupted. “I’m sure this is something you can help with, Josie.”

Josie bit her lip thoughtfully. On one hand, protocol demanded that she call a doctor in…on the other hand, Nick really looked like he was suffering.

“Okay,” she said, taking a step towards him. “Let’s see what we’ve got here. How long has it been like this?”

“Since you entered the room,” he said, and the young nurse’s eyebrows shot up. She’d entered less than a minute ago—if it was swelling at this rate, it could be dangerous.

“Does it hurt?”

“Mmm…” Nick replied non-commitally. “I wouldn’t say that exactly. But if it stays like this for too long, I think it will.”

Josie nodded. Probably an infection. And the kid was right—if it wasn’t treated, it would continue to grow, and he’d be in for a world of pain.

She glanced at the door once more. This was clearly something she should get a doctor to assist with…but the patient had been very clear that he wanted her to help. Immediately.

“I bet it just needs to be drained,” he suggested, and the nurse nodded. At least in the short-term, that was bound to help. And perhaps if she drained it, he’d calm down enough to let her fetch the physician in charge.

“Let’s see what we can do,” Josie said, pulling a pair of gloves out of the box on the wall. Nick blanched at the sight of them. “What’s wrong??”

“Do you really need those?”

Josie looked at the blue latex in her hand, confused. “Of course I do. If this is an infection—actually, even if it’s not—these protect you from whatever’s on my hand, and me from any germs that the wound might be carrying.”

“I don’t think it’s a wound…” Nick said, glancing down at it. Josie followed his gaze.

Now that he’d said it, she had to agree. Though the swelling was an angry red, there were no signs of abrasion or bleeding.

“Even so,” she said, and a frustrated expression appeared on her patient’s face.

“Can’t you just wash your hands?”

Josie narrowed her eyes at the request, before it dawned on her. He must have had an allergy, and be too embarrassed to talk about it.

There were hypoallergenic gloves back at the nurse’s station, but she felt like he wouldn’t much like it if she headed back to get them. And he looked so distressed by the blue gloves in her hand…

With a sigh, Josie decided that she’d break protocol, just this once. At least until she got help.

“Fine,” she replied softly, crossing the room to wash her hands thoroughly. “But if anyone asks, I was wearing gloves, kapische?”

“Of course, nurse,” Nick replied with a satisfied smile.

When Josie returned to the young man’s side, her mouth twisted with worry. The swelling had begun to leak; looking closer, she saw that there was a slight opening at the very end of the protrusion.

It almost looked like…a neat cut. Just a single small slit, no more than three quarters of an inch in length.

But if it had been an incision, or a tear, she would’ve expected much more than a small dribble of clear liquid to emerge from it.

Something odd was going on here, and Josie was going to investigate.

Reaching out gingerly, Josie brushed her exposed fingertips against the cylindrical bump that her patient had presented her with. She almost jumped as the young man surprised her with a soft groan.

“Are you okay?” she asked clinically, and he nodded. “That feels…good.”

The nurse narrowed her eyes. She’d never encountered a protuberance that felt ‘good’ when touched.

What the hell was this thing?

“You’re sure it doesn’t hurt?” she asked, and Nick shook his head fervently.

“I promise.”

Unsure of exactly what to do, she once more stroked the side of the long, thick bulge in front of her. This time, she didn’t let Nick’s moan faze her; instead, she just watched to see how his unusual problem reacted to her ministrations.

After a few gentle strokes, the mysterious medical malady pulsed, and another wave of transparent liquid emerged from the small hole.

“That seems to be working,” Nick advised with a soft groan. “And it feels so good…”

Josie normally couldn’t stand patients who thought they knew better than the trained medical staff tending to their issues…but since his condition had left her baffled, she figured she’d take whatever help she could get.

“Just tell me if you start to feel any pain,” she said, and Nick nodded.

“I swear, I will.”

After just a few minutes of experimentation, Josie started to feel as though she had a handle on what was working to drain the swelling between her patient’s legs. It seemed to respond well to a gentle up-and-down motion, almost like milking a cow.

Before long, she wrapped her hand around it. A quick glance at Nick’s face told her that the act wasn’t causing him any harm—in fact, if she was reading his facial expression correctly, he seemed to be loving it.

The nagging feeling of familiarity kept returning as she increased the pace of her stroking (a change which had yielded an immediate positive reaction from Nick). It was as though she’d done this before…not just once, but many times.

And not just this. It was as though she’d done something just like this, which had led to other…similar actions.

She’d never so much as visited a farm, so she knew it wasn’t milking a cow, or a goat, or whatever other animals one milked. It vaguely resembled shaking a maracca, or grating cheese, or a dozen other repetitive actions…something _like_ that, but none of them were quite right.

As she pumped her bare hand up and down the young man’s growth, wracking her brain for why this seemed like something she’d done before, Josie noticed that something had happened. The bump was swelling, like a flesh volcano ready to erupt.

She pulled back just in time (despite the fact that she was offering medical help, she’d instinctively begun moving her face closer and closer to Nick’s problem) as an off-white discharge left the young man’s growth. It had a strong small (which was also irritatingly familiar)—almost like bleach.

None of it hit her face, but some dribbled onto the hand that she’d been draining him with.

“Feel any better?” she asked, moving to the sink to wash off her patient’s bodily fluid.

“Mm-hmm,” he replied, a satisfied look on his face.

When she returned, she was surprised to see how much Nick’s odd swelling had shrunk by. It seemed wildly disproportionate to the amount of fluid that had left his body…but if there was one thing she’d learned in her career as a nurse, it was not to argue with results.

“It looks like this is going to go away by itself,” she said, using a cloth to wipe the discharge off the young man’s body. “You got lucky.”

“What if it doesn’t?” he asked, sounding strangely unconcerned by the prospect.

“Well, then you’ll tell me, or the doctor.”

“Are there any female doctors?” he asked, and Josie shot him an odd look.

“Of course there are female doctors. Tomorrow night Dr. Singh will be the physician in charge of this wing.”

“Good,” he said, covering himself up with a blanket. Josie opened her mouth—she’d wanted to dress his…wound?

No, that didn’t make sense. Nick didn’t have a wound.

Did he?

What was she here for?

“I’ll let her know if I run into any trouble with it tomorrow…”

“Great,” Josie said, feeling slightly disoriented. And strangely wet between the legs, as though she’d just spent fifteen minutes engaged in foreplay with her boyfriend. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”

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	Practice

“Why are you even here?” Lindsay asked with a scowl. “You know Jeff doesn’t get home until eight.”

“I know,” Michael replied with a shrug. “He said I could come by early.”

“I wish he wouldn’t,” Lindsay muttered, loudly enough that she knew Mike could hear it.

She didn’t understand what her boyfriend saw in his ‘best friend’. They’d known each other since childhood, and if she could have had her way about it, that would have been the _last_ time they hung out.

But Jeff was loyal—it was one of the things she loved about him. She’d been cheated on before, and finding someone as caring and affectionate and loving as her boyfriend wasn’t easy.

She was determined to hang onto him, to do him right.

Even if his best friend was a sleaze.

“Thanks,” she said, rolling her eyes, as Michael handed her a beer. Like they were his beers, like he hadn’t just gone into her kitchen and—without asking—grabbed one of _her_ beers. He’d even opened it for her; what a presumptuous asshole.

As she took her first sip, she realized Michael was watching her carefully.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, a smile appearing on his face as she took another gulp of the cool beverage. “I was just wondering why the hell Jeff and you are having problems in the bedroom.”

Lindsay instinctively raised her eyebrows. She and Jeff had never had…—

Lindsay blinked twice, then nodded.

“Yeah,” she said, annoyed that her boyfriend had shared the intimate details of their love-life with his creepiest friends. “I mean, it happens to everyone after a few years, right?”

“Nope,” Michael replied. Again, Lindsay’s face flashed with indignation, and she opened her mouth to…—

Agree.

“You’re right,” she said. Fucking Michael. Why couldn’t he just let her pretend that this was a common problem?

“The problem is probably head,” he said cautiously, almost like he was testing the waters. Now Lindsay _knew_ he was trying to provoke her—Jeff had told her on many, many occasions that…—

“Probably,” she sighed. “I mean, that makes the most sense, right?”

Right?

“Uh huh,” Michael said. His demeanor had changed, somehow. He was more confident. Cocky.

Cockier than normal, even.

“I’ll tell you what,” he continued, after a thoughtful pause. “I actually know a lot about these matters.”

Yeah, as if a creep like him would…—

Lindsay nodded. He was an expert, after all.

“Why don’t you practice on me?”

Lindsay narrowed her eyes, genuinely confused by the question.

“Practice what?”

“Giving head is a skill that you master over time. I want you to practice your cock-sucking ability on me. On my cock.”

Lindsay’s eyes widened. How _dare_ he suggest that…that…—

“Good girl,” he smiled down at her. She was on her knees in front of the couch he was sitting on, her hands already unzipping his pants. Normally Lindsay didn’t like being called a ‘good girl’, especially by a creepazoid like her boyfriend’s best friend, but as the words rolled around her head, she had to acknowledge a certain truth to them. She _was_ being a good girl. She was practicing sucking cock so she could better please her boyfriend.

“Thanks,” she said, before lowering her mouth onto his waiting erection.

Normally Lindsay was turned on while she sucked cock. Of course, normally it was the cock of someone she was in a loving relationship with, and not a waste of space she was forced to interact with purely due to proximity.

But in some ways, it was good that she wasn’t aroused. It allowed her to focus, to really give the blowjob everything she had. She pulled out every trick she had—deep-throating, playing with Michael’s balls, maintaining eye-contact. She even moaned and panted like she was about to get off.

Of course, normally she wasn’t faking.

Within a few minutes, Michael was cumming down her throat. She swallowed his first string down enthusiastically, then pulled out so he could shoot his second load onto her face, and watch some of it drop down onto her tits. She knew guys liked that.

“Well, I have some good news and some bad news.”

“What’s the good news?” Lindsay asked.

“Finish your beer first,” Michael instructed.

“I’m not thirs…—“

His smile was back as she gulped down the rest of the bottle. It gave her a warm glow—normally she didn’t pound down alcohol like a frat boy, but Michael was right. It would help relax her while he gave her the news.

“The good news is that you’re _great_ at giving head.”

“Okay, inappropr…—“

Michael tilted his head to the side.

“Thanks,” she smiled. It was always nice to receive a compliment.

“The bad news is that it must be something else.”

Lindsay followed Michael’s eyes. He was glancing at the clock on the wall.

“We still have forty minutes before Jeff gets home. Is he ever early?”

“No, he’s nev…—“

“He is!” Lindsay said firmly. “All the time.”

Rolling his eyes, Michael muttered something under his breath. Unlike her own jab earlier that night, it clearly wasn’t intended for her ears, but she managed to catch the gist of it. “Better be careful of what I say”, or something like that.

Why would he have to be…—

Lindsay totally agreed. It _was_ important to be careful of what you said.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Michael said slowly. “We might have to do this a lot, to practice. You don’t want to disappoint Jeff, do you?”

Clenching her fists, Lindsay stood up. Who the fuck did this little ratbag think he…—

“Of course not,” Lindsay replied, biting her lip nervously as she lowered her pants. God, she hoped that all this practice paid off.

She just wanted to be the best girlfriend she could be.

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	The Stranger at the Restaurant

My husband got so mad when the stranger kissed me.

I love Phil, but he can sometimes be quite odd. Of course my mouth was available to the stranger who’d walked up to our table; frankly, I thought my husband’s reaction was quite rude.

He even started loudly protesting when the man released one of my breasts from the black dress I was wearing. It was our ten-year anniversary, so I’d really dressed up for the occasion. My outfit was beautiful—a simple black dress that showed off my legs, and highlighted my small, perky breasts.

Fortunately, the stranger was unperturbed by my husband’s outburst. He’d been very confident from the moment he’d walked up to the table and started taking my mouth. I had no idea what Phil was so upset about, but I was soon able to put his strange reaction out of my mind and let myself escape into the kiss.

I would have been quite content to simply lock lips with the stranger all night, but I certainly didn’t mind when he slipped his hands around my waist and lifted me onto the table. He was quite a bit taller than me (or my husband), so perching me on the table allowed him to kiss me without bending over.

“Samantha!” my husband cried out, trying desperately to get my attention. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I didn’t respond. The stranger pulled back and stared at my face, which was flushed red with passion. His eyes were full of hunger.

I didn’t want him to stop.

“Please, Samantha...”

That’s when it happened.

As the stranger slipped one hand into my dress, Phil’s voice fell quiet, and I noticed my husband’s attention had been drawn from me. Now he was staring at the man, too. No, he wasn’t just staring—he was mesmerized. I didn’t know why, but I was very happy that he’d fallen quiet.

The stranger reached down and cupped my breast through the thin material of my dress. He pinched both my nipples between his thumb and forefinger; one through the dress, one directly.

His touch was hot and electric. I felt the room spinning.

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “This is amazing.”

He looked over at my husband, as though seeing him for the first time. “You have such a beautiful wife,” he said. “She looks so hot in that dress. It’s sexy as hell. She should dress like this more often.”

My husband stammered an apology—I didn’t catch exactly what he said, I was too distracted by the man’s ministrations.

“Do you mind if I take a look?” asked the stranger.

Phil shook his head, of course. He had finally worked out how rude he was being.

I stood up, and the stranger slowly, carefully began to undress me, unzipping my dress, lowering it to my waist, and revealing my bare breasts to anyone who could see. The restaurant. My husband.

I didn’t care. His gaze was the only thing that mattered to

I could feel his erection poking at my back as he moved behind me. I gasped as he squeezed my ass cheeks, and he rubbed my pussy through the dress.

“Don’t stop,” I moaned. Please...”

The stranger smiled, and then kissed me deeply. It was as though the entire restaurant fell away; all I was aware of was the stranger, his mouth on mine, his hand on my pussy, stroking, caressing, making me feel things that I had never felt before. Things that Phil had never made me feel.

The stranger’s touch was like a drug—as his hands worked their magic, I shivered with pleasure. When he finally pulled away from me, I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him hungrily once more.

But I didn’t.

I kept my arms at my side, not moving.

“Would you like me to continue?” he asked, a smug look on his face. “To use your body for my own pleasure? To explore every inch of your beauty until you’re moaning in ecstasy, or begging me to give yourself to me completely?”

I did. Of course I did. I wanted nothing more than to give myself to the stranger, to let him take me as his own. I knew that I belonged to him.

But I didn’t say a word.

I knew that if the stranger wanted to use me, he would, and that nothing I said could affect that.

My husband, however, didn’t stay silent.

“Use her,” he begged. “Please, use my wife.”

The stranger smiled, and then began to slowly undo his belt and zipper. He tugged at my dress, letting it fall to the floor. I was completely exposed in the middle of the restaurant, and I loved it. It felt so right. He yanked down my panties, and then stripped off the rest of his clothes.

“I want to watch you,” he said, leaning back, and I immediately knew exactly what he meant.

Scooting my bare ass onto the table which Phil and I had been eating at just a few minutes ago, I reached between my legs. As the stranger hungrily watched, I began playing with myself, touching myself for his pleasure.

The stranger watched, but he didn’t reach out me—he just watched, and listened. I looked over at Phil, who was still staring at our shared nudity. Suddenly, a flash of anger came across me.

When the stranger had kissed me—as was his right, as was perfectly natural—Phil had objected. He’d been so rude, embarrassing not only himself, but me as well.

He had to be punished.

“You’re a jerk,” I snapped, continuing to touch myself. Phil nodded. I knew he knew I was right.

The stranger smiled at my words.

“You’ve never satisfied me,” I told him honestly. Phil nodded again.

“I know,” he responded, his voice full of sadness and lust. “I know.”

“That’s why I’m doing this.”

That part wasn’t entirely honest; even if Phil had been the world’s greatest lover, I still would have let the stranger take me. But it felt like the right thing to say.

“You deserve this,” I concluded, and even as a tear rolled down my husband’s face, I knew he was harder than he’d ever been.

I don’t know how long I played with myself, berating Phil as I did, but I think it was quite a while before I felt my orgasm approaching. But before I could cum, the stranger stood up. His cock was rock hard—fully erect and sticking straight out from his body. It was beautiful—so long, so thick, so powerful.

I had never wanted anything so much in my life.

I dropped to my knees and took his erection in my mouth. Phil watched as I swallowed the stranger’s cock, my head bobbing up and down, slurping, licking, sucking.

My husband’s face was red with shame, but I knew that he was enjoying what I was doing. Not that I really minded if he wasn’t; what we were doing was for the stranger, not for Phil, not for the other patrons, not for me. It was all for the stranger.

Without warning, the stranger removed his cock from my mouth and pushed me on my back. I could feel the thick carpet on my bare back; it was slightly itchy, but I didn’t care.

All I cared about was the stranger’s erection.

Without a word, he slowly slid inside me. It was all I could do not to cry out with pleasure;

He moved faster and faster, and soon I was panting, gasping, moaning. The restaurant was spinning; all I could think of was his huge rod inside me. I didn’t care that I was married, or that Phil was watching—along with however many other strangers in the restaurant.

Only one stranger mattered; the man who was inside me. I was his, and he was mine.

It was the best sex I’d ever had. I was on fire.

The stranger was fucking me so fast and deep, I couldn’t help it. I was aching for release. I wanted to come so badly, I was afraid I might pass out. I was so close, so incredibly close, and I needed him to fuck me, to use my pussy, to make me scream.

I looked over at my husband, and he had tears in his eyes.

“He’s so much better than you,” I moaned. “He’s better than you’ve ever been.”

Phil nodded, and I saw his hand begin to move. I knew he was stroking himself, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the stranger’s cock, pounding into me. I knew he was going to fill me with his hot, sticky seed.

I was so close. I was almost there. I was so close...

“I’m going to cum,” I gasped, as he began pumping into me faster and harder. “I’m going to cum!”

“Do it,” he ordered, and everything went white as my orgasm crested; the longest, loudest climax I’d ever experienced.

Even Phil has managed to make me cum before, but it had never been like that. The feeling of fulfilment, of satisfaction…the sensations of my pussy pulsing and my legs trembling were so powerful, I blacked out, overwhelmed by the pleasure the strange man had brought me.

When I came to, the stranger was gone, his cum leaking out of my pussy. I was totally spent. I laid there, panting, exhausted, more satisfied than I’d ever been in my life. It was several minutes before I found the strength to look up, to look around.

The stranger had taken my dress. When he’d left, he’d taken all my clothing with him, leaving me completely naked in the restaurant.

Phil was staring at me, in awe.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned. I nodded, too stunned to speak.

He grinned.

“That was amazing,” he said, and all I could do was nod.

After we finished eating, I was delighted to learn that the stranger had taken care of our bill. It was the second-best anniversary gift he’d given us that night.

I waited outside while Phil got the car, smiling in response to the wolf-whistles some passers-by threw my way. If I hadn’t been so wiped, I would have dropped to my knees and sucked them off. I knew that from now on, Phil would never be enough to satisfy me, and I’d be taking advantage of any sexual offers that came my way.

It was almost midnight when we got home. Phil and I were both tired, but happy. At least, I was; I don’t really care how Phil felt. The babysitter was stunned when she opened the door to my naked, cum-streaked body.

“Is she okay?” she asked my husband.

“She’s fine,” he replied, his satisfied smile mirroring my own.

I don’t know if it was to annoy or appease Phil, but I stepped forward and took the teenage girl’s mouth with my own. She moaned, and I could feel her tongue pushing against mine. I don’t know how long we made out, as I pressed my naked body against hers. I could feel the heat of her pussy through her shorts.

I pulled away from the young woman, and smiled.

“Thanks for watching the kids,” I told the teenager. “You did great.”

The teen blushed and stammered something incoherent. I laughed, and then kissed the dumbstruck babysitter again.

Phil tipped her, more generously than usual, and we made our way inside. I didn’t even bother to get dressed; I just sat down on the sofa, naked, and took a long, deep breath.

Tonight, I knew, was the beginning of the rest of my life.

And to think, Phil had been so mad about it.

New chapters of all my stories appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else. Subscribe to support my work and get a preview of upcoming pieces!


	Taken Seriously

“It’s not fair,” Teri said, stomping her foot. It was clad in a bright blue boot that perfectly matched her skirt. “He doesn’t take me seriously, just because I’m a _woman_!“

“I know,” Eric said sympathetically. Until today, he hadn’t seen his childhood best friend in almost a decade; he’d left Chicago at the age of fourteen, just as hormones were starting to hit.

Probably for the best. Teri had apparently blossomed into a stunningly attractive woman, whereas he was…while certainly not unattractive, definitely not the kind of person who dated someone like Teri.

He would’ve become besotted with her, she would have had to turn him down. It would have ruined everything.

No, better that he left before the friendship had been forced to endure that level of embarrassment.

“Corporate America is the worst,” he said sympathetically, and Teri nodded emphatically.

Eric couldn’t help but notice that her chest seemed to nod along too.

_Stop that,_ he told himself. _You’re a feminist. Her eyes are up there._

“Just because of how I dress,” Teri sighed, and Eric decided that her comment left a window of appropriateness for her to run his eyes up and down her outfit.

His childhood friend was wearing a bright blue miniskirt, with a ruffled hem. She was wearing a white buttoned shirt, although the top button that was actually fastened was the one beneath her large breasts, showing a generous cleavage.

The shirt was thin enough that Eric could see while Teri _was_ wearing a bra, its main purpose seemed to be presentation, rather than support. The half-cups stopped just above the nipple, which he knew because…well, even through the bra, the hardness of Teri’s nipples were clearly visible.

The real show-stopper, however, were the boots. Eric couldn’t quite make out their material, but they were shiny, blue. The heels must have been at least four inches, and the platform soles gave them a feeling of…well, gaudiness.

They were not the shoes of someone who wanted to be taken seriously.

_No,_ Eric corrected himself. Again, that was anti-feminist thinking. Women should be allowed to look feminine in the workplace without being judged for it.

And Teri, no one could deny, looked extremely feminine. Her boots ended just above her knees, leaving several inches of creamy thigh visible below her frippy blue skirt.

Realizing that his eyes had almost certainly lingered far longer on Teri’s thighs than the conversation had permitted, Eric quickly brought his attention back to his friend’s face. She hadn’t seemed to notice, fortunately; her attention was on the blue cocktail she’d ordered from the hotel bar as soon as they sat down.

An odd order for a lunchtime catchup, but Eric had assumed she was having a day off.

“You wear this to work?” he asked, immediately wishing he hadn’t.

“Yes!” Teri said defensively. “Yes! I like it, and I think I look good in it. Why, do you think it’s okay for my boss not to take me seriously dressed like this?”

“No, no,” Eric replied immediately. He could feel his forehead growing damp. “No, I…I think you look great.”

“Thank you,” Teri beamed. It was as though someone had flipped a light-switch; her annoyance disappeared, and her smile radiated gratitude at the compliment.

She looked back at her drink, and sighed again. “I just wish my boss agreed.”

“He doesn’t like it?” Eric prompted. “What did he say? Maybe it’s something you could bring to HR…”

“No,” the attractive blonde sighed. She shifted uncomfortably on the chair, once more bringing Eric’s attention to her wonderful thighs. “He’s never actually _said_ that. Actually, he bought it for me.”

“What?”

“On my first day. He bought me the skirt and the boots. Said it was a signing bonus. All the women in the office have them. But I can still tell he doesn’t take me seriously in them, y’know?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Eric replied. The reflections on the skirt had briefly distracted him, and he forced himself to once more focus his attention on Teri’s face. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“He just treats us differently to the rest of the staff.”

“Us?”

“All the women. Just because we’re women!”

Eric wanted to reach his hand out and rest it on his friend’s, to provide comfort, but he knew how complicated the dynamic was between men and women. What he intended as a sympathetic gesture could easily be interpreted as a come-on, so he kept his hands to himself.

What he _really_ wanted to do was reach it out and place it on Teri’s exposed, inviting thigh, but he suspected that was even more likely to be interpreted as flirtatious.

“That’s outrageous,” he said. “If all the women are treated like that, you really should consider legal action.”

“It’s so stupid,” Teri groused. “All the men dress all business, all the time, and just because us women like to wear skirts to work, add a little color to the place—”

“As is your right!” Eric interjected.

“—and make out in front of the clients, he doesn’t take us seriously!”

There was a brief pause.

“What now?”

“I like blue!” Teri said, gesturing to her skirt, her boots, and her drink. The effect was lost slightly by the end, as her glass was now empty. As soon as she noticed, she waved down a waiter and ordered another.

“What were you saying about, um, why your boss doesn’t take you seriously?” Eric asked, as soon as the waiter left.

“Maybe blue isn’t his color,” Teri said, her face an adorable pout. Eric wanted to kiss it.

No, he wanted to respect it. Take it seriously. He wanted to take all women seriously.

Even if this one was proving a little more challenging than most.

“The other thing,” he pressed. “About…making out?”

“Oh, that!”

Teri flung her arms up dramatically, once more causing her generous chest to bounce. Eric tried desperately not to let his eyes drop, but he was only human. Fortunately, her top didn’t have any of the dancing lights that her skirt and boots seemed to, and when her bosom had calmed down and stopped jiggling, his eyes moved up to his friend’s face once more.

“Female friendship isn’t respected,” Teri grumbled. “He thinks it’s unprofessional when we show affection to each other. Isn’t that the most sexist thing you’ve ever heard?”

“And how do you, umm, show each other, ah…”

“We kiss, Eric,” Teri said, as though he was asking why women were owed the vote. “When we see each other and are overcome by affection, we grab each other’s bodacious bodies, move our lips to each other, and we kiss. Yeah, sometimes our hands go exploring! Sometimes a boob pops out, and a mouth moves onto that boob. But we’re women, and we should be allowed to have normal sexual female friendships in the workplace.”

“Uh…”

Eric could feel his collar getting very warm. The waiter arrived; he had somehow misunderstood the drink order, and brought a second cocktail. No one corrected him as he set one in front of Teri, and the other in front of Eric.

“Are you, um…are you gay?”

“Eric!”

Teri looked offended by the question, and the sweating man took a sip of the blue drink to calm himself down. It contained far more alcohol than he’d expected.

“A woman doesn’t have to be gay to have close personal relationships with other women,” she said. “And I’m surprised that someone as progressive as you would even ask such a question.”

“But you said, um, sexual, so…”

Eric trailed off at the withering glance his friend was giving him. He took another gulp of the drink. Judging by the taste, it was practically straight vodka with blue food coloring.

“And no, before you ask, I don’t think my boss is homophobic. He gets just as annoyed when I go down on the men in the office.”

A spray of blue liquid emerged from Eric’s mouth, fortunately not landing on his drinking companion.

“ _What?_ ” he asked, once he’d composed himself enough to speak.

“I know! Someone as sexist as that, you’d think they would be a total homophobe. But his nephew is gay, and he genuinely doesn’t seem to have an issue with it.”

For the next few minutes, Teri told the tale of her boss’s nephew visiting the office, while Eric finished his drink and tried to comprehend what was happening. By the time she was done, two new drinks were sitting in front of them.

“Teri,” Eric asked trepidatiously. “Is it possible that your boss is annoyed because you’re, um, having sex in the office?”

The busty woman wrinkled her nose at the question. The expression made Eric smile; he remembered it from their childhood together.

“I don’t think so?” she finally answered, after giving it a few moments of thought. “I mean, he shouldn’t—I _don’t_ have sex in the office.”

Eric narrowed his eyes.

“I thought you said you gave the mean…”

He coughed the word head, and Teri giggled.

“Oh, sure, _that_. But that isn’t sex.”

“Right. But surely you can see how it’s a little unprofessional to…”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Teri groaned. “Eric! You sound just like him!”

“Well…”

The two lunchtime cocktails had hit him, giving him some conversational strength.

“Maybe he has a point?”

Throwing her head back in frustration, Teri let out a frustrated grunt. Eric used the opportunity to glance at her generous cleavage. He wanted nothing more than to bury his head in between her huge orbs, and…—

“Come with me,” Teri said, standing up and reaching out her hand. Despite being one drink ahead of Eric—well, one blue cocktail, which probably meant she was about three standard drinks ahead of him—she didn’t seem to be having any trouble maintaining her balance, even on the platform boots.

“Where are we going?”

“Upstairs,” she said with a sigh.

“W-why?”

Eric rose, as did a certain part of his anatomy. When a woman dressed like Teri invited one upstairs to a hotel room, it was hard not to leap to a certain conclusion.

Although he had to remember not to be migony—…misomny—…he had to remember not to be sexist about it. There could be any number of other reasons for her invitation.

“For sex,” she said shortly, confirming his erection’s initial assumption. “I told you; I don’t have sex in the office. It wouldn’t be professional.”

“But why are we having sex at all?” Eric asked, before immediately wishing he hadn’t. If someone had asked him to rank the stupidest, most wasteful things he’d ever done, ‘asking that question’ would immediately have beaten out the time he’d chosen to take a thousand dollars as payment instead of three bitcoins half a decade earlier.

“And I thought you were a feminist…” Teri said coquettishly, dragging him into the elevator.

As soon as the doors closed, her lips was on his. He could taste the blue cocktail, mixed with the natural sweetness of her mouth. As they travelled up nearly fifteen floors, his hands were full of her, and by the time the doors opened again he was breathless and dazed.

“Women are naturally disadvantaged in the workplace,” the ruffled woman continued, taking Eric’s hand and leading him down the hallway. “So when we encounter a man like you—or my boss—who won’t take a woman seriously, we can’t use the same tactics as men to prove ourselves. Instead, we have to take actions that only a woman can take.”

Pulling a hotel key out of her bra, Teri opened the door. Eric followed her inside.

He was going to be late to his afternoon conference, but the thought didn’t bother him. He just hoped Teri’s boss wouldn’t be mad at her for taking such a long lunch.

“Rather than fight against my femininity, I’ve chosen to embrace it,” she continued, unbuttoning her white shirt. Eric’s eyes almost fell out of his head as she exposed the half-cup bra he’d seen glimpses of downstairs. “So whenever my boss and I disagree about appropriate behavior in the workplace, I take him here, and prove my value to him.”

“Uh huh,” Eric said. Teri’s bra had joined her shirt on the chair, and the sight of her huge breasts falling free had left him barely able to remember his own name.

“Me and the other office girls might not wear business suits, or always arrive exactly on time, or refrain from long masturbation breaks in the company restrooms, but that doesn’t mean we’re worthless,” Teri said with a pout, as she unzipped one of her blue boots, before taking it off and carefully setting it against the bedside table.

“Course not,” Eric mumbled.

“We keep up morale! And the customers love us.”

“Bet they do.” The stunned man was transfixed by the sight of her other blue boot joining the first. Teri hadn’t been wearing socks under her footwear, and now she stood in front of him topless, showing off her long white legs, and wearing nothing but a blue skirt.

“And so I need to bring my boss here several times a week, just so I can prove how valuable I am to the team,” she beamed. “I was coming here so often, the owner offered me a special deal. I come in on weekends, and I get the room for an hour every weekday for free.”

Eric had realized how comparatively overdressed he was, and hurried to lower his pants. Teri lay back on the bed, spreading her legs as she waited for him to join her, revealing that she wasn’t wearing panties under the blue, frivolous skirt.

“I told my boss I was having lunch with you today, and he suggested I take you here,” she said with a sigh. “Honestly, I sometimes wonder if he only sees women as sex objects.

“What do we have to do to be taken seriously?”

New chapters of all my stories appear on [my Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/panwhowrites) 6 months before going online anywhere else. Subscribe to support my work and get a preview of upcoming pieces!


	It’s For You

“You know, kids don’t do phones the way we used to do phones.”

Lily narrowed her eyes.

“I know,” she said. “They have, like, a million apps on them, and…—“

“No no no,” Michael interrupted. “I mean…look, I’ll show you. Pretend to be on the phone.”

“Uh, hello. This is Lily.”

Michael laughed. “No, with your hand.”

Lily stuck her pinky finger and thumb out, and moved them to her head. “How can I help you today?”

“Right, exactly. That’s what I’m talking about. Kids don’t do it like that any more—they do it like this.”

Pressing his fingers together and flattening his hand, Michael moved it to his ear. “Michael speaking.”

“No way,” Lily said. “For real?”

“Uh huh,” Michael nodded. “Nuts, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.”

Despite only being twenty-six years old, Lily suddenly felt older than ever before. Which, she supposed, she was.

“Because of cell phones?”

“I guess,” Michael said with a shrug, before making the sound of a phone ringing with his mouth. “Brrring, brrring.”

“I suppose kids don’t even know what that would be,” Lily sighed. “It’s all custom ring-tones these days.”

Using the gesture that Lily had earlier, Michael brought his hand to his mouth. “Hello, this is Michael.” There was a brief pause. “Oh, sure. I’ll put her on.”

The corner of Lily’s mouth curled up, and she shot Michael a look.

“It’s for you,” he said. She watched his mouth for the sign of a grin, or even a twitch, but he sounded—and looked—completely earnest.

“Uh…who is it?”

“She wants to know who’s calling,” Michael said into his hand, and once more paused. “He won’t say.”

“Well then,” Lily laughed, not sure why her best friend was holding his commitment to the bit, “Tell them to fuck off.”

Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m not going to say that,” he said in hushed tones. “Just see what they want?”

“Sure,” Lily grinned. “Put them on.”

Michael ‘handed her’ the phone, and she extended her pinkie finger and thumb once more, bringing her hand to her head.

“Lily speaking,” she said with a chuckle. “How can I help you today?”

To her surprise, she could hear Michael’s voice coming from the thumb beside her ear. Her eyes widened as she looked at his mouth—it wasn’t moving, but she could hear him loud and clear.

“I need you to do something,” his voice said, deep and low. “It’s urgent.”

“What the—“

“Just act like everything is normal,” Michael-on-the-phone urged. “Please, Lily. This is important.”

“Uh…”

Michael was looking at her inquisitively, and she instinctively shot him a reassuring smile. “It’s fine,” she mouthed.

“Listen very carefully,” the voice on the fake phone said. “We don’t have much time.”

“What do you need?” Lily said, trying to keep her tone light.

“Is Michael watching you?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Lily said, blinking her blue eyes at him, trying to look relaxed.

Trying to act as though this wasn’t the single strangest experience of her life.

“I need you to distract him,” the voice said.

“What? How?”

“Just for a moment. Think of something. Show him a boob. Whatever you can do.”

“I’m not going to—“

“Now!”

The urgent command made Lily jump. Unable to think of anything else at short notice, she used her non-phone hand to grab her shirt and bra, and pull it down suddenly.

“Lily!”

Sure enough, it worked. Michael’s eyes looked like they were going to fall out of his head as he goggled at her plump exposed tit.

“Did it work?”

“Uh huh,” Lily said. Her entire body was pumping with adrenaline—not only at the situation she was in, but at the rush of revealing her breast in public. They were sitting in a parked car outside her workplace (he’d picked her up so they could go see a movie together) and anyone could have seen her breast.

She glanced around; the parking lot was mostly empty, and it seemed that only Michael had noticed. And boy, had he noticed. She and Michael had been friends for a decade, but there’d never been so much as a spark between them. She didn’t think of him sexually, and she knew that he was the same.

Well, he _hadn’t_ thought of her sexually. Now: who knew?

“Okay, good. That’s enough,” the voice said, and Lily tried to hide her breast. It was difficult with one hand—she managed to lift her shirt back up to hide it, but she couldn’t get it back in the bra, and her nipple was visible.

“Uh, Lily,” Michael began, but she held up one finger.

“I’m on the phone,” she reminded him, and he fell silent.

“Does he have questions?” the voice said.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Figures. What did you do to distract him?”

“Um, exactly what you suggested.”

A barking laugh came down the phone. It was exactly Michael’s laugh, but Lily was staring right at him. He wasn’t laughing, just looking at her with a stunned half-smile on his face.

“Good girl,” the voice said, and Lily blushed at the compliment.

“So,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Is there anything else you need, or…”

“Just one more thing,” the voice replied, back to business. “Michael doesn’t have a girlfriend, does he?”

“Nope. Not that I know of.”

“And you would know, right?”

“Uh huh.”

The voice swore, and Lily’s heart sank. “Problem?”

“It’s not a dealbreaker, but…yeah, it’d be much easier if he did.”

“He has me,” Lily offered. “I mean, it’s not the same, but…”

“Well, maybe that would work.” There was a pause, and Lily could tell the voice was thinking. “Yeah. Yeah, you know what—that might be exactly what we need.”

“Okay, great. Just, uh, tell me what I can do to help.”

“Tell Michael to drop you off at home.”

“Oh, we were…we were going to see a movie.”

“Just say whatever you can to get him back to your place. I’ll call you with more instructions when you get there.”

There was a click, and the line went dead. Relaxing her finger and thumb, Lily looked at her hand in confusion.

“That was weird…” she said, and Michael shot her a look.

“Who was that?”

“Uh, no one,” she said. “Look, I’m not…I’m not feeling up to a movie. Do you mind dropping me home?”

“Oh! Yeah, I guess. Are you okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, throwing him a weak smile. “Just one of those days, y’know?”

The drive to her house was mostly silent. Once or twice Michael checked to make sure Lily was feeling okay; both times she assured him that she was fine. Perhaps a bit too firmly—after the second check-in, Michael didn’t try again.

Lily, meanwhile, was just staring out the window, confused. That was…hands weren’t really phones. They’d just been pretending. Right? So why had the voice been…and why had it sounded like Michael?

And why had she shown him her boob?

None of it made any sense.

As soon as they pulled up to Michael’s place, he stared at his hand, confused.

“What’s wr—“

Before she could finish the question, Lily’s best friend interrupted her.

“Brrring, brrring. Uh, hello? Oh. Yeah, she’s here.”

For the second time, Lily’s friend offered her his hand-phone.

“It’s for you.”

“Lily speaking!”

“It’s me again. I’m sorry, I only have Michael’s number.”

“That’s, um, fine…”

“So look, you need to get him inside.”

“I need to…what?”

“We don’t have time for details. Can you get him into your place?”

“I think so, yeah. I, uh—”

“Great. Do whatever it takes. Do you hear me? Whatever. It. Takes.”

Lily nodded, feeling foolish—whoever was on the other end of the phone obviously couldn’t see her.

Also, it wasn’t a phone. It was her hand.

What the hell was going on?

“Can you come inside?” she asked, and Michael shot her a look.

“What?”

“Can you come up with me? I’m…”

Her best friend narrowed her eyes, and Lily had to think quickly.

“…scared.”

“Lily, I’ve known you half my life. You’re not scared of anything.”

“Yeah I am,” she retorted weakly. “I’m scared of…intruders.”

Michael laughed.

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, but I’m still going to go see the movie. If there’s an intruder, call me and I’ll come back and rescue you.”

Lily’s heart was beating. The voice on the phone had been very clear. She didn’t know what would happen if she couldn’t get Michael inside, but she knew it would be bad.

“Seriously, Michael. Please.”

“Stop being a baby,” he replied good-naturedly. “You’re going to be fine.”

“But what if I’m not?”

“Then I’ll say some very nice things at your funeral. Now scram—I’ve got a James Bond to see.”

Lily froze. She needed to get Michael into her apartment, no matter what it took.

His life could be on the line. Or hers! She didn’t know what would happen if she couldn’t get him inside, and she didn’t much want to find out.

“Please,” she said. “I need you to…I need you to…”

Her mind was going a mile a minute, as she tried to come up with an excuse— _any_ excuse—that would get Michael upstairs.

A smile spread over her face as she worked it out. As she’d told the mysterious voice, Michael didn’t have a girlfriend. And from the way he’d stared at her boob, she suspected it had been a while since he’d been with a woman.

She knew exactly how to get him inside.

“I need _you_ ,” she said, her voice a purr.

“Uh. What?”

“That’s why I didn’t want you to see the movie. I wanted to get you here, so I could…”

Lily slid one hand onto her best friend’s leg.

“…bring you upstairs and fuck you.”

Michael looked like she’d just said…well, like she’d just said that she wanted to take him upstairs and fuck her.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Why do you think I flashed you?” Lily said, her voice low and seductive. “I wanted to make sure you were interested.”

He continued to stare at her, agog.

“Well?”

“Well what?” he asked, understandably confused.

“Well, are you interested?”

She slid her hand higher up his thigh, until she brushed up against his hardness, pressing against the denim of his jeans.

Oh yeah. He was interested.

“Come upstairs,” Lily said. “Please?”

“Uh huh,” Michael said, sounding slightly stunned.

Less than five minutes later, Lily’s lips were locked with her best friend’s, as they passionately kissed on the couch. To the young woman’s surprise, she was getting turned on.

Turned out Michael was a fantastic kisser.

“Touch me,” she moaned, trying to tell herself that she was just doing it to keep Michael safe. Because the mysterious caller had told her to.

Trying to pretend that it hadn’t been about as long for her as it had been since Michael had gotten laid.

Just as Michael’s hand was reaching between her legs, he got another call.

“Brrring, brrring,” he said, then stared at his hand in annoyance. “Brrring, brrring.”

“Uh…aren’t you going to get that?”

“It’s probably nothing, brrrring brrring” he said, trying to brush it off. As he went to move his mouth back to Lily’s, she pulled away.

“What if it’s urgent?” she said, biting her lip. The voice on the phone had been so insistent. She didn’t understand what was going on, but she didn’t want to do anything that would risk her best friend’s life.

“Brrring, brrrring, it’s probably not…”

“Answer it,” she said firmly. “Please?”

With a sigh, Michael extended his pinky and thumb and moved his hand back to the side of his head. “This is Michael…”

With a confused look, he stared at his best friend.

“It’s for you again.”

“Thanks,” Lily said sheepishly, ‘taking’ the phone from him. “Hello?”

“You’re doing a great job,” Michael’s voice said from her thumb. She glanced at him—he was just staring at her, presumably wondering why they’d stopped making out so she could talk to her hand.

Why _had_ they stopped making out so she could talk to her hand?

“T-thanks,” she said, relieved.

“How did you get him upstairs?”

Lily held one finger up to her best friend, and moved to the corner of the room. The reception mustn’t have been quite as good there, because the voice suddenly sounded much fainter. “I told him I wanted him,” she said in a low voice, glancing at Michael. He was sitting on the couch, watching her closely.

“Excellent work,” the voice said with a chuckle. “Perfect. There’s just one final thing I need you to do.”

“What?” Lily asked, biting back the half-dozen other questions that sprang to mind. _Why? What’s this all about? Who are you?_

“I need you to keep him there all night,” the voice said urgently. “Do that, and your boyfriend will be safe.”

“ _Best_ friend,” Lily said, correcting the voice, before realizing how loudly she’d just said it. She glanced back at Michael—he was staring at her, and hadn’t seemed to notice anything amiss.

“Uh huh,” the voice drawled. “Can you do that for me?”

Lily glanced back at her best friend once more. The look of concern had disappeared from his face; now, his eyes were roaming up and down her body lustfully.

She smiled. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” she said, and hung up, ready to put that hand to better use.

“Hey Michael,” she said, her hips swaying from side to side as she made her way back to the couch. “I was thinking…”

“Mm-hmm?”

“What if you were to…stay the night.”

Her hands moved up, and—just as they had in the car—lowered her top and bra, this time exposing both of her plump tits to Michael’s gaze.

“I dunno…” he said, staring appreciatively at what Lily had to show him. “After the movie I have my ventriloquism class. I’m getting really good.”

“Skip it?” Lily pouted, before grabbing her boyfriend’s— _best_ friend’s—hands, and moving them to her bare breasts.

“Well, okay…” Michael replied with a sigh. “Just for you.”

As Michael moved his mouth to her nipples, Lily beamed with pride—thanks to her, he was going to be safe—before his talented tongue contorted her face with lust.

Tonight, she was going to offer Michael something that ventriloquism would never be able to get him.

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	Haze

Kate’s mind was hazy when she awoke.

She didn’t even notice anything unusual about it. Partially because...well, because of the haze. When your mind is blurry, it’s harder to notice anything. Even—or perhaps especially—that your mind is blurry.

But mostly because she always felt like this. For as long as she could remember (not that she spent a lot of time remembering), Kate’s life had been a blur. A fog.

It didn’t bother her. Very little bothered her. That’s the benefit of living in a haze; you don’t have to worry. You don’t have to care about things.

Well, there was one thing that Kate cared about. There was one thing that Kate cared about very much.

It wasn’t work. She still worked hard; she oversaw a team of almost a dozen people. None of them, if asked, would have guessed that she spent her days in a fog. If anything, they would have complimented her acuity. She didn’t miss a thing—in fact, over the last year she’d earned a fearsome reputation for her attention to detail.

She didn’t care. None of it mattered. Even as she scanned over documents, highlighting every typo or incorrect figure, she wasn’t thinking. No matter how complex the task, it was just mindless busywork to Kate. Everything was.

Everything except sex.

During the pandemic, her entire team had moved to remote work. Lots of Zoom calls, lots of virtual meetings and Slack threads.

What her team didn’t know was that Kate attended every meeting with a toy buzzing between her legs. No matter how professional her top, how perfectly-applied her haircut, she was pantless, a remotely-controlled vibrator buried deep within her wetness.

She never gave a hint of it. Even if she came in the middle of a sentence, her eye never twitched, her voice never wavered. She was the image of professionalism, even as her mind was foggy, her cunt quivering in orgasm. Even as her nipples hardened and the seat of her chair got wet with her juices.

Her team noticed nothing. Because she didn’t give any indication that anything was different.

As soon as five o’clock hit, Kate logged off. Her bosses didn’t mind; when she was on, she gave a thousand and ten percent. She didn’t need to work late.

As soon as the workday was over, Kate closed her laptop, removed her clothes, closed her eyes, moved one hand between her legs, and began to chant.

“I am a toy. I am Master’s plaything. I exist for Master’s pleasure.”

She’d said the words so often that they’d lost all meaning. She’d spent so many hours, day after day, the words were imprinted on her soul. Perhaps once they’d reinforced her identity, reminded her who she was—now, she didn’t say them to convince herself of anything.

She said the words because they were true.

“I am Master’s pleasure slut. My body exists to please him. All I am is sex. All I am is tits.”

Her hand would reach up and grope her breasts at that. The haze lessened slightly, the fog cleared. Kate would sometimes search the internet while she was on a call, see if there were any other jobs available, anything that didn’t require her to be on camera as often.

Anything that meant her breasts could be freed for more of the day.

“I am nothing. I am pleasure. I am Master’s stupid, mindless slut.”

This was the most important part, she knew: to remember that she was a fucktoy. She might spend her day working for a big corporation, but that wasn’t her job. Her job was to be a busty, slutty, wet sex toy. She was nothing more than a hole.

And she was good at it.

“I am a fucktoy,” she whispered softly, gently stroking her clit. She’d already cum so many times today that she’d lost count. More than she thought possible. More than she’d ever cum in a single day, before meeting her Master. More than the old her had cum in a month. “I exist to bring him pleasure. My pleasure is his pleasure.”

Kate touched herself, reveling in the softness of her skin against her fingertips. Her fingers slid between her folds, her thumb begin to circle her clit. As the words spilled out of her mouth, so automatic she didn’t have to think about them, the haze lessened, the fog lifted.

“I exist for my Master. For his pleasure. His cock. To serve him.”

She hadn’t seen Master for weeks, but that didn’t matter. He would use her when he wanted. Sometimes he’d warn her; more often he’d drop by, unannounced. She’d be ready for him.

She was always ready for him.

“My wetness is for Master. My tits are to turn him on. My ass is for him to spank, to grope, to fuck.”

Master hadn’t yet fucked her ass, but she hoped he would. It felt like her every hole ached to feel his cock. She groped her tits hard enough she knew it would leave a bruise, imagining—wishing!—that he was the one touching her so roughly. Her clit ached with pain and pleasure, but she didn’t stop.

“I am his slut. I exist to be used. To be taken. By him, and only him.”

She let go, her arm falling limp to her side. She opened her mouth wide, moaning as she pictured Master’s cock inside her mouth, filling her, stretching her.

More than once, Kate’s Master had come by in the middle of the night, while she’d been asleep. He had a key to her apartment, of course—he had full access to her, anytime he wanted. Every part of her.

He hadn’t even woken her up before starting to fuck her. She’d been wet for him—she was always wet for him. It was her fondest memory, waking up to her Master’s cock inside her, using her. Allowing her to fulfill her only purpose in life.

“Everything else is irrelevant,” she groaned. There was drool leaking from the side her mouth. “All I am is sex. All I am is Master’s pleasure.”

She had three fingers inside herself, and her thumb on her clit. She hadn’t cum yet—she couldn’t cum until she finished her mantras. Until all the words she’d committed to memory had left her mouth.

Then, and only then, could she cum.

And then start again.

“I am Master’s horny slut. His dirty, nasty hole to fuck. His whore. Master’s whore.”

The haze was gone. The fog was gone. Kate moaned loudly, her fingers moving faster, her thumb pinching her clit. She bit into her bottom lip hard, biting down, the sharp pain making her moan even louder.

This was her purpose. This was why she existed. Nothing else mattered.

Just this.

“I am Master’s slut. I am Master’s slave. I am his to do with as he pleases.”

She gasped in pleasure, her back arching. She didn’t try to hold it in—she didn’t care what the neighbors heard. All that mattered was the sensation, the pleasure, the heat.

“I cum for Master,” she screamed. “I cum for Master. I cum for—oh! I cum for Master!”

Her hips buckled as she shuddered in orgasm. Her body shook, she cried out, she felt like she was going to pass out.

She didn’t care. If she was unconscious when her Master arrived, he’d take her anyway. He could take her any time of the day or night. She had only one purpose, and that was to please him.

That was why she existed. She belonged to him.

Kate’s mind was hazy when she awoke.

She didn’t even notice anything unusual about it.

She glanced at the phone, checking to make sure that Master hadn’t messaged her while she’d been passed out, and—moving one hand between her legs—began again.

“I am a toy. I am Master’s plaything. I exist for Master’s pleasure...”

* * *

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	Win-Win

With apologies to Stephen Covey.

“We’ve been planning it all year,” he said, massaging his temples with his fingers. “Why are you blowing everything up at the last minute?”

“I’m not blowing anything up,” his wife replied, her voice a forced calm. “I’m telling you that I think this is more important.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“More important?” he repeated incredulously. “More important than the family vacation we booked last September?”

“Yes. She’s my _mother_.“

“And I’m your husband. Are you saying that visiting your mother is more important than spending a vacation with your husband and two children?”

“I never get to see her...—”

“We’re going to see her at the Christmas family reunion.”

“In five months! We don’t even know if she’ll be with us by then.”

“She’s not that sick,” her husband shot back. “Besides, she has your sister to take care of her.”

“She’s my mother too. And that’s why I want to go. She needs a break!”

“Your mother or your sister?”

“Both,” she admitted, and the couple shared a wry grin. “But seriously, you know how important this is to me.”

“We reserved the cottage and boat as soon as we learned my schedule. The boys are so excited about going; they’re going to be miserable, sitting around their grandmother’s house for a month.”

“I can’t believe you’re being so selfish,” she said, incredulity in her voice. “We don’t how know much longer my mother will be around, and I want to be with her. This might be our only opportunity to do that.”

“I’m not being selfish, I’m being pragmatic. You can phone her every night.”

“She needs me and she wants me.”

“The boys and I need you too! What kind of a family vacation will it be with just the three of us?”

“My mother is more important than fishing.”

“Your husband and sons are more important than your mother!”

Without even noticing, the couple realized they were standing, voices raised, fists clenched. He raised one hand, pausing the fight.

“There must be a better way to resolve this,” he said softly. “What did the book say?”

“Win-win,” she replied. “A solution that gets us both what we want.”

He nodded, making eye contact with his wife. “Well, let’s break it down logically. What do you want? Be specific.”

“I want to spend time with my mother,” she said, her voice growing softer as she started to lose herself in her husband’s eyes. “I want to relieve my sister.”

“What else?”

“That’s all,” she replied.

“Nothing else?”

She shook her head, her eyes never leaving her husband’s. “What do you want?”

“I want to have the vacation we planned,” he said firmly. His words were like steel, cutting through the fog in his wife’s mind. “I want to take our sons to the lake and teach them how to fish. I want to show my sons the beauty of nature.”

“So then you can go, and I’ll...—”

He interrupted, his voice firm and strong. “That’s not all. I want someone to do the housework. The meal prep.”

His wife felt like she should object, that she should point out that she was more than just the cook and cleaner, but he continued before she could fully form the thought.

“I want someone to lay next to at night.“ His voice was a low growl. “Someone to sleep with. Someone to make love with on vacation.”

He paused, and she took the opportunity spoke up, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “Honey, I don’t think there’s any way we can both get...—”

“I do,” he insisted, his tone resolute, his eyes boring into hers. “I know exactly how we can turn this into a win-win.”

Her nose wrinkled. “How? If I’m at my mother’s, how can...—”

“I said I wanted someone to make love with,” he said calmly. “I didn’t say it needed to be you.”

There was a pause as his words, so casually spoken, sunk in.

“You want to take someone else?” she asked, so shocked that she could feel the fog lifting.

Her husband simply nodded in response.

“But...but you can’t...” she stammered. “We’re _married_.“

“I asked what you wanted from this situation,” he reminded her. “You never said you wanted me to be faithful.”

“No, but...I...”

She trailed off, her objections dying away at the sheer force of her husband’s stare.

He was right. He’d asked what she wanted. She’d been given a chance to ask for fidelity, and she hadn’t.

So clearly it...wasn’t that important to her.

That didn’t sound right, but the mother of two was finding it incredibly hard to think. As her husband’s eyes bore into hers, her objections felt so fleeting. So hard to grasp onto.

“Of course,” she finally agreed. “That’s fair. Do you want to hire a...a maid?”

He shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. “I don’t think they typically perform wifely duties.”

“A p-prostitute?”

As the words crossed her lips, she felt like there was something wrong. Surely she wasn’t suggesting they hire a sex worker for an entire month on the lake.

Fortunately, her husband didn’t accept her offer.

“Too expensive,” he said, and she nodded. “Besides, I don’t want a stranger in my house.”

“Oh. So...someone we know?”

“I think that would be best,” her husband agreed smoothly. “Besides, do you really want a stranger around the boys all month?”

“I...I suppose not.”

There was another pause, as she tried to think, tried to dig through the fog in her mind to find a win-win solution.

Someone her sons knew. Someone who would be interested in spending a summer on the lake. Someone her husband found attractive.

She stared deep into her husband’s eyes as she thought. Ever since he’d read that latest self-help book, the one about leadership and the power of eye contact, he seemed...different. More confident. More powerful.

More persuasive.

She had started agreeing to things she never would have considered. Little things—the way she wore her hair. Her clothes. The split of household chores.

How often she gave him head.

It was all so reasonable. Like it was the obvious thing to do.

Like it was the logical answer.

Win-win.

“What about my sister?” she finally said, so quiet that she could barely hear her own voice. “She needs a break. She loves the boys. And I’m sure she’d...”

She trailed off, but they both knew what she’d been about to say. Her sister was even more attractive than she was, with a body sculpted by yoga and Pilates, and a face that made men stop and stare.

And a reputation for being an absolute wildcat in the sack.

She had no doubt that her sister would be more than happy to help out. And she was sure her husband would enjoy her ‘help’ very much.

“I think that’s a great idea,” he said warmly, his eyes still locked with his wife’s.

“I’ll call her and tell her to pack,” she said, her voice tinged with excitement. She could see it all now—her sister, on vacation with her family. Cooking, cleaning, showing off her toned body by the lake.

And each night, slipping into bed with him. Wrapping her long, slender legs around his waist. Lips pressed against his ear. The sounds of her heavy breathing echoing in the bedroom. Bringing him to the heights of ecstasy, each and every night.

She paused. Her sister had never shown any interest in her husband before. But as she continued to stare into his eyes, her mind flooded with images of her beautiful sister, naked and aroused beneath him. Her tits bouncing gently as he fucked her. Her nubile pussy wet with desire. His fingers plunging into her cunt. A moan escaping her lips. His cock, pulsing as he filled her sister with his seed. The seed that had made their two children. The seed that had made her sister’s nephews.

_No,_ she thought, a thought so true, crystal-clear through the fog. _He’ll be able to convince her. He’s so persuasive._

_She’ll quickly see that this as exactly what it is: a win-win._

* * *

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