The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

He was sick of it…just plain sick and tired of it.

He knew his young wife had expensive tastes. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to indulge them; he was certainly “comfortable” when it came to their financial well-being.

But there was no reason he could possibly fathom for her to continue with her blatant excesses, and no matter how many times he warned her, no matter how many times he threatened to put her on a budget and restrict her access to the credit cards, it never seemed to make an impression.

Seriously, how many pairs of Manolo Blahniks can one woman wear?

He hated what he was about to do…sort of. But he had needs of his own, and they didn’t consist of an endless variety of footwear. And though he’d been denying those needs since shortly after meeting his current wife, he was certainly able to afford to indulge his own needs, too.

His associations with a variety of ‘shadow’ organizations during his time in the military had put him in touch with many interesting groups, with an amazing assortment of specialized skills. He just had never considered contacting them until now, knowing it would forever change the nature of his relationship with his lovely, young bride. And that, at its heart, was the only thing that had kept him from “making the change” right up front, when they were newly married: he loved her, plain and simple.

He loved her as she was, with her bright, bubbly personality, her wit, her intelligence, her unquestioned loyalty and devotion to him, her incredible good looks. If the bedroom scene was a little blasé, it had been more than offset by her other attributes, and he had been more than just content with the trade-off; he had considered himself one lucky son-of-a-bitch to have wooed and won this wonderful woman.

But now, after several years of the same arguments, the same unrepentant behavior, he was just sick of it. And he was going to do something about it. Yes, his sex life was about to take a turn back to the wild side…and so was his beloved bride’s, whether she wanted it or not.

Andrea was headed home from her latest shopping expedition, overburdened with the fruits of her day’s efforts, her overheated credit card still just starting to cool down in her purse, when it happened. She didn’t notice the large, white van with the nondescript business name on the side parked next to her Beamer. She never saw the men(?) who grabbed her, never heard the sound of the gun or felt the dart that tranq’ed her. Her only recollection was of stumbling, and going down like a sack of…well, like the sacks of Gucci and Prada she dropped as she put her arms out to break her fall.

When she awoke, shaking her head, she was a little woozy, but in exactly the same location she’d been when she’d ‘tripped’. She had no sensation of the passage of time, and she dismissed the missing two hours of her life, only thinking she’d gotten carried away by her shopping…which she often did, to her husband’s dismay.

She truly loved him, and admitted to herself she probably had a near-addiction when it came to shopping…because she really wanted to stop making him unhappy with her. (?) But the shoes…and the dresses…and, okay, the jewelry. And it wasn’t like she didn’t bring in any money of her own; although not nearly what her hubby made, her sizable salary made a significant offset to the cost of her shopping sprees.

Well, okay, so it only offset about one-fourth what she spent, most weeks.

But he really loved the way she looked and her incredible sense of style; he’d told her so, on more than one occasion. He was proud of her good looks and her unerring talent for making herself into the best “arm candy” any successful man could hope for. And dammit, with her natural beauty and tightly-toned curves, that only took money, which he had plenty of.

Suddenly, though, she felt very guilty, and she briefly considered returning the contents of the bags in her arms, as she scooped them up from their scattered locations in the parking lot. She suddenly experienced a warm, tingly sensation in her nether regions, as she thought how that would please her husband…which puzzled her. Why would she get a tingle—specifically a sexual tingle—from that thought? She shook her head again, causing some of her lustrous, blonde locks to fall over her shoulders and down onto her breasts.

‘I must have hit my head, or something,’ she considered, although a careful probing of her scalp produced no discernible twinges of pain—no dried blood, no obvious damage. Then she became suddenly conscious of the way her hair was teasing her nipples through the silk blouse she was wearing. She smiled as she thought of the way her husband sometimes did that to her intentionally, in bed, and her nipples crinkled immediately to twin jutting points, visible even through her sensible bra. She also experienced another, sharper twinge of warmth in her crotch…and in her ass. (?)

‘What’s that about?’ she puzzled. ‘What’s wrong with me, today? It’s only been a week since our last bout of sex, and I’m suddenly getting feelings like I’ve been cloistered with the nuns for a year. I definitely think my darling hubby is gonna get his bones jumped, tonight!!’ <twinge, twinge> ‘In fact, I might even break out some of that kinky lingerie he’s always bugging me to wear!’ <CLENCH!>

‘God, I’m sopping! I gotta get home before I start soaking through my pants, and someone thinks I pissed myself!’ She finished gathering her items, hopped in her Beamer and headed for home, unconsciously stroking a still-erect nipple with a lock of silky hair as she drove.

“Mr. ‘Jones’?”

“How’d everything go, ‘Tasha’?”

“Flawlessly, as always. You know our reputation and our methods; we’ve never had a failure, and we certainly weren’t going to start with your precious cargo.”

“Excellent. Were you able to preserve most of the original personality?”

“That was an unusual request, and naturally, we’ve billed you appropriately…but yes, I think you’ll be pleased. If not, we’ll go back and ‘tweak’ the results to suit your tastes, no extra cost. Bottom line: 100% customer satisfaction is our guarantee. If we didn’t think we could do it to your specifications, we would have told you so, up front.”

“Again, excellent. It’s always been a pleasure doing business with you folks.”

“Likewise. We’ll check back with you in a couple of weeks, to see how things are going.”

“I look forward to hearing from you…and to sampling your product.”

“Bye. Until then...”

“So long.”

“Hey, honey! How was your shopping this morning?”

She grins like an idiot and flushes all over at hearing the sound of his voice on the phone. Her damnable nipples, which have been erect for most of the morning, spring to attention again. She’d had to abandon her bra when she got home because of the chafing, but it hadn’t helped nearly as much as she’d hoped. And those thrice-damned ‘twinges’ were becoming more insistent, too! “Hey, sweetie! When are you coming home? I’m suddenly kind of anxious to see you, if you get my meaning…”

“Oh, hey, that’s really tempting. But I was just calling to tell you that I’m not going to be home in time for dinner tonight…in fact, I’m going to be very late, and I was just warning you not to wait up for me. Now you tell me that you’re ‘in the mood’ and it just makes me that much more upset.”

“What? Working late? Why?”

“’Don’t ask me about my business, Kay...’” he jokes, in his best Pacino imitation…which admittedly, is not all that good. “Seriously, though, I do have to finish up a project before I can call it day, and I’m nowhere near done.”

“But honey…” she starts to whine, and catches herself. ‘What’s gotten in to me, today? I’m practically on the edge of begging for sex. MAN, I need it bad!’ “Alright, dear, but try to get home as soon as possible. I’ll be waiting for you…”

“Seriously, sweetie, I know how you feel, and I’d definitely love to indulge you, but you have to get up tomorrow for work…and I’m not going to be home before you need to get to bed for your full beauty rest. Not to mention it’s going to be another long day for me, tomorrow, as well. I’ll try not to wake you, ‘cause I know it’ll be very late.”

“Alright. I’ll see you in the morning, then.” She practically pouts, though she knows he can’t see her.

“’Night, lover. I’m really sorry about this…” He hopes she doesn’t hear him grinning like a fool through the phone. “But hey, you know that I’d much rather be with you, ‘taking advantage of you’ right now, than having to do what I’m doing here. I’ve got about ten minutes before I’ve got to get back in there with the crew…you want to hear about what I’d be doing to you, right now, if I were there with you?”

<CLENCH!> <clench, CLENCH!> “Ummm, no, you’d better not.”<twinge> Her mind starts filling in the blanks on its own, and she blushes profusely; but at the same time she desperately feels a need to get her hands in her panties. “Really, if I can’t have the real thing, I’d better give it a pass.”

“You sure? How about if we pretend it’s not really you I’m talking about, but say…someone named Althea. And say, for instance, Althea is a ravishing redhead, with a nice, fresh Brazilian wax job, and…”

“STOP! Right this instant!!!!” She’s practically panting, her need is so great. “If I’m not gettin’ any, I certainly don’t want to hear about some slut named Althea gettin’ it, either! And seriously, a redhead? Brazilian? Where do you come up with these things? Something wrong with this furry blonde bush here at home?”

There is definitely something VERY wrong with that untamed blonde bush right this second, and she thrusts her free hand down her shorts, but the angle is wrong and she can’t reach the places she needs to, to massage the growing ache in her groin. She knows her pussy is practically drooling into her panties; and she thinks she can even smell herself. She begins fumbling, one-handed, to undo her pants.

“Alright then, but if Althea shows up here, around, say, 10:30 tonight, I’m sure I’ll be able to find a half-hour to squeeze HER into my schedule…and my cock into both her hot little holes! Sorry you’ll be home…alone…in a troubled sleep…unsatisfied… tossing and turning in your lonely little bed…poor, neglected pu…” She interrupts him halfway through his sentence, as he begins seriously warming to his story.

“I said, ‘STOP!’ buster, and I meant it! And if I find this Althea bitch, I’m gonna strangle her! You be careful and bring those goodies home tonight, as soon you can—and if I find a single drop of Althea’s skanky, bald pussy juice on that equipment, I’m going to mount them on the wall, so I can keep them out of future trouble!”

He’s still grinning like a loon; he can hear her pants hit the ground, as she drops them to her ankles. More importantly, he can see them hit the floor from three angles on his computer screen, choosing those views from among the dozens of high-definition security web cameras installed throughout his house today, while his wife was ‘out’. He zooms one of the bedroom cams in on the wet spot in the front of her panties, and he gets a close-up of her hand fishing around behind the flimsy cotton.

She’s also grinning with him…in between grimaces and near grunts, as she continues to fight with her clothing, one-handed. The “mounting on the wall” threat is an old joke between them, and they both chuckle—until her sudden intake of breath, as she finally worms her hand in and hits the right spot.

Although they have never joked about someone named “Althea” before; though she didn’t even know what a ‘Brazilian wax job’ was before today; despite the fact that she has never uttered the words ‘skanky, bald pussy’ in her entire life, she’s a little too distracted to wonder where those changes came from.

“Are you okay, honey?” His voice drips with insincere concern.

‘Ah, that’s better! God, I need this,’ she screams inside. Out loud, all she says is, “Oh, mmmmm…yeah, I’m fine. I, uh…I just stubbed my toe. No permanent damage done, though. Look, I’m gonna go, let you get back to it, so you can maybe get home a little earlier than you’re planning. Okay? Love you! Bye, bye, bye…”

She doesn’t wait for his reply and she practically slams the phone down as she thrusts her second hand into her panties…and then finding even the thin elastic band still too restrictive, peels the soaked cotton briefs over her ass and quickly and tosses them into a corner in her haste to get both hands working on her overheated sex.

She closes her eyes and her mind starts filling with lurid images…unlike any she’s ever had before. She imagines her husband, naked, cock erect, walking slowly toward her, prick bobbing as he approaches, dripping and glistening with…pre-cum? Saliva? Pussy juice? Some other lubricating substance? All of the above?

She begins unconsciously drooling as she works her hands faster in her swampy hole, squeezing and rubbing, sliding the tips of her fingers in and out, up and down her slick entrance. She redirects one hand to begin massaging her aching breasts, tweaking and teasing her nipples, cupping and squeezing her full, sensitive mounds.

Now she sees other cocks…lots of cocks! Large ones, huge ones, circumcised ones with big heads, uncircumcised ones with the heads completely hidden, cocks with hairy balls and cocks with neatly groomed pubes. Then, suddenly she sees pussies. Close-cropped pussies, pussies with landing strips, completely smooth pussies(!), pussies with heart-shaped pubes, pussies with tattoos, rings, jewels, bells, LOCKS! She gasps as she sees the women these pussies belong to, in collars, with pierced nipples, wearing restrictive harnesses, hair bound up and away so you can see their faces as they slobber and lick and suck at their masters’ cocks, while other cocks pound away in their pussies…and asses! Then, some of the collared women are sitting on the faces of other submissive women, while slurping and licking the pussies of stern-looking, dominant women, women who guide the efforts of their lapping tongues and press and grind their furry crotches forcefully into the faces and mouths of the women licking them.

Her hands are in a frenzy now, blurring as she nears a desperately-needed cum…closer...drawing right up to the edge…then, her hands tiring, her breath coming in gasps, she begins to lose concentration. The images fade away, and she sees her husband again…now with another woman. An incredibly hot woman. A redhead, dressed entirely in slinky lingerie—slutwear, she’s always called it, but now that doesn’t seem like a completely negative term.

The redhead is fondling her husband, and rubbing against him, and the bastard is responding to her caresses! She sees there are openings in the slutwear—cutouts for the nipples, a slit in the panties—and she catches glimpses of the crinkly breast buds when they’re not dragging across her husband’s chest. She clearly sees the woman’s completely bare pussy and the naked lips parting when she squats to drag her husband’s pants and underwear down, freeing his cock so she can lave it with her tongue.

Andrea begins to growl with frustration, and anger, and jealousy and…something else, a longing, a desire unlike any she’s ever had before. She finds she wants to take that fictitious woman’s place, push her out of the way, reclaim her man, and she somehow knows she can’t do it continuing like she is today.

She wants to rub sensuously against her husband like that hussy is doing, pressing her face into his chest, sliding over his body like a cat in heat, fondling his cock and sucking his nipples. She wants to be the one on her knees in front of him with her husband’s cock sliding into her throat. She wants to be the one taking it doggie style, her face buried in the pillow while her husband plunges into her from behind. She wants to feel his tongue—or any tongue!—on her completely smooth pussy, and to squirt joyously, with abandon, into that someone’s mouth.

As the images of her own submission come faster and stronger, as her mind’s eye displays her body decorated with jewelry and artwork, shows her becoming ever more debased and subservient, as her husband plunders her ass and binds her in leather and gives her to other men—and women(!)—once again she begins to near the peak. And she gets much closer…she’s panting like a steam engine…and she’s nearing the peak…she’s so close she sinks to her knees and then onto her back…and her hands never stop their groping and plunging and slipping and sliding and squeezing, rubbing her folds, pinching her clit and nips and then, as she’s sure she’s heading over the edge…

Once again she loses concentration and it slips from her grasp.

She screams in frustration and pounds her hands and feet on the floor and tosses her luscious blonde mane until it’s a wild nest of tangles, as the images fade slowly from her fevered brain.

Her husband, watching the whole scene from the computer in his office, laughs out loud; he’s ecstatic with the show she’s putting on, and he’s sooo happy he’s now got the entire episode on his hard drive. He knows she won’t be able to cum until he’s there to assist or allow her to do so, and he has no intention of permitting her release any time soon. He knows the kind of images filling her brain because he had them put there, and he reinforced them with his little chat a few minutes ago.

He glances at the clock; it’s now only a little after one, and he knows his darling dearest is in for a long day and evening of frustration. It will be longer still if she doesn’t listen to her urges and come crawling to him later tonight, begging for release, but he really doesn’t expect that until at least the second day…more likely the third. He wonders how much she’s already changed, and just how many more changes will occur today, and what form they will take. Since they kept her old, prudish, vanilla-sex personality intact as much as possible, he was going to relish every moment of her internal struggles and her outward embarrassment and her ultimate defeat as she succumbs to the programming he ordered.

He loves his wife…but he was definitely getting the feeling he was going to love his new, improved wife so much more. He began to wonder why he had waited so long to take this step.

Chapter 2

‘Meanwhile, back at the ranch…’

Andrea, for her part, is awhirl with conflicting emotions. Where did those bizarre images come from? She’s never even seen such pictures anywhere, much less encountered that many actual naked people in her entire life. She had no idea what an uncircumcised cock looked like before now and would never have dreamed that pussies came in so many shapes and colors, and with such bizarre pubestyles…and with such (cute) decorations! (?)

But more important than the possibility that she’s losing her sanity, where did she stash that damned vibrator her husband bought her, but which she’s never used? Does she have any batteries to fit? Her pussy is on fire, and she suddenly realizes she’s sitting naked in a small puddle of her own juices on the hardwood floor, and leaking more (delicious) pussy juice by the second. (?) She doesn’t even remember taking off her blouse, but there it is, tossed over the bedside lamp and certainly no one else could be to blame for the haphazard display.

She scrambles up and, uncharacteristically ignoring her nudity, begins a frantic search in her mind for the ‘ridiculous’ rabbit vibe her husband brought home for a ‘joke’…ha, ha. She thinks she may have stashed it in the under-bed storage area of her waterbed’s Captain’s frame. She falls to her knees next to the bed and begins pawing through the first of the many storage drawers. There are dozens of items down there that haven’t seen the light of day in years; maybe the “funny bunny” will be among them.

Even if it’s not, there’s no telling what she might find there that could potentially be put to use to quench the fire currently burning between her thighs. (?) Suddenly, she’s brought up short. Was she truly going crazy? She didn’t masturbate, at least not since she lost her virginity. She didn’t feel there was anything “sinful” or “wrong” with it; she just didn’t do it, never felt the need. On those occasions she needed sex, there had never been a shortage of men (and a few misguided—and very disappointed—women) who had been more than willing to provide it, whether she was interested or not.

Maybe she should just take a shower (a cold one!) and try to calm down. It was going to be a long day and night, otherwise. While she’s thinking things through, one hand apparently hasn’t gotten the message that sanity must prevail, as it continues to idly stroke her enflamed pudenda; she suddenly notices and yanks it from her crotch, staring at it like it’s betrayed her.

With her hand right in front of her eyes—and nose, as well—that’s when the smell of her heat truly hits her. She notices with distaste that her hand is coated, almost to the wrist, with the slime from her still-dripping pussy. Without thought, she tentatively sticks out her tongue and takes a lick from one of her fingers. Suddenly, she is stuffing her fingers in her mouth, one by one and two by two, trying desperately to remove every last drop of her own pussy nectar from her fingers.

When there’s no taste left on that hand but her own saliva, her other hand quickly follows suit, and although part of her is horrified by her actions, there is a definite satisfaction to the act that compels her to continue licking and sucking until she can’t taste or smell another whiff of her scent on either of her hands. The entire time, her rebellious, agitated pussy practically hums in satisfaction, continuously twitching and spilling its copious flow down her thighs. When the frenzy dies down, she immediately stops and thrusts her hands into her armpits, hugging herself tightly to keep her hands out of further mischief.

‘Shower!’ she practically screams to herself. ‘I’ve got to get into that shower! All these thoughts of sex are making me nuts!’ She takes a few seconds to grab all of her clothing from their various landing sites, and uses her already-sopping panties to mop up the small puddle of her own juices on the floor. She has the sudden, bizarre compulsion to lick up the puddle, which she just as quickly squelches, with a shudder. She finishes wiping up and frantically stuffs the panties into the middle of the pile of clothing she’s carrying, to minimize the scent.

As she hurries off—still nude—her slickened thighs continually remind her of the need building ‘down south’ and she resolves to head to the gym to work off some of this frustration, meet up with ‘Milla, her trainer and best friend, have a leisurely dinner together, call it an early night, read a book—no romance novels!—and to bed by 9 p.m. so she’ll be fresh and rested for work in the morning. But tomorrow when they both finally return home from their respective jobs, her hubby had better be prepared for the fucking (and cocksucking) of his life! (?)

Unfortunately, she soon forgets about all of these resolutions; the changes are already accelerating.

Sweet Jesus! What a show! His straight-laced little wife never masturbated—at least, so far as he knew. She never even walked around nude, for that matter. Well, he believed she didn’t do anything of the sort, since she never even gave the ideas any consideration when he had lightly probed, back in the early days of their relationship. Admittedly, since they regularly worked different schedules, he couldn’t say for certain; but he’d have bet a sizable sum she was always fully dressed, even when alone in the house. Hell, she even came out of their private shower wrapped in a towel and turned out the light before donning her flannel nightshirt and popping into bed. To see her completely nude, frantically massaging her sex, writhing and moaning…well, that was the stuff of dreams!

That ‘finger-lickin’ good’ bit was a bit disturbing, though; admittedly, erotic as hell, but definitely a little worrisome, for no reason he could quite put a finger on. He certainly had no idea there was anything like that in the programming. He also knew it was a bit early in the project to call ‘Tasha’ back, but if he saw too many more things like that, he might ask for a quick tweak to get things back on course before things spun out of control too badly.

Unfortunately for them both, it’s already far too late for that resolution; the changes are already accelerating.

‘I absolutely REEK! I’ve got to wash my own scent off before I go nuts,’ she thinks, as she slams her dampened clothes into the hamper. She quickly turns on the shower to her usual temperature, then thinks for a moment, and lowers the temp a bit, to reduce the too-comfortable heat and steamy atmosphere to something a little more chilling. She stops for a moment to look at herself in the mirror over the sink...and sees no changes, nothing out of the ordinary. Yet she feels like some stranger has taken up residence inside.

She turns to look at the full-length mirror behind the bathroom door, does the same inspection for the rest of her body. Nothing different, no visible changes. She admires her toned physique for a moment, turns sideways for a quick check of her butt and boobs in profile, sees nothing to be ashamed of there, either…and is reminded of her ‘condition’ by a sudden intensity in the perkiness of her nipples and a fresh dribble of pussy juice from her twitching groin, brought on by viewing her own reflection in the mirror. (?)

Tim’s a lucky guy…and I’m an even luckier woman, that he indulges me so.<twinge> As she turns back for a final full-frontal, her eyes are suddenly drawn to the bushy growth nestled at the juncture of her thighs.

‘What was that whole bit about ‘Althea’ he was babbling about?’ she suddenly remembers. ‘And what’s this sudden interest in redheads? And Brazilian waxings? I know some men are turned on by that bare look, but I never thought MY guy was ‘one of those guys’…before today. Could he be having an affair?’

She shook her head, and dismissed the idea out-of-hand. Tim was occasionally difficult, admittedly had a tendency toward kinky tastes—which she had always successfully squelched—but unfaithful? She couldn’t believe it.

‘But what if I’m really NOT satisfying him, anymore? Maybe he’s thinking about it…maybe he’s tired of the ‘same ol’ thing’ and Lord knows, there’d be a line of women waiting to take my place. Maybe even a kinky, redheaded, bald-pussied slut named Althea,’ she thought, chagrined.

She runs her fingers through her bush, tentatively touching the oversensitized area, and tugging lightly on the strands. She has always loved her pubes, since they first appeared when she was entering young womanhood. She considered them her ‘badge of honor’—proof she was a natural blonde and not a fraud like those bleached-blonde bimbos. But even she had to admit her bush was maybe a little too ‘bushy’, and though she knew some women trimmed and primped and shaved and even plucked or waxed their little patches, she’d always considered the practice foolish.

‘How did they come to be so obsessed with a few square inches of hair that almost no one ever sees? How do these women ever find the time for such silliness? And doesn’t it hurt? Doesn’t it ITCH when it grows back in?’ She couldn’t imagine her lush forest reduced to some manicured lawn or landing strip, much less completely removed. She’d feel absolutely naked, like some pre-pubescent Lolita!

And now, her hubby was talking about another woman—possibly fictional, possibly not—with a completely barren groin, devoid of any nether hair whatsoever. Someone so comfortable with herself and her body that she could even bare her crotch to another person, possibly even a stranger—to be made even MORE bare! How is that sexy? She can’t imagine anything less sexually exciting than displaying her naked crotch for some stranger to rip her pubes out by the roots.

Her pussy jolts her back to reality with another clench and twitch, and she quickly released the curls she’d held captive between her fingers. ‘Well, no way, bucko, not this broad. I don’t have time for such stupidity! My carpet definitely matches my drapes—full and lush and long and blonde—and it’s going to continue to do so!’

Suddenly she remembers his other comments and spins back around to look at her ass. Not having a good viewing angle, even when separating her cheeks with her hands, she bends over, then steps apart until she can see a gap between her thighs. She’s never really taken the time to inspect her bottom before, but her husband’s lewd mention of putting his “cock into both her hot little holes” suddenly has her curious about this never-explored area of her anatomy. ‘Such an asshole!’ she thinks, then suddenly realizes what she’s staring at, and laughs. ‘No, this is an asshole. My husband is just a garden variety jerk,’ she finishes, and smiles to herself.

Early on in their relationship her husband had made some brief forays into this area, exploring her ‘taint’ (“‘Tain’t ass and ‘tain’t pussy,” he’d said, when she asked why he called it that!) and trying to gauge her responses to tentative touches in the cleft of her ass and near her browneye. She’d figuratively slapped him down hard, making sure he understood the whole region was off-limits, and he’d never brought up the subject again…until today.

So, now he’s talking about a fictional(?) bald-pussied slut who apparently takes it in the ass as casually as some people shake hands. ‘What kind of sick woman allows that sort of thing to go on? It’s unnatural, it’s…’ She’s left speechless by the unfathomable depths of such depravity. Still looking over shoulder, she can’t really see the area as well as she’d like. She briefly runs a finger down the fissure, and is surprised by the intense sensation provoked by just a ‘near miss’ of her anal rim.

‘Oooh. I don’t remember anything like that before. What’s going on with me, today?’

And with that thought, she shakes her head to dismiss any further thoughts along that tangled path and jumps into the shower.

Her husband, of course, although able to see her clearly all during this inspection, has only the vaguest of ideas about what might be really going on inside her head. But being able to watch her admire herself in the mirror and ‘comb’ her bush with her fingers has resulted in a sudden discomfort in his own groin area, as his re-awakened cock strains once more against his boxer briefs. The further view of his wife displaying and exploring her ass, then showering—two things he has never seen in all their years of marriage—has him transfixed and practically drooling.

He briefly considers letting ‘Lance-a-little’ come out to play, but knows the show is really only just beginning; he definitely wants to be ready for the ‘climax’ of this production, and blowing his load now would definitely put a crimp in his enjoyment later. He simply “adjusts” the growing lump in his pants, smiles to himself and continues to keep his eyes affixed to the monitor screens.

Andrea finds herself experiencing a difficulty showering she’s never encountered before. She knows the primary source of her trouble is now centered squarely between her legs, but attempting to wash the area keeps bringing a flood of pleasure that nearly buckles her knees. She tries dealing with just her pubes, avoiding the engorged lips and folds below…and completely avoiding even near-contact with her turgid clit. But the sight of her womanly hair covered in creamy suds brings her thoughts back around to that slut ‘Althea’ and her husband’s newfound interest in smooth-shaven—waxed, rather—pussy.

‘What is it with those men? What’s the attraction, there? Are they all pervs in one form or another? What’s the preoccupation with asses and fur removal? Pussies are where we’re supposed to get fucked and they should have fuzz…it’s the way God intended, or it wouldn’t grow there.’ She reaches for the razor she uses on her legs and pits, and following old habits, starts to touch up those areas…then catches herself and laughs aloud.

‘Yeah, that’s some argument, there! God intended me to have hair on my legs and pits, too, but nobody I know is going ‘au naturel’ with furry legs and stinky, hairy pits. In fact, just the thought…ewww. So, what’s the big deal with my pubes, then? Maybe I am overreacting!’ She can’t take her eyes away from the frothy topping covering her fur, looking for all the world as if her hair has turned white, or her crotch was covered with whipped cream. ‘Now there’s a thought,’ she mused, and her razor-filled hand starts to move toward her crotch to scrape away the offending ‘white’ fuzz covering her mound.

And just as suddenly as the reverie began, she comes to her senses. She quickly closes her eyes to the strangely compelling sight, hastily puts the razor back in the holder and reaches for the showerhead to rinse the suds off in the lukewarm shower spray. In the course of directing the handheld nozzle to the area, the inadvertent wash of the shower massage on her clit nearly buckles her knees. She accidentally drops the handle in the tub and the water pressure starts randomly twirling the spray in all directions…and some of those directions still include her overheated pussy.

She screams in frustration, grabbing at the hose and the spray nozzle, and in the course of her wrestling match, accidentally directs the flow to her sensitive tits, as well. Her nipples react to the cool spray and cooler air by springing to erection once more, nearly aching with their need for further touch, reaching newfound length and rigidity.

Finally, she regains control of the thrashing shower head and, panting now, stops for a few seconds to regroup. She considers what she’s doing—frustrating herself even worse, and NOT curing the problem. Her aching nipples and twitching pussy attest to the fact she is eventually going to lose this battle and so she stops fighting the seeming inevitable. She begins using the massage feature with a purpose, hoping to accomplish with the water what her fingers alone could not. She turns up the water pressure, raises the temperature for maximum comfort, sets the massage feature to a pulsing spray designed to “relieve tension”, leans back against the shower wall and goes to work…

‘Oh, sweet Jesus, I never dreamed of a show like this!’ he chortles to himself, clutching his aching cock and watching the monitors.

Fifteen minutes of feverish but frustrating activity later, Andrea is frantic. Strands of her hair are wet and disheveled, her face a contorted mask of mixed anger and need; her pussy and tits have reached new levels of excitation, but release is no closer than before. Her clit and nipples appear practically identical, poking out from their respective homes, quivering and erect, hypersensitized and no longer able to endure any sort of direct touch, even from just the shower spray. And now the hot water is running out completely, and her teeth are starting to chatter from the cold.

She slams the shower’s handle off, and drops the useless massager. “I wish I had spent time learning how to masturbate!” she screams, aloud this time. “I need to cum, damn it!!”

Her mind quickly drifts again to her husband’s strange behavior and their earlier discussion about the mythical ‘Althea’. She suddenly wishes she could be freer to experiment, to take sexual chances, to be the aggressor and initiate sex like this Althea slut.(?)

And just as suddenly, it occurs to her that she could be. She was a pretty good actress in high school, college, even some local little theater; this would really be no different. She could ‘play the role’ of the vamp, the harlot, the slut…hell, so many women’s roles were for prostitutes, no wonder Hollywood morals were as loose as their whorish cunts must be. And she’d be doing it for just one person—her man, her beloved. Didn’t he deserve something back for all the good things he’d bestowed on her? And now, this seemed like such a little thing…for the man she loved.

But she really had no idea how to “study” for the role. Where is a good script when you need one? Who would be her role model? Well, ‘Althea’, obviously, was a place to start. If she was truly her husband’s fantasy—or his very real lover!<gasp!> She would show them both! No slutty little twat was going to win her man from her!

And she knew just who could help her! ‘Time for that trip to the gym, after all…as soon as I figure out how I’m going to put on panties and bra over these sensitized little nubs.’

He has never seen his sweet wife so angry, so tormented and so…hot! Dear Lord, he was going to Hell, but she was so incredibly sexy like this, a wanton slut in heat. He was having his first misgivings about the whole thing, watching her in an obvious agony of need. And truth be told, his Johnson was certainly all for hurrying home to relieve her anguish!!! But he had to wait for her to be ready. That was the key to the whole treatment, he’d been told, to ensure the ‘victim’ participated in their own changes without any interference or assistance. It reinforced their lack of control and their surrender to their new conditions, and they couldn’t rationalize later that someone had coerced them, so the final changes ‘took hold’ much more completely and permanently.

But this was his wife, dammit, and he loved her; it nearly broke his heart to see her like this. But his throbbing cock had no such attack of conscience, and when you only have enough blood for one head to think…

Although these were his first misgivings about the procedure, they were going to be far from his last, because as he sat conflicted, another set of eyes were watching the same show on the same web link…and practically rubbing their hands with glee, completely assured that all was going exactly as planned.

Her compromise solution was horrible. She could put on no panties, because her engorged clit kept coming into contact with the silky material, and all of the garments seemed to somehow push her pubes downward to tickle her distended clit even worse; a full skirt was the only solution. There was no comparable garment for her breasts, unfortunately, and she was forced to endure a bra—a sports bra—which allowed for no bouncing or friction. She’d come to this ugly realization after several abortive attempts to go braless with just a blouse, or even with a normal bra and sweater, in a vain attempt to avoid exciting the perky buttons further.

Worse, she was beginning to think she could smell herself again…and even without panties her pubes still seemed to be continually irritating her clit unmercifully in its excited state. She had briefly considered a maxi-pad, to sop up the never-ending flow from her pussy, but the rough grating of the pad against her lips caused her pussy to begin its relentless clenching and twitching once more—so that wasn’t going to work, either.

She needed some release, and she needed it now! She started working on her mostly-dry hair to hopefully take her mind off her OTHER hair, and as she peered in the mirror and brushed her locks to their normal sheen and loose-flowing order, she stopped a moment to consider her color.

‘Why do men always want what they don’t have? Women have told me their entire lives they’d kill for this silky, golden mane, and I’ve always been proud that no color has ever touched it. So, when my hubby finally goes astray, what does he look for? A redhead. Asshole! I guess it’s human nature to want some variety in life, though…hell, I could use a change, myself! Maybe I could put one of those temporary colors in there…give him a quick thrill. I’d hate to mess up my hair, though! I wonder what my beautician would say? I’m sure he could tell me if it was safe…’

She finished brushing her hair into shape, and admittedly, it did look amazing…but what would it look like red? Maybe Arturo could fit her in for a consult this evening…

But first, she had to get in touch with her consultant on everything else in the world—‘Milla. Time to give her a call and see what she was doing. As she walks out the garage door to her Beamer, she hits the speed dial. Her traitorous pussy continues its twitching and leaking as she slides into the driver’s seat.

“Hello, ‘Milla? I need your help…badly. Are you free this afternoon?”

‘Milla listened sympathetically, nodding her head as her best friend shared her latest crisis with her.

“No, sweetie, I’m sure you’re not going crazy—maybe overreacting a little, but not crazy. And I’m absolutely certain Tim is not having an affair. This town’s too small to hide a thing like that; someone always knows and someone always tells. And when they do, someone always tells me. I get gossip from everyone in this burg, and if he were doing you dirty, I’d know.

“Of course I’d tell you! It would eat me alive to know he was betraying you…

“No, I don’t know anyone named Althea. Do you? Be serious. Who has a name like that in this day and age? That’s like something you’d find in ‘Gone with the Wind’.

“Redhead? Brazilian? ‘Both’ her holes? Why that kinky little perv! I didn’t know his mind ran that way…

“Are you kidding me? Half my clientele has Brazilians done regularly, and the rest—except you—have all been on my chairs getting some maintenance done…mostly landing strips, but you’d be surprised at the var…

“No, dear, it’s perfectly normal. And practically painless. We’ve even got newer methods to make it completely so. You’re really the only one I know who doesn’t have some sort of work being done, above or below the waistband. It helps when you’re naturally gorgeous, but seriously, I’ve always wondered about that ‘untamed bushland’ thing you’ve got going on. I just assumed it was because Tim…

“I’ve been in the women’s showers with you, here, remember? And the sauna? And on the massage tables, and…

“Well, you shave your pits and legs, don’t you? In some cultures that would be considered abnormal, too. But in America, in the new millenium…

“Honey, you are such a naïf; I could tell you stories! No one you know hasn’t been into one of my clinics or spas for some sort of facial, hair or body work, but the details are all strictly confidential, naturally. No, I can’t tell even you; we have doctors doing the work, so it’s covered by doctor/patient privilege. Just trust me when I say that you’re the unusual one. Not that you need any work…

“Yes, come on by. I’d planned to be here all afternoon, but I’ve just been working the books, and you know how much I enjoy that wonderful chore. I don’t have any personal clients this afternoon; the rest of my day has already been cleared. Truth be told, I was hoping to hear from you; I could use the distraction.

“Love you too, sweetie. Hurry to ‘Milla; she’ll take good care of you. You can rescue me from my drudgery, we’ll go somewhere nice, have a late lunch/early dinner cocktail or two, and you can pour your heart out.”

‘Milla smiled excitedly as she hung up, and began preparations to receive a visit from her friend.

‘I wonder where she went?’ Tim found himself wondering for the 11th time since his wife left the house…and therefore, his screen monitors. ‘Maybe I should call her. But about what? I told her I wouldn’t have a break again until late. Maybe I should call ‘Tasha’. I don’t even know if it’s safe for her to be out like this, unsupervised. Hell, in her condition, she could wind up screwing the bagboy—and the butcher and the cashier!—at the grocery store. Not that it would do her any good, except stoke her fires higher, but still.

‘Nah, I’d better not. ‘Tasha’ told me this was perfectly safe; she also warned me not to contact her except in case of emergency, and then only through our original intermediaries. But I’m getting a little concerned, here. Maybe…awww, shit. What the hell do I do now? Hey, wait…maybe she’s on her way here? No, definitely too soon to expect that.’

While he fretted and fumed, and tried to get some work done, the object of his worries was having a relaxing and enjoyable, intimate tete-a-tete with her best friend. If he had known, he would have breathed a sigh of relief, instead of becoming even more greatly concerned which, at this point, would have been a much more appropriate reaction.

“These are great, ‘Milla. What did you say they were called, again?”

“International Incidents. You can’t get most bars to make them, but that’s the reason I come here rather than those other bars. I’m glad you like. Care for another?”

“Well…maybe just one. Anyway, you were saying about Tim?” She squirmed unconsciously in her seat again, as she had been for most of her conversation.

“As I see it you have two choices.” She signals their waiter for another round. “Keep on as you are, and trust your beloved hubby to continue to keep on as he has been. Or, make some changes and spice up both your love lives.”

“But, ‘Milla, although the idea sounds kind of exciting <twitch, squirm> I’m really very happy with the status quo. I love my hubby deeply<clench> and I know he loves me, just as I am. Why would he even want me to change?”

“You really don’t know anything about men, do you, sweetie. Or people, for that matter. It’s the nature of the beast to want something more, something different…simple variety. If you ate spinach every day, there would come a time when you’d rather starve than munch one more leaf. They say people’s taste buds change out completely every 7 years. For that matter, why do you need so many pairs of shoes? And I’m sure you’ve heard of the ‘7-year itch’…which is why most divorces happen between 5 and 8 years. Women come to me every day with this same complaint and a wistful desire to be a little different, to be the one to provide that variety to their significant other. And frankly, the women almost always want some change, too. That’s what keeps me in business.”

“But I don’t want to change Tim…”

“Sweetie, you’re the exception to almost every rule I know. For most folks, the secret of a long and happy marriage is not to never change, but to change together, in the same directions. The question is, can you change in the way he wants? If it would make you desperately unhappy to change to suit your man’s desires, then your best bet is to start looking for a new lover now.”

“<GASP!>‘Milla, that’s not even an option! I love Tim!!<twitch, gush> I can’t believe you’d even suggest such a thing…” Just then, the waiter interrupted to clear the four existing glasses and drop off another round of International Incidents.

When he’d gone, ‘Milla continued. “Look, I’m not trying to do a sales job, here. You’re my best friend. I don’t want you to do anything to make yourself unhappy, and I’d be damned pissed at Tim if he were trying to make you unhappy. But that’s not what I’m hearing here. I mean, I wasn’t on the line with him, but it sounds as if he’s casually joking—just like he always does—and this time you’re getting all worked up about it.

“So the question is, why? What’s up with you? Are you secretly hoping for an excuse to make some changes? Because if you’re trying to lay this off on Tim, it won’t work. That path leads to resentment. Either you want a little variety in your own life, or you don’t. If you don’t, you’d better not. You’d be better served just working at making Tim happier with ‘the status quo’. Because I gotta tell you, if he’s not going to stay happy with it, there’s a lot of folks out there that would very happy to status your quo just as it is, baby girl. Assuming they could find their way through the ‘forbidden forest’ down there.” She giggled and squeezed Andrea’s hand to let her know she was kidding.

Andrea blushed to her roots. And continued squirming. “Well, as a matter of fact, I have noticed some ‘changes’ already, and I’m wondering if they aren’t somehow connected, like you’re suggesting. I definitely think you’re right, I’m almost certainly overreacting, but I’m apparently going through some sort of hormonal surge, at the moment.”

“You’re telling me this whole thing is about you being PMS?”

“You’ve seen me PMSing before. Does this seem like PMS to you? I’m so horny I want to screw doorknobs, and so sensitive I can’t even wipe myself.” She puts her hand to her mouth, and gasps. “I can’t believe I just said that to you. I don’t talk like that! Do you see what I mean? I think I’m having some sort of episode…”

“Calm down, honey. It’s okay; I’m your best friend. You can’t offend me with a little sex talk. And they don’t call these ‘International Incidents’ for nothing,” she grinned. “They’ve loosened more than a few lips inappropriately, in their time. But what else is going on with you? Can you describe it? You know your secrets are safe with me…”

“Well, I’m getting these ‘images’…shocking, lurid…lewd images. And…and…well, I’m…” She couldn’t continue, International Incident or no.

“Go on, sweetie, tell ‘Milla. You know you can’t shock me.”

“Well,” and here she lowered her voice to a whisper, “I can’t make myself cum.<clench> I haven’t done it in so long, I think I’ve forgotten how!” Again, she blushes a deep, bright red.

“Okay, I was wrong. I am shocked. You mean to tell me you don’t masturbate? You haven’t in…how long?”

“Shhhh, keep your voice down. Yes, that’s right. I haven’t really ‘touched myself’ down there<twitch > since I lost my virginity…at fifteen.”

“Listen to you; you’re so cute! ‘Touched myself’. ‘Down there’. You talk about sex like you’re STILL a fifteen-year-old. No wonder Tim loves you so much! You haven’t even really grown up yet, sexually. I bet he’s just been hanging around waiting for that sleeping lion to wake up and roar. And no wonder you’re so horny! You’re on the cusp of your 30’s, the time of a woman’s greatest sexual maturity and desirability, and you’re still stuck in high school, so to speak.”

“That’s not fair! Tim and I have great sex! We…”

“Let me guess. Missionary position only? Lights always out? Only under the covers? I bet you’ve even got a flannel nightie. Any of this hitting close to the mark? Come on, this is ‘Milla you’re talking to. I know you only wear cotton granny panties, because I’ve seen you in them.”

Now Andrea is getting flushed again, and this time it’s not because of embarrassment. “They’re not ‘granny panties’ they’re sensible workout panties. And Tim loves that flannel nightie, bought it for me himse…”

“Sweetie, I’m not saying this to make you angry. Please understand, I’m your friend—your best friend. I love you. But none of that is particularly sexy. Believe me when I tell you Tim’s not cheating on you, but seriously, when was the last time you left some fingernail marks down your husband’s back because he screwed you so well, you lost control and nearly maimed him? When was the last time you thought, ‘I hope I didn’t wake the neighbors with my screaming,’ and actually checked outside to make sure their lights weren’t coming on?”

“When Tim and I make love, it’s a beautiful experience; I’m not about to discuss it with anyone, but suffice it to say, I’ve never hurt him…or…or advertised what we’re doing to the neighbors.” Andrea was now full-blown angry.

“So, basically, you’re repressed,” ‘Milla goaded her.

“I am not repressed. I’m just not a slut!” Andrea countered.

“Honey, you’ve got the wrong idea about sluts. Sluts have no self-respect and they don’t discriminate; they’ll fuck anyone. But a passionate partner, sharing the deepest depths of their sexuality, freely giving and receiving pleasure…that’s a gift from the gods. By the way, sweetie, now you’re the one that’s getting a little loud.”

Andrea looked around and saw a few curious eyes turned their way and deflated. “Sorry, ‘Milla. It’s just this…whatever it is…it’s making me crazy. What am I gonna do? I do want to change, but I don’t know how. And I’m so horny I can’t think straight.” As if to emphasize the point, Andrea’s pussy clenched and drooled a small river, wetting the back of her skirt.

“Poor baby. Look me in the eye. Do you really want to change, or are you just doing this for Tim?”

“I want to change. For me.<CLENCH> I want to have the sort of experience you’re talking about. I have been holding myself back, and now for the life of me, I can’t imagine why.”

“Then trust me. This is what I do. I help people change and become all they can be, all they’ve dreamed of. I awaken their spirit of adventure, and make them feel like they can do bold and daring things and step outside their humdrum lives. But with you, I won’t have to work as hard as I normally do; all we need to do is provide some variety on your curvaceous, gorgeous frame. You can act, right?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Then get ready to act sexy. What’s this Althea chick got that you don’t have? You’re more beautiful and more talented, in better shape, and that black belt you’ve got didn’t just happen. You’ve earned it all. You’ve busted your tail to keep yourself in shape, and your body is humming like a well-oiled machine. Now it wants sex…and rightly so. Sex is why other people work to get their bodies in the shape you’ve got, and you’ve been denying your body for far too long. You’re finally prepared to reap the rewards of those hours spent at my place. You’ve got brains, a bod made for sex…and a friend who just happens to own a string of clinics, spas, gyms, salons and beauty parlors. I’ve been your personal trainer all these years…now let me be your beauty consultant. More than that, let me be your sex consultant. You’ll thank me, I promise. Let this first visit be my treat; it’s not often I get a ‘virgin’ in any of my shops.”

“I’m not…” Andrea began to protest, but three International Incidents and a pussy with a mind of its own easily outvoted her; any reservations she might have imagined conjuring up were washed away in a sea of hormones, perky nipples and sexual fantasies.

That is, until she got to the salon. Suddenly, the old Andrea was back with a vengeance. “Let me get this straight. You expect me to get naked, lay on a couch sort of chair, put my feet in some stirrups for ‘easier access’ to my crotch, so some woman I don’t know can…can…put hot wax on my crotch and rip my pubes out by the roots? Are you frickin’ nuts? I can’t do this!!! What sane woman could? The obvious objection to the pain notwithstanding, I’d look like a little girl. I can’t believe I let you talk me into even considering this. This is crazy talk!” Apparently, the half-life of three International Incidents didn’t survive the 30-minute drive to the salon and the 1-1/2 minutes it took to free up a waxing room for the boss’s VIP guest.

‘Milla’s assistant was suddenly very nervous, but ‘Milla spoke calmly to her in Russian for a few moments, and guided her to the door with a reassuring pat on her shoulder. When the door was closed, she turned to her friend. “Look, Andrea, I get it. Change is scary. I understand if you can’t do it. But we’re not talking extreme pain here, despite the sound of it. And I have hair removal methods that involve no pain at all, if that’s really what’s worrying you. But I can tell that’s not. You’re not ready to change and that’s just okay. Let’s just go work out. It’ll help take your mind off your other problems…”

Which brought Andrea up short again; her very real problems weren’t likely to go away because she was ‘Sweatin’ to the Oldies’ or even beating up the heavy bag. She had a husband who was fantasizing about smooth-pussied, redheaded bimbos<twitch> in sexy lingerie she wouldn’t be caught dead in, <clench> impaling their asses on his cock.<gush>

And she was apparently a repressed prude whose body was rebelling against all those years of denial, and now she couldn’t even make herself cum.

Just then, ‘Milla’s assistant returned with a tray, bearing what looked like another International Incident. ‘Milla reached for it, with a murmured, “Spasibo” and started to take a drink.

“Hey, what about your guest?” Andrea protested.

“You’re not my guest, now, you’re my trainee. Get your ass into the locker rooms and prepare for the worst. I’m gonna have you so worn out today, you’ll only think you had problems. I, on the other hand, am going to enjoy another frosty adult beverage while you get changed into your workout clothes.”

“Give me that!” Andrea grabbed the drink, spilling a little, and downed it in one long series of gulps. ‘Milla’s assistant stared in open-mouthed astonishment, while ‘Milla hid her grin behind her hand. Andrea handed the glass back to the assistant, wiping her mouth. “Let’s see if we can’t come to some sort of compromise. But first I’m gonna need another one of those…Internal Incidences…or whatever they are.”

‘Milla nodded to her assistant and held up two fingers.

“And second, you’ve got to level with me, ‘Milla. What you were saying back at the restaurant, about…you know…about me. And my bush. And…and everything. I know you have a fairly ritzy clientele…hell, if my husband wasn’t filthy rich I couldn’t afford to come here at all. And I know the rich are ‘different’, no offense.”

“None taken. I’m well off, but I’m a far cry from the kind of wealth most of my upscale customers have. And you’re right, the rich are different, but since they’re so friggin’ wealthy, we have to refer to them as ‘eccentric’.” ‘Milla giggled. “But the type of stuff you’re referring to is so common, and so normal across the board, I do this same sort of thing just as much, if not more, in my ‘economy’ shops for people with average incomes. I just charge lots less…and pamper them a little less, accordingly.”

“You’re saying, even normal people like us do this sort of thing. Is it really that common?”

“I can show you the books. Waxing, shaving, lasering, monogramming, anal bleaching—even pubic hair coloring—account for a fifth of my business.”

“Lasering??!? Dyeing their pubes??? People really do that? What’s anal bleaching…and monogramming?”

“Lightening the color of their assholes and initials shaved into their thatch. Look, that’s not important. The point is, not everyone is blessed with cuffs that match their collar and perfect pink assrings…so, yeah, we do dye jobs above and below. And lasering is the latest thing…completely painless. Of course, it’s…”

“But I’ve had my bush since junior high.”

“Which was the last time a full bush was really in fashion. Have you never seen a Playboy…” She quickly scanned the look of shock from Andrea, so she hurriedly continued, “…or okaaaay, how about a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue? Those bikinis show so much skin, and they’re so thin, and hug the crotch so tightly, there’s no doubt there’s no hair underneath it. Trust me, I’m in the business…those models are as bare as river stones.”

“Yeah, but again, we’re not talking normal people. I’m not a porn star, or a Bunny…or even a fashion model.”

“You could be any of them; you’re built for it. You’ve got a body made for sex, for sin and for showing it off. The rest of us mere mortals have to work like demons to keep up with the naturally blessed like yourself.”

Andrea blushed again, head to toe, as the assistant came back in with two more International Incidents. They both took the drinks and sipped, quietly, as the assistant made another hasty exit.

“’Milla, could we start with something else? I just can’t get past it seeming so…perverse…so abnormal. It would make me feel like a pre-adolescent, not having a bush.”

“Get real. There are benefits, trust me. When was the last time Timmy boy had his face in your undergrowth?”

Andrea couldn’t stop blushing, and her pussy seemed to now be engaged in non-stop activity; she had heard the term “party in your pants” before but only as it related to guys. What was going on down there? She suspected she was dripping wet nearly to her knees underneath her skirt. She chewed her lip lightly and mumbled her answer. “Never.”

Now ‘Milla was truly shocked. “Never?”

“Never. I wouldn’t let him. Again, the perversity fact…”

‘Milla cut her off. “Dear God, poor baby. I can’t imagine a world where somebody wasn’t putting a tongue to my snatch on a regular basis. I’d go crazy. No wonder your poor pussy’s going nuts!”

“I just couldn’t let him do that, ‘Milla. The smell…”

“…is heavenly. And the taste of the ambrosia is even better. Poor guy. Now I feel bad for him, too.”

“But only sluts and pervs would…”

“Are you calling me a slut? A perv?” Now it was ‘Milla’s turn to get a little angry.

“No, ‘Milla, you’re my best friend, and the most normal person I know. But your clientele is different and…what are you doing?”

‘Milla set down her drink and was suddenly a whirlwind of activity, unbuttoning her blouse and jeans, revealing no underwear underneath. Within 5 seconds, while a speechless Andrea looked on, ‘Milla was standing before her friend in her altogether—stark naked, nude. With a snatch as smooth as a grape.

Andrea’s mouth hung open. She couldn’t form words. ‘Milla filled in the gap. “I’m not just the president of the ‘no-hair’ club; I’m a customer.” Andrea’s only response was to finish her drink, quickly set it down and swap with ‘Milla’s to take a further healthy swig. ‘Milla’s mostly-untouched glass was now half-empty. But during it all, her eyes never left the few square inches of bare flesh between her friend’s legs…well, maybe a quick peek at her perky B-cups, but mostly she couldn’t stop staring at her friend’s crotch.

“Well? Do I look ‘pre-adolescent’ to you? Or am I still all woman? These tits might not be as big as your Cs, but they’re not mosquito bites, either. Trust me when I say that no one seeing you naked will mistake you for a pre-teen. By the way, like I was trying to tell you before, the sex—without all that fuzz getting in the way—is amazing. I doubt I’ll ever go back...” Suddenly, she noticed her drunken friend leaning toward her, hand outstretched, as if to touch the object of her gaze. Then Andrea’s hand sprung back as if burned. And still her eyes remained glued to the naked pussy in front of her.

“Hey, I’m up here!” ‘Milla joked. “And yes, you may touch it. Frankly, it could use a little touching, right about now…this conversation has been getting me a little worked up,” she continued, giggling drunkenly.

Andrea appeared to have not heard a word. Her mouth was hanging open slightly, and her tongue unconsciously darted out to lick her upper lip. Her mouth was suddenly dry, but her pussy was gushing a small waterfall between her legs. She was sure she had never seen anything so sexy, and the compulsion to touch (taste?) what she was seeing was growing stronger by the second. Her hand once again crept forward of its own volition, while her other hand poured the final half of ‘Milla’s potent drink into her mouth to quench her thirst.

Of course, her thirst was unabated…no amount of alcohol would substitute for the slick juices she wanted so very badly now. Her mind began to fill again with those same lurid images of the stunning, slutty redhead, worshipping her lover, only now the pictures weren’t of Tim…they were of ‘Milla. And the slutty, bare-pussied redhead was her(!), on her knees, rubbing and worshipping, licking, suckling ‘Milla’s clit, slurping up her juices in wild abandon.

Back in the real world, ‘Milla watched her friend as she sank to her knees, one hand outstretched, longing to touch, the other setting the empty glass on the floor and quickly finding its way between her own legs, to the treasure still hidden underneath her skirt.

Then, ‘Milla closed the gap, taking a step toward her friend’s hand, allowing it reach the object of its desire. As if that simple touch had closed the switch on an electrical connection, the moment her hand reached ‘Milla’s bare cleft, her own hand finally set off a cum of monumental proportions in her own furry snatch.

When Andrea awoke, she was lying in the exquisitely comfortable salon chair, with her feet in the padded stirrups, her head still woozy from the drink…and from the explosive orgasm that had, amazingly, caused her to pass out. Then she realized she was naked. Next she realized there was some sort of incredible, amazing, exquisitely delicious activity going on between her legs. Finally, she saw the long, luscious black mane of her best friend spread across her thighs, her face nuzzling her crotch, her lips and tongue obviously the root cause of that amazing feeling in her pussy. She saw her friend looking at her over her abundant bush, eyes smiling, as she continued her delightful ministrations.

‘Milla gave another quick lick and broke contact long enough to say, “I thought you should at least have one cum this way, so you’d have something to compare it with, because the next time you have a tongue down here, all this…” ‘Milla ran her fingers through Andrea’s thick, silky pubes. “…all this fur will be gone.” And she returned her mouth to Andrea’s pussy while her friend was still recovering her wits.

For a moment Andrea almost screamed in shock and horror…and then, slowly, her traitorous hands once again made their way toward her crotch, now blocked in their progress by her best friend’s face. She settled for caressing and gently stroking ‘Milla’s silky black hair as she was pleasured beyond her wildest imaginings. The gentle stroking of ‘Milla’s hair soon changed to cupping ‘Milla’s gorgeous head, then clasping and clutching as she soared toward another peak. Then suddenly…crashing cymbals and flying stars and fireworks and explosions and…

Andrea awoke for the second time, and she found herself still in the adjustable chair, feet still in the stirrups, her uncovered, furry snatch the highest point on her body except for her silky tits. She looked groggily to the left and saw no one, then turning to the right, she was greeted by the sight of ‘Milla’s naked pussy, mere inches from her face, legs and nether lips parted slightly while she caressed her best friend’s hair. Andrea was even more fascinated by this close-up view than before, taking note of the glistening juices forming at the tidy juncture of ‘Milla’s moist lips. She saw how her best friend’s clit seemed to practically quiver in its sheath as she shifted position, and how the lips slid together and then apart, with a tendril of shiny juices still connecting their inner surface, when she changed her stance. She once again found her hand reaching for the all-consuming object of her passion.

‘Milla stepped back, with a low, “Unh, unh, baby girl. Not again. Not yet, anyway.” She murmured softly and still continued to pet and stroke her friend’s hair as she came fully back to earth, trying in vain to shake off the effects of her double orgasm and her alcohol-induced haze. As ‘Milla backed out of reach, Andrea couldn’t stop a small sound of disappointment from escaping her lips, and her own ‘neglected’, traitorous snatch began a new round of twitching and clenching from being so close to the pussy she craved.

“Shhhh, just rest, now, while ‘Milla takes care of you. You’re right, no stranger should be allowed to touch that sacred place between your legs. Only someone who knows you and loves you should have that gift. Now, do you still want that jungle removed? You’re all prepped and ready…I’ve already applied the topical anesthesia, so there won’t be a bit of pain. You may still feel some discomfort, when the waxed strips are yanked off, but…”

“No, no waxing, ‘Milla! I can’t do it. I know it’ll still hurt; I can’t help it, I just know…”

“Shhhh, shhh, all right, we’ll use another method, but the waxing would be better; it would stay smoother for longer.”

“What about that laser you mentioned…”

“Well, yes, that’s completely painless, but…”

“It won’t hurt at all?”

“No, it won’t hurt a bit, but…”

“That’s all I care about. I want my pussy as pretty and sexy and…and as bare as yours is.”

“You’re familiar with laser hair removal, right? You know it’s…”

“I’ve heard of it! I’m not completely ignorant, you know,” Andrea stated, haughtily. “Now, please, hurry. I want to know what all the fuss is about. I can’t believe sex will be any better than what I’ve just had, but if you say bare is better, I can’t wait to find out.”

“Alright then, let me get to work. You’re sure you know…”

“Please don’t make me beg any more. Just do it.”

“Okay, if you say so, but you may regret…”

“Please!! Hurry! Before I lose my nerve.”

‘Milla hurried, before she lost her nerve.

Andrea could barely contain herself during the entire procedure. Having her friend so close to her privates again, occasionally wiping up the juices from her continually-drooling pussy, touching and clippering her fur, and then, as the procedure progressed, her skin…her newly naked skin, her incredibly silky smooth skin, her tingling, excited skin—was causing her to practically cum again. Even stray cooling air currents and her friend’s hot breath seemed to ignite sparks in her spasming snatch. She wanted to feel herself…but what she really wanted was for her friend to taste her again. She wanted—needed—something more than the teasing caresses and stroking as her friend removed her bush. She wished she could see what was going on a little better…and more importantly she wished she could guide her friend’s face back to her needy crotch. But ‘Milla was intently working away between her legs, and seemingly oblivious to her friend’s increasingly frantic desires.

‘Milla was definitely not oblivious of her friend’s need. Toward the end, she found she was going to have to ‘accidentally’ brush against Andrea’s clit. The way it was poking out it was almost impossible to completely avoid, but she had managed for most of the procedure…until there was no hair left except for the area directly around that turgid bud. She had saved all the removed fur in a little baggie for later, for her friend to remember her bush by. She would have a merkin made of it, so Andrea could wear it whenever she really missed her bush.

She suspected Andrea really had no idea that this was a permanent procedure, but she had tried to warn her, and it was much too late to worry about that now. Gone is gone. ‘Nothing left to do but remove that cute little patch surrounding her love button,’ she thought to herself. ‘Let’s get ready…I have a suspicion this last part won’t be easy.’ ‘Milla set down her tools and prepared to deal with any contingency as she ‘tested the waters’, so to speak.

Sure enough, all Andrea’s pussy had been waiting for was that one subtle, stroking touch to her clit from the tip of ‘Milla’s finger. Andrea erupted once again, her crotch thrusting upward from the chair, seeking greater contact from ‘Milla’s finger, her hand, her tongue, anything…which ‘Milla obligingly gave, quickly cupping her friend’s bottom, holding her lover’s crotch firmly to her mouth and suckling her clit directly. Naturally, Andrea came even more explosively and thrashed and spasmed and came and came as her friend gently mouthed her hypersensitive clit…and she passed out once more.

‘I have never seen anything like this one’s responsiveness. I knew she’d be special…she was, indeed, made for sex. I’m so glad I’ve got this all recorded…my best friend, and now at long last, my lover.’

With Andrea unconscious, ‘Milla was able to quickly finish the job. Even though Andrea’s pussy still continued its endless cycle of clenching and drooling, and still twitched spastically whenever ‘Milla had to touch her clit again, the fleshquakes were much less severe with Andrea ‘gone’, so to speak. She was done before Andrea even came around…whereupon she found her friend ‘Milla once again working personally and with great attention to detail on her latest project.

“Oh my God, ‘Milla. Oh my god. Oh. Oh yes. Why didn’t you tell me before? Unh…why did you hide this from me? Ooooh…why didn’t anybody let me know what this would be like? Oh, yeah, right there, oh god, yeah, oh my, oh I can’t…believe…I’m cumming…again…I’m cumming…unhhhh…I’m cumming…Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh…oh, yesss, oh my, oh god, unh, oh, oh, oh god, so good, oh my god, no, please, no more, oh yes, please, oh god, oh…no, not another…not again…oh, oh, oh…Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh…oh, oh, ‘Milla, I love you, I love you, oh, please, please, ‘Milla, please…oh, oh…oh, god…oh…oh, please, stop, please let me rest…catch my breath…please…oh…oh, yeah…please…oh, oh…oh, god…oh, yes…more, more…please…don’t stop…please…oh…oh, god…Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh…oh, oh…thank you, ‘Milla, thank you. What…what are you doing to my ass? Please…please let me up…no…oh no…oh…oh yeah…oh yes…oh, god…oh, ‘Milla…how can there be more? Oh, god, yes! Yes…yes! Cumming! Cumming…oh, yes…’Millaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

As ‘Milla finally let Andrea slowly calm down from her latest cum in a series of—conservatively estimating—17 massive orgasms (but who’s counting?) ‘Milla smiled with her mouth still firmly pressed against her best friend’s twitching pussy, and watched the effects of different tonguing and fingering techniques registering on Andrea’s tear-streaked face as she gently lapped up the seemingly never-ending stream of creamy juice pouring from that newly-naked hole. At last Andrea seemed to be partially recovered enough to form complete sentences…sentences of mostly gibberish, but grammatically correct gibberish, nonetheless.

“Now, your turn, my dear, sweet Andrea. Let’s see if you’ve learned anything by experiencing my techniques…although, God knows you haven’t stayed awake for quite a lot of them…”

Andrea growled in pleasure and reached out to her best friend for her first taste of pussy juice, as ‘Milla prepared to slowly slide up Andrea’s body to perch above her face. The feel of ‘Milla’s breasts…and stomach…and then her friend’s silky-smooth pudenda sliding over her own naked, juice-coated snatch, caused her to cum again during the torturously-slow shifting of position.

‘Milla was stopped while her friend clutched her body and ground her freshly-lasered pussy against her own silky snatch, riding out another cum. She nearly came herself as they pushed pussy against pussy, lip to lip and clit to clit…tongues now sliding freely in each other’s mouth, as they kissed and moaned and ground together, hugging and clasping each other in their newfound love.

When Andrea’s latest cum had subsided, briefly, ‘Milla thought, ‘I gotta get that mouth on my box before I go nuts, myself!’ That goal had to wait yet a little bit more, as Andrea came once again on ‘Milla’s thigh. This time her mouth worked ‘Milla’s perky tits, suckling and nipping at her nipples and breasts as she rode her lover’s thigh to another crashing cum. ‘Never been a sex toy before,’ ‘Milla thought to herself, and nearly laughed aloud with joy as she continued her slow, careful, immensely enjoyable progress to her goal.

Andrea’s first taste of pussy juice caused a cum all by itself…with her hands’ assistance, of course. As soon as ‘Milla had almost reached her goal of planting her pussy on her lover’s hungry mouth, balanced partially on her hands and knees, Andrea’s own hands were free to explore the newfound territory of her naked pussy. She gasped at the incredible sensitivity of all that naked skin, and she wondered why she’d put up with that furry mess covering her playground all these years.

‘Milla’s instructions were simple. “Stick out your tongue. Make it stiff. I want to try something…” Andrea had followed those directions to the best of her ability, and her enhanced receptivity to orders spurred her on to amazing capabilities. The result was a small spear of flesh sticking amazingly far out of her mouth, mere inches from ‘Milla’s dripping snatch. Slowly, ‘Milla lowered herself onto the rigid tongue, impaling her pussy as if on a miniature cock. Her folds enveloped and began caressing and squeezing Andrea’s tongue exactly as if she were settling her snatch onto a man’s dick, and the curled tongue served as a conduit to pipe her steaming juices directly into her lover’s mouth.

Between the touch of her hands on her own engorged clit and slippery slit, and the explosion of flavor that consumed her tongue as ‘Milla’s pussy surrounded and squeezed and leaked juices onto her straining lingual digit, Andrea’s pussy once again erupted into an extended explosion of juices and joy. Her tongue, miraculously, never wavered; it remained steadfast and stiff, allowing ‘Milla to continue her slow progress down the mini-shaft until Andrea’s lips met ‘Milla’s, and the moans and screams of orgasm communicated themselves directly into ‘Milla’s crotch.

‘Milla, for her part, was in a minor ecstasy herself as she bounced lightly and squeezed Andrea’s tongue with her cunt muscles, ‘riding’ the mini-cock. While she enjoyed the delicious sensations of Andrea’s tongue spearing her twat, she was really just waiting—as patiently as she could—for Andrea to recover enough to pay proper attention to the matter at hand…or at tongue, rather. Although ‘Milla had had inexperienced lovers before, she’d never met one quite so eager to please as this one. ‘Milla knew she was in for the ‘ride’ of her life—no pun intended.

A couple of sweaty, cum-filled hours later, Andrea had finally seemed to have enough. For the moment. As long as no one touched her clit. Or anywhere near it. She was snuggled securely in her newfound lover’s arms, as they lay side by side on the cozy futon in the corner of the room. Although comfortably entwined with ‘Milla, Andrea kept her legs slightly parted to avoid pressure on her still-overheated pussy, and kept a safe distance between her crotch and her lover’s body as they lay together, caressing each other and sharing afterglow and pillow talk.

Andrea had proved an apt pupil, quickly discovering all of the secrets to pleasing her best friend to the maximum extent possible. Of course, Andrea continued to cum as well, at regular intervals throughout the joy-filled journey of exploration.

With minimal guidance, she quickly learned exactly how ‘Milla liked to have her pussy licked, how long before she could touch her clit directly, how much pressure to exert, when and how to use teeth and tongue, how to nibble and suckle ‘Milla’s breasts to maximum excitation, how to use her hands and fingers and lips and hair and even toes(!) to tantalize and tease her lover, how to tickle her anal rim and when to plunge her tongue inside, and most of all, how to keep gently using her mouth and tongue as ‘Milla crashed over the edge and slowly came down from the peak of her pleasure, to guide her back up the mountain toward her next delightful climax.

Her continued exploration of her own smooth pussy occurred simultaneously and she quickly discovered she could easily cum from the delightful sensations of her naked mound and distended clit rubbing on a variety of textures and surfaces. Her breasts and even her ass also seemed to register a new level of heightened sensitivity, and often contributed to her own inadvertent orgasms when stimulated for extended periods of time…like 10 seconds or so.

So, for the moment, the ‘problem’ of Andrea needing sexual relief was a non-issue. Now she was faced with a new problem…a whole new series of them, in fact; she’d been unfaithful to her husband. With a woman. With her best friend. And she was unquestionably in love.

She admitted to herself, she’d known she was in love with her friend for a long time, but her former repressed personality would never allow her to admit to what extent she had feelings for her sexy trainer and confidante.

Now, what to do? How to explain to Tim? Could she even be with him at all, in the aftermath of the unequalled pleasures she’d given and received today? Did she even want to be? And what about her new lover? Did ‘Milla love her as much as she loved ‘Milla? Could they have a future together? What would that future be like as…lesbians?

Andrea shifted position slightly, inadvertently drawing her attention back to her still-tingling pussy. “’Milla, that laser thing. That did a really good job. And I didn’t feel a thing. You were wonderful. So, how often do I need to come back for touch-ups? Will it itch much in between?”

“Ummm, Andrea, I, uh…I tried to tell you, but you kept interrupting me and you acted like you knew. Laser hair removal is permanent. You’ll need to come back a few times over the course of a few months to take care of the few remaining dormant hairs when they start to grow…but basically, you’ll…you’ll never have a bush again.”

“My-my bush is gone? Forever? No more silky blonde pubes? I’m stuck like this…completely bare?”

“Hey. Hey lover, shhh. Calm down. It’s no problem; I like you like this. You said it was sexy. You said you wanted to be like me. And your…other lovers will love it, too. This is Tim’s fantasy, right? You know he’ll like it…”

“Fuck him!” Suddenly Andrea was enraged. “I’m never going back to him. This is all his fault, him and that Althea bitch! He can keep her! And this is your fault, too! You took advantage of me in my drunken stupor, liquoring me up with those…Incidental Interns. I can’t believe my fur is just…just…gone!” She switched in a heartbeat from seething anger to inconsolable sadness; she broke down, crying, wailing about her lost pubes in between bouts of hysterical sobbing. Fifteen minutes later, Andrea was still crying, apparently completely broken-hearted, and in between crying jags she appeared to be completely deconstructing, cascading downward into a near-catatonic state, while ‘Milla looked on helplessly, not knowing what to do.

Then it came to her, what she needed to do…what she would have to do to save her best friend. She reached for her lover’s pussy to begin. “Lover, listen to me. Listen to ‘Milla. Listen!! Your bush doesn’t matter. I didn’t want you to have all that nasty fur. You’re much more pleasing to me like this, all bare and silky. I don’t want you to ever have hair again…and I’m the only one that matters, right? Mine is the only opinion that’s important to you, right? Feel my hand? Feel how good that is? Feel my fingers gliding all over that naked skin? Feel them dipping inside your slit and sliding those juices all over your bare lips and slick mound? Feel that? You like that, don’t you? You need that, don’t you? Tell me. Tell ‘Milla what you want. Tell me what you have to have. You know you can’t go back to the way you were. No way to go but forward—forward to ‘Milla. You’re mine now, lover. And that nasty hair wasn’t right for sweet little girls like you. Sweet baby girls should have bare pussies…no hair, no fuzz, nothing. Nothing but slick skin and juicy slits. Nothing should come between their owners and those sweet little holes—no covering, no fig leafs, no bushes, no hiding their sweet honeypots. This pussy doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to me. It’s mine. This pussy is mine. Mine. All mine. Only mine. You are mine. Oh, that sweet bare pussy, my sweet hairless girl; no more hair, not ever, because I want you bald, I want you smooth. You’re mine forever, and that’s the way I want you. Completely bare, completely naked and available. Now, cum for me, cum for your lover, cum for ‘Milla who loves you dearly, cum on these slick fingers rubbing your sweet, naked cunt, cum for your owner, cum for me, hairless sweetling…cum for me…cum…now.”

And with that final phrase, and a gentle stroking of Andrea’s clit, ‘Milla finished the task of bonding her lover to herself…and only to her. She watched Andrea writhing and thrashing on her fingers as she spasmed helplessly in near-mindless joy and newfound bliss…and again…and then again and again, while ‘Milla repeated over and over the same mantra of ownership and love and bare pussies and naked, hairless slavery and…total surrender.

Epilogue

Ludmilla Natashovna Lobachevskaya—‘Tasha’ to her ‘business’ associates—was a direct descendant of one of the greatest minds Russia had ever produced. She had initially funded her core beauty and spa businesses from a sizable inheritance from her grandmother, kept in a trust fund for when she finished college, but they were basically a hobby when she first bought them. She had taken advantage of a “fire sale” when she heard of the original chain going bankrupt, and thought it would be a nice addition to diversify her other tech business holdings. Later, she found she liked the convenience and access to the gyms and the services her spas provided, and that there was real money to be made in a business that wasn’t nearly as susceptible to ‘slumps’ and ‘crashes’ as the IT market.

The original inheritance money had mostly been generated by her grandmother’s wartime activities, working for a variety of governments, but she had received only the liquid part of her grandmother’s wealth. The bulk of her grandmother’s business interests and investments had gone to her mother, so when her mother also died just a few years ago, she suddenly found herself the owner of a collection of new businesses that her grandmother had founded, but which her mother had kept hidden from her—companies with generic names like Core Technologies, Ltd. and InfoCom, Inc. A series of deeds and documents left for her with the estate’s executor, to be delivered only upon her mother’s death, opened a newfound world for the young woman. And she was shocked, to say the least.

Her first instinct was to close them down and liquidate the assets for her other tech companies. But she quickly found that although these companies were originally created to meet a wartime need, there was still a large demand for some of the companies’ less well-advertised services, even in times of relative peace. And, too, the government was extremely reluctant for her to close down.

So she kept them open. She was a novice at these businesses, but a quick study with a lightning-fast mind. Her brief time as a PsyOps officer in the military, coupled with her dual Ph.D. in Mathematics and Computer Science, had prepared her well to take advantage of the training and technologies she suddenly had at her disposal.

In a very short time, her excellent business sense, coupled with her own technological innovations generated through her other IT companies, had grown these ‘shadow’ companies to new-found profitability. Simultaneously, her native intelligence and natural empathy had made her one of the most skilled ‘therapists’ on her own staff. Her grandmother’s discoveries, aided by advances in technology over the post-wartime years, basically allowed them to program the mind like a computer; psychology was almost a real science now!

Quicker than anyone would have guessed, the shadow businesses were suddenly even more lucrative than her original chains of tech companies, spas and clinics…and regularly, all of her businesses found common ground, jointly providing customized services for some very wealthy clients. She watched on the monitors as her latest client hung his head at the bad news, looking shell-shocked and completely forlorn, wondering what he would do next. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him just sink back into his chair and stare at the ceiling, before drifting off into a light doze.

She’d just finished telling Tim that his wife had shown up at the salon, where they’d originally intended to finish the job the programming had started. They were going to give his lovely bride a makeover to help ease her into her new role as a submissive, sluttish sex kitten for her husband. But then Andrea had had some sort of psychotic break induced by an unforeseen connection with…her pubic hair, of all things. Basically, it was a freak accident, and nothing they could have foreseen in any of the mathematics-based computer models.

She closed her eyes briefly, reveling in the sensations induced in her own silky-smooth pussy by the nude, redheaded slave under her desk, feeling the tension drain away after her unpleasant discussion. ‘Milla opened her eyes and smiled down at her lover to let her know she was pleased by her efforts and allowed her to briefly ride her foot and ankle to near-orgasm…before abruptly removing her foot from direct contact with the slave’s smooth pudenda and returning to her accounting chores. The small moan of disappointment from her unsatisfied slave, transferred directly to ‘Milla’s clit, kept her pussy boiling.

She briefly watched her slave’s ass gyrating and clenching in continual heat; she could just see the end of the vibrating butt plug poking out. She reached for the remote control on her desk, briefly turned up the vibrations, watched the slave’s ass dance faster, then turned it back down, provoking another disappointed moan, which in turn sparked another delicious sensation in her own pussy.

‘Bookkeeping is so incredibly enjoyable. I don’t know why I used to hate it so much,’ she thought, and grinned to herself.

She paused for a moment to reflect on all the unexpected turns of events in the past 20 hours. Sadly, despite her team’s best efforts, Andrea’s original personality was almost completely lost to the submissive desires and sexually wanton programming instilled in her best friend at the request of her ex-husband.

She pulled her notes on the matter over, to review them once again, looking for a flaw in her logic. “I’m certain it was the ‘hair-trigger clit’ requirement that initially got us in trouble. There was no way to undo it, and by the time the subject came to me, I saw there was nothing to do but remove her bush completely; her own pubes were beginning to torture her, keeping her clit so continually agitated and enflamed that by the time she did cum, she passed out—every time she came. I could have just cleaned up around the lips and clit, but it would have looked very odd, with a circular ‘cleared area’ around the clit.

“I was fairly certain when the subject first orgasmed while touching my vagina that she had already fixated on me and wasn’t going to be satisfied simply returning to her husband after the makeover; he was supposed to be the only one able to trigger that first post-treatment orgasm. In fact, it’s likely she already had a minor fixation on me without my realizing it. But I thought the situation was possibly still salvageable at that point.”

She smiled to herself, again. ‘Okay, so I indulged myself a little. I’d long since given up any hope of coaxing Andrea into the sack when, out of the blue, Tim came to my company and told me what he wanted. He never suspected his wife knew the owner personally, so, I’ll admit I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be the one to introduce her to eating pussy. I mean, just look at her! She’s so incredibly yummy!’ She surrendered again, briefly, to the loving ministrations of her slave, frotting her cunt against the clever ministrations of mouth and lips and tongue.

‘But then things went seriously south on us,’ ‘Milla mused to herself, and turned back to her notes.

“Once the subject found out the pubic hair removal was permanent, I believe that’s when the ‘break’ occurred. Basically, we were all victims of a hidden ‘glitch’ in her original ‘programming’; like any complex program, there are possible pitfalls ‘bad’ programs can inherit.”

‘GIGO isn’t less true just because you’re talking about a carbon-based computer,’ ‘Milla added silently. ‘And so, when Andrea lost her pubes forever…she apparently lost her mind as well.’

“The subject recognized that her permanently-bare pussy would always be a reminder of the day’s events, that there was really no way of going back to her old prudish life, and I believe her already-battered and still-stabilizing psyche completely collapsed at that point; she believed her old life was over and she had nothing left.”

“When I finally coaxed her out of her that self-induced feeling of complete desolation, letting her know it was possible to have a new life, a life completely different from her old one, she apparently rushed headlong forward to a near-polar-opposite of her former straight, domineering, Type-A, sexually-repressed and completely self-absorbed personality. And because the recent programming add-on had made her very open to the idea of sex with women—another requirement from the client—she quickly descended into total lesbian submission, completely sexually uninhibited and dedicated solely to pleasing her newfound lover, with only that one final push from the forced multiple orgasms. Finally, because of some unfortunate phrasing in my induction, she apparently interpreted pleasing me as being somehow linked to the complete removal of her hair.”

‘Who’d have thought anyone’s bush was so important to their sense of self-identity?’ she mused. She pushed the notes away in disgust. ‘Of all things. One of the last intelligible things she bleated out, before descending into her non-stop crying jag, was about how her ‘carpet’ needed to match her ‘drapes’; how utterly silly.’

‘Soooo, now…well, now Andrea’s carpet always matches her drapes, no matter what color I want her to be each day. She’s got permanent hardwood floors…and venetian blinds!’ She giggled aloud at her own poor humor, which caused her lover/slave to look up to see if she was doing something wrong. Her hands slipped into the slave’s gorgeous red locks in reassurance…and removed them to place them on her desk. The slave gasped and whimpered…again sending delicious thrills through her owner’s pussy.

‘That forlorn look that flashes momentarily over Andrea’s face, when she’s reminded of the loss of her beautiful mane…I don’t know why, but that look never fails to excite me,’ ‘Milla thought. ‘I guess it’s the only real link I have to let me know the old Andrea—my best friend—is still around in there, somewhere. I’d never seen such a look of mixed anguish and childish need-to-please as when I came back from the bathroom and caught her just finishing up after clippering and shaving her head. That gorgeous blonde hair…scattered all over the floor. But then she looked at me, pleadingly, lovingly, adoringly. She looked so different, so fresh…so vulnerable, and—who am I kidding?—so exciting!

‘So, nothing to do but have it fashioned into a wig for her, so she could appear ‘normal’ most of the time. And luckily, at least the hair on her head will grow back…if Andrea’s new alter-ego, ‘Althea’, will let it! Apparently, ‘Althea” won’t wear any clothes yet, though we still hope to fix that with additional programming and behavioral modification. But until then, that wig and that cute little merkin I also had made are really the only things left of the old Andrea’s appearance. Arturo really is a genius when it comes to hair…any kind of hair. But seeing and feeling that shiny, smooth head between my legs…something about it…just does it for me…every…time.’

And so saying, she clasped the slave’s bald head to her crotch and began to ride her face to another orgasm, drenching those still-beautiful features in her juices as she came. Simultaneously, she fucked the slave’s naked pussy with her shoe and slid the vibrator’s speed control on her desk to the top, forcing her lover to cum again, adding her own uncontrollable, pussy-muffled screams and moans to her owner’s enjoyment. The sounds of small, jingling bells could just be heard.

‘And I doubt I’ll ever tire of…that…sensation…either…unh!’ she thought, as the continued vibrations from her slave’s screams caused her to slip over the edge and explode once more into sheer ecstasy.

When ‘Milla and Andrea both finished cumming a couple of times—two for ‘Milla, five for ‘Althea’—they each took a moment to catch their respective breaths. As she was slowly coming down from her high, another stray thought slipped through ‘Milla’s dreamy languor. ‘Andrea still loves good footwear too, it seems…although this pair of Prada is definitely ruined!’

‘Milla giggled, still relishing the aftermath of her ecstasy. With the vibe once again running at a slow hum, she pulled her slave upward to kiss her and tell her how much she loved her, and her lover/slave responded in kind. ‘Milla briefly toyed with the bells on her slave’s freshly-installed nipple and clit hood rings, causing ‘Althea’ to take in a sharp, gasping breath. When ‘Milla released her new toys—and her best means for keeping track of her new slave while her new personality fully stabilized—she settled the wig back on her lover’s bald head, and combed her fingers through it to restore order.

‘I don’t really like this coppery red on her as much as I thought I would; Tim really was a complete idiot for wanting that, in addition to everything else he was so stupid about. Maybe black hair...yeah, coal-black hair and those gorgeous blue eyes should be a stunning combination. We can be a matched set for a while’, she thought.

She gently guided her slave back to her task and Andrea positively glowed in the knowledge she was pleasing her mistress fully. Then she pulled over her keyboard and sent Arturo an e-mail so the wig’s color change would be taken care of in the morning…along with the merkin, so the carpet and drapes would still match, of course! Otherwise, ‘Althea’ wouldn’t wear those, either, ‘Milla smiled wryly, as she returned to her ledger and check book.

She made out a refund to Timothy Carrington Kendall, IV, giving him back his entire deposit and payment. As she wrote, she paused, then doubled it, adding a 100% ‘failure fee’; after all, she had a policy for 100% customer satisfaction, and this was a catastrophic failure, from the customer’s standpoint.

‘Not that any amount of money will truly compensate him for the loss of this luscious slave tucked under my desk…dear God, that tongue is magic!!’ She briefly surrendered to the sensations yet again, then grudgingly turned back to her ledger.

‘On second thought…think of how much I’m saving him in Andrea’s shopping bills! And he and his stupid whining about credit card purchases—which he could easily afford—are the reason we both ‘lost’ the old Andrea, anyway. Nah. A 100% refund is enough,’ she reflected a little bitterly, as she tore up the first check and wrote out a second for the original refund amount.

‘Besides, word of this failure will get out, and business will probably slump for a while; I may have to open up a new salon or two. Maybe I should go international, open a spa in Italy or France so I can vacation there and write it off as a business trip! Hmmmm…but who will watch my pet for me while I’m gone? In any case, there are really very few companies offering our ‘unique’ services…and we still have the best track record, despite this one serious setback. I’m sure we’ll rebound in no time at all.’

Moreover, ‘Milla was pretty certain she had a good handle on what went wrong; they’d learn from this mistake and get that much better with the next subject. They could easily blame it on the client’s request to retain the original personality conflicting with the submissive programming; hell, that scenario might actually be the real root cause and be completely untenable as a programming possibility, not wiping out the original with its host of possible unknowns. It certainly had to be a contributing factor to the complete collapse of Andrea’s original psyche; she’d have to write a new programming module to look for subconscious ‘landmines’ and conflicts like this one. There was just so much to learn about the intricacies of the human mind! She planned to understand it completely before she died.

Besides, who else would want that option? Certainly, in all the years she’d been working here, no one else had wanted both a submissive slut and—let’s admit it—a self-serving, spendthrift wife, coexisting in one mind. Most people who came to them wanted only the slut…and wanted the old personality completely removed for whatever reason that brought them to her company in the first place.

‘Every new subject a voyage of discovery,’ she mused, as she relaxed back into her seat to fully enjoy her lover’s amazingly talented tonguing. ‘She’s come such a long way in just a short time. This is, unquestionably, the best money I’ve ever lost,’ she thought, as she came again on the face of her best friend—now her loving and completely-devoted slave.