The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“My titties are just too too big for this costume!” said a buxom blonde, pinching and pulling the top edges of a strapless satin bathing suit’s bra cups that, at best, could cover the undersides of her head-sized breasts. Her silver dollar sized areoles and plump nipples were left exposed as her tiny fingers squeezed and tugged more on the satin platform underneath. With a strong upward draw, her elbows pointed up to the ceiling matching the points of her satin bunny ears mounted on her head. The tension in the suit’s front material reached down beyond her cinched waist to the suit’s gusset, sliding it forward over her shear nylon tights. The tiny forward movement was not from any stretch in the rigid satin, it only came from the costume’s high leg cut in the back temporarily squeezing down and pulling between her bubble butt cheeks. The constant tugging jiggled a large white cottontail, yet another well rounded bubble behind her.

“Don’t worry Vivian,” said Bunny Nathalie, a tall regal Bunny in total control. “The costume will hopefully change soon—I’m sorry. I meant Bunny Candie—you’re new name.” Nathalie was dressed in a perfectly tailored blue Bunny costume, the type of costume originating from the Playboy Bunny gentlemen’s club of the 1960’s. Her waist was cinched in a heavily boned satin shell cut like a strapless bathing suit that elegantly and provocatively held her breasts in check, unlike her slutty semi-nude blonde counter part, who almost threw herself onto the floor in another attempt to stretch her ill-fitting costume.

The distraught blonde paused, maybe thinking about the name mentioned.

“Candie?” she said looking confused.

Nathalie signaled by leering at the blonde’s nametag hanging on Vivian’s—that is Candie’s—right hip. They had just talked about this, but the bare breasted blonde bimbo had forgotten it again. After receiving a series of further confused looks, Nathalie pointed directly at the nametag. Was it really that tough for these bimbettes to think? Once the zipper went up, the woman inside the Bimbo Bunny Costume really did go stupid.

Nathalie watched the dumb blonde rotate her shoulders left and right twisting at her waist to look at her nametag. The Bunny nametag looked like a county fair first prize ribbon. Any normal person would find it hard to miss, but the blondie still struggled to see it. Maybe the girl needed a little sympathy because her new enhanced bosom’s heft, proudly pushing out in front, could actually block her view. But any understanding was discarded completely when the blonde disappointed Nathalie by spinning in place to chase down a glimpse of the “Candie” nametag on her hip. It was like watching a pet chasing its tail.

Just before the brainless bunny in high-heeled pumps almost fell over, she stopped, dizzy and dazed, staring off into space recovering from her little tornado spin. She released the bra cups, adding a bounce to her boobs, and covered her eyes.

“Woooh!” she said, like a sister of Keanu Reeves.

Nathalie prayed that Candie didn’t start to play peek-a-boo. Regardless, the experiment had failed.

“Crap!” said Nathalie, heading towards the door until she noticed one thing she had not seen before. This bimbo was looking at something—and, could it be? The dumb-dumb was actually thinking. Maybe the experimental orange suit hadn’t completely sucked-out all the intelligence. Nathalie decided to wait a bit longer.

“That orange costume there,” said the bimbo, acting more like her old Vivian-self as her hands returned to tugging the bra cups. “That costume,” she said, adding a nose pointing gesture towards a matching orange satin Bunny shell lying on a metal lab table.

The deflated costume had huge breast cups guaranteed to lower any wearer’s IQ. The experimental orange worn by the blonde dits, had normal sized D-cups.

“Don’t worry about that costume,” said Nathalie. “Let the one you’re wearing finish changing your body, but focus. Don’t let it suck away your mind.”

“Yes,” said Vivian-Candie, “that costume would fit my new humongous melon boobies.” She paused. It was clear she was now noticing her new high-pitched yet very breathy and sexy voice. “Do I sound, stoooo-pid?” She puckered her lips and tested her voice again while lowering her elbows and relaxing her arms. “Stooo, stooo, stooopid. Pid. Pid. Piiiiii, di, di, di.” Her fingers still pinched the satin just under her boobs leaving her arms hang like chicken wings. Her eyes flew open wide in shock as she realized she had stopped tugging. “Oh, no!” She thrust her elbows up to pull hard and not lose any gains from previous attempts.

Four other Bunnies had also been watching this. They stood to the side muffling their snickers and giggles.

“Shhh,” scolded Nathalie then turning to Candie. “Yes darling, you sound very dumb. But you still know who you are, right?” She waved at one of the four Bunnies, a purple satin costumed Bunny, who promptly began packing away the orange costume. The assistant ignored the confused bimbo’s babblings and took the orange suit from the table, placing it into a long deep silver suitcase.

The metallic case sat open with its two dark foam interior halves facing the ceiling. One side waited for an hourglass silhouette satin suit to nestle into its customized curved insets. The Purple Bunny gently positioned the orange costume. While wearing cotton gloves to avoid direct contact with the suit, she set the shell inside the foam form positioning its bra cups over large foam breasts shaped with perky foam tits.

The opposing side of the case had foam insets cut for accessories: a circular deep foam sinkhole held a white bunny tail, a foam cut-out of an arch with two large triangles held a satin headband with ears, and two more insets held high-heeled pumps pressed in sideways. A shallow cutout shaped like a first-prize ribbon was empty.

“I. Me thinks—I’m be—me! Yes!” The former Vivian glowed with a smile of victory.

Nathalie thought the glowing pride came from the girl realizing a complete thought had formed somewhere in her mind.

“Not very convincing,” said the Purple Bunny, closing the silver case.

“Silence!” glared Nathalie. “It’s amazing we’ve gotten this far with the costumes. Meredith what do you think?”

A petit woman in a green satin Bunny shrugged her shoulders. “We’ll need more data.”

Nathalie turned to the bimbo-altered Vivian, “Bunny Candie, just stand there. No spinning.” The head Bunny then ignored the Purple Bunny holding the silver case and turned to the other girls, including Meredith. “Go-on. You know what you’re doing to prep for this weekend. Shoo. Shoo.” She waved them out.

“Bunny Nathalie,” said Vivian still sounding and looking like Bunny Candie. “I,” she paused while still tugging as if it helped to form thoughts, “my boobs are fitting a bit better.” She added a squeak to celebrate her success in getting a single verbal thought out of her head. Then she tilted her face down to her large bouncing globes of flesh, hopelessly trying to peer over their perimeter to her costume’s meager containers underneath. As she faced down into her cleavage, she tugged harder unintentionally squeezing her boobs together, aiming her tits up and inwards, poking them into her eyes. She pulled her face back to recover with several squints and hard blinks.

Nathalie shook her head, but then focused on the satin bra cups of the experimental orange bunny shell. The dumb blonde might actually be right. The cups did appear to be magically growing. This might actually work—at least the costume side that is. As for intelligence, well, the airhead was at least talking. Other girls couldn’t even form words beyond the one phrase, “Do you have a member’s key?”

Nathalie tried to encourage the bunny boffin, “Keep tugging like that, Candie darling. Yeah just like that.” It was a task that would hopefully keep the bimbette busy.

Nathalie thought how just an hour ago, Vivian, a smart second year law school student, stood there desperately agreeing to a faux-Faust deal, not for gaining wealth and certainly not unlimited knowledge like the original Faust, but to simply save her life. Hopefully her present stupid stance was just a naive girl being a little overwhelmed by her new taller, unbelievably fuller figured body wrapped in a costume that had just transformed every cell of her body and mind.

Time was running out though. The plan was going to need a smart but bimbo-looking Bunny this weekend and not just any bimbo. She would have to be a Xerox-copy of the real Bunny Candie. Vivian now had the cloned body, but the mind—could this new girl still think?

Bunny Darby checked through a rack of Bunny costumes hanging by tiny straps anchored from their inner linings. She flipped through hangers of orange satin bathing suit shells like a shopper at a sale. “Eighteen, nineteen,” she mumbled. “Twenty-four, twenty-five. Come-on. Where are you?” She looked at the rack behind her: all satins of reds, greens and blues. One orange costume was missing. Her heels hit the steel floor plates as she walked out of the costume storage area, through a huge circular bank vault doorway with its two-foot think steal door pivoted open against the wall. She clicked and clacked down a steal ramp to a guard’s table. The guard was a Bunny with a badge on her right breast and a utility belt holding a stun gun. She had jumped to attention on hearing Darby’s exit from the vault.

“Show me the log book again,” said Bunny Darby, dressed in her yellow Bunny costume. As the guard pulled a ledger from a desk drawer, another badged Bunny began pulling on the steal vault door. It took effort to overcome the steel door’s stationary weight. The guard leaned back on her heels using all of her own weight to overcome the door’s resistance. With a pop and a creak, it started into motion. She quickly switched to the other side before any momentum was lost and leaned-in to push.

Darby ignored the guards. She flipped pages in the ledger giving each subsequent page an angrier more vicious swipe to see the preceding page. She was petit, but made-up for that with a strong attitude that made even huge professional football and basketball players at crowded parties keep track of her just so they could stay out of her way.

Of course, she was so worth looking at. You could tell the men were thinking of her as a little hottie that in their sexual fantasies could be lifted effortlessly up and down again and again—maybe even spun around while “mounted.” Men secretly called her a “little spinner.” The fantasy had been independently developed in each of their minds when watching her in her tight business skirts. No explanation was needed when the men gathered privately and one of them first blurted-out the sexist name: “little spinner.” Maybe they didn’t like her hardheaded business tone and thought she needed to be mocked. Maybe they were jealous of her tenacity for details. Regardless of the motivation, the name painted a picture and all the men nodded in agreement when it was first uttered.

To them, that was now Darby: their little spinner.

Upstairs from the vault, a black satin dressed Bunny held a golf putter and positioned her high heels to straddle a golf ball. Her tail jiggled when her putter tapped the ball, slowly sending it down an Astroturf runner, crossing the floor of her executive office. The ball rolled up a tiny hill then plopped into a hole. She lined-up another ball.

“Bunny Maria,” said Darby entering with a leather-bound logbook. “Why did you check-out orange-five last August? I can’t find-it.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But it’s a Bimbo Bunny Costume. It’s dangerous. Where is it?”

Bunny Maria set her putter aside, dismissively walked to her executive desk chair and sat. Darby could be so vexing. Of course the cute little scientist would be the type to trace through all the R&D check-ins and check-outs to find the one line without a match.

“Darby,” said Maria, “I had another use for the costume.”

“Oh, who did you punish? Of the two dozen idiots we made and then disposed of, I think they were all counted. I don’t know of any others left besides Bunny Candie herself, of course.” Darby flipped pages in the logbook. No, there was no twenty-seventh at all.

“I sent it to Nathalie,” said Maria.

“What! Why! We spent years breading these things. Why would—wait, did you convert her? I haven’t kept up with the Bunny Hutch intelligence reports, but is she out of the way now? Oh my god, that would be so amazing. Wow! Nathalie’s a bimbo.” She paused, the idea turned her on. She sat in one of the guest chairs thinking it all out, her perfect upright posture prevented her tail from being popped off with an improper leaning back against the cushions. “But wait, you said you sent it to her. As a trap? Did it work?”

“I sent it as a taunt.”

“We should have talked about this.”

Maria approached and leaned over her strong willed employee to give the yellow Bunny a deep view of cleavage. “Kiss me.”

Darby almost fell into a trance, but it didn’t grab her mind like it used to. “No,” she said, pushing her mistress away as she stood. “You did this to show how smart you are: how you could manipulate the costume. I can’t believe it. We did what Nathalie only dreamt of doing for decades and we—actually me—I did it and I did it in just four years. I bet you wrote some note on your fancy letterhead with your fancy Monte Blanc pen.”

“We don’t live in a clear-cut black-and-white world with a rainbow of satin Bunnies and dreams of unicorns. There’s more to things than I can tell you.”

“That’s a pretty vague excuse and an insulting metaphor. No one’s dreaming here. Damn it.” She read a logbook page again and slammed it shut. “It’s been missing a whole year now. She might have done something with it. Figured something out.” Darby pressed the logbook against her breasts and touched her plump lower lip against its hard cover. She looked at her mistress and lifted her head away from the book. “They might be able to defeat it now. They might have made a version look normal instead of a bright orange costume tailored obviously for a huge boobed idiot.”

“Stop worrying so much. I want Nathalie on edge and seeing someone turn into a complete bimbo was just the thing to freak her out. She would have tried it on someone she knew.”

“We should have talked about this.” Darby stormed off throwing the logbook onto a Bunny assistant’s desk just outside Maria’s office. She yelled at the girl, “File it!”

It was dusk, a few hours after Vivian had said her good-byes—just in case the worst happened—and put her fate into the hands of Bunnies, wearing lab coats; Bunnies who had bred a new modified bimbo-izing Bunny costume. There was a hope that Vivian zipping-up into the experimental costume would find a new beginning, not an end. She obviously had hoped that it wouldn’t suck her mind away.

Nathalie sat alone in her study thinking of that moment when she watched Vivian accept her fate and step her nylon covered legs into the standard double D-cupped orange Bunny shell bred from a triple F-cupped Bunny suit abomination. The surrounding built-in dark oak wood shelves of the study and the endless selection of ancient leather bound tomes normally relaxed Nathalie. It wasn’t helping tonight. The room felt like an old manor except for a large window revealing its high-rise penthouse view of San Francisco. An hour’s drive north, across the Golden Gate Bridge in the forests of Marin County; the science nerdy Bunnies continued to study Vivian, the newest Bimbo Bunny.

The look on Vivian’s face had showed the desperation and frustration. She had so obviously wanted the eternal youth the Bunny costumes gave, but a normal costume was not being offered to her.

Nathalie remembered the conversation—the one that clinched the deal:

“Just focus on what you want,” said Nathalie to Vivian, who stood there wearing her typical law school student clothes of jeans and a tight sweater. The timid student held her wig in one hand while the other felt her shiny perfectly shaped baldhead. Her hair had fallen off in clumps after months of chemotherapy.

“So you’ve been a Bunny for how many decades?” asked Vivian, leaning in to see if there were any wrinkles at all in the Bunny’s flawless face. Her eyes darted to the Bunny’s perfect dainty hands. No wrinkles there either. The eyes looked back up for reassurance.

“I won’t lie. It comes with a price,” said Nathalie walking around a steal lab table with a special orange Bimbo Bunny costume with smaller more normal D-sized bra cups. “You can live forever and stay youthful, but you need to be truthful about what you want—and, most important, you need to have an open mind to new experiences. For this costume, I want you to tease it. It’s your only chance to preserve yourself. You have to play a dangerous game. Bait-and-switch constantly.”

“Tease a costume?” said Vivian trying to understand. “You make it sound like it thinks.”

“It does. It has wants and needs. It even looks out for itself and its family. We’re all family through these costumes. I could never hurt or damage one. It’s unthinkable for me. I would rather die first before hurting one of these costumes. In fact, I’d have to die first.”

“So, I put this on and then deny it access to my mind?”

“That’s going in the right direction, but not quite. You’ll have to offer your mind and body—like a promise and then as you feel it take you over, you must shutdown and focus on something knowledgeable, academic. You studied law. You debated. Torture it with a lot of bookish ideas. Taunt it and then get it by surprise and order it, but then become compliant and submissive. It’s a tango dance with a partner that wants everything right there in public.”

“You want me to be like a naughty librarian punishing someone for having too many late fines?”

“My, my, someone does have some secret fantasies after all. Yes, I want you to make your costume think you’ll spank it with a ruler. Are you ready?”

“I don’t have a choice do I? I either loose my mind this way or loose it when those damn doctors cut into my head tomorrow morning.”

“You won’t need surgery with this and we’ll all be right here with you. All your new Bunny family will be present to help.” That last part, Nathalie thought didn’t quite come-out well. It was a little over done, but the girl was probably too preoccupied to evaluate the sales pitch. “You have to really want it though.” That part was true. Bunny costumes could reject those who didn’t “get it,” the fetish, the fantasy.

“Oh, I do. Honest. I just wish I could have a normal costume, like Reddie or Meredith or your assistant. They’ve all been so nice.”

“Sorry sweetie. This is the offer.” Nathalie gave a quick shoulder shrug as if the offer could be rescinded at any moment—as if Vivian wasn’t a perfect match, but they were accepting her anyway. Of course, Vivian was a perfect match, but Nathalie would not ruin a good negotiation position by mentioning that.

“OK. I’ll do it,” said Vivian suddenly feeling relief. She popped open the top button to her jeans and began pulling them off. “Where are the tights?”

Nathalie stopped thinking about that talk. Over the past few months, so many girls were lost to the costume before Vivian. Now it might take days to know if Vivian’s mind survived—or at least know if there was enough intelligence left for the mission. Nathalie reclined in her office chair and opened the silver case of the orginal Bimbo Bunny Costume. She gently stroked the orange stain shell as it sat lifeless and limp in its open silver case. She should have been wearing gloves to avoid any contact, but each touch gave off such an alluring magical call to wear it: a dare with a thrill in resisting it. She leaned back in her chair and reread a note on a stiff high quality paper.

The note’s perfect cursive handwriting was brief: “Nathalie, I made this just for you. Wear it and come work for me—forever. Love, Maria.” The paper had a fold in the corner where a pair of lips pinched the paper leaving red lipstick marks outlining Maria’s perfect mouth.

A knock at the study’s door prompted Bunny Nathalie to look-up from her desk. The Purple Bunny assistant meekly peered her Bunny-eared head inside from behind the heavy oak door. Nathalie had hoped for more assertiveness from this assistant. The woman was a redhead and they were supposed to make good feisty Bunnies.

The shy girl announced, “An elderly lady insists on seeing you—she used your title of ‘Bunny,’ mistress. I had the lobby guard on the ground floor send her and her dog upstairs. She’s in our front hall now.”

“Name please.”

“Oh yes, the lady said to say: Electra. Just Electra.”

“Damn it.” Nathalie stood and closed the silver case. She thought for a second. “Bring her up. Wait, get Meredith to put this away, then go see Electra.” The Purple Bunny carried off the silver case as Nathalie began locking away papers.

Putting away some more things, Nathalie gave another look over her office, locked another drawer, and stuffed the key down her cleavage. Through the wall, she heard the private elevator motor start-up from the main hall. Some people took the grand marble stairs. Oddly Electra took the private elevator. Nathalie had to move faster and check everything. After another quick inspection, she double checked a painting that hid a safe. She moved around the room and gathered some half empty glasses of water and set them behind a built-in cabinet door. The sound of steps and some metal banging from down the hallway grew louder. The purple costumed assistant guided in a decrepit lady of at least eighty years of age hunched over a walker that took the weight off her scuffing pair of orthopedic shoes. The walker’s rubber feet marked the white marble floor. A leash attached to the walker tethered a German Sheppard in tow. A simple glare from Nathalie sent the assistant off closing the door leaving the two women alone.

“Cut the crap, Electra. I can see you clearly.” Nathalie could chose to experience either the false sight of a grandma near death covered in a odor of “nursing home” or the reality of a tall sexy lanky body of a bikinied showgirl with yard long feathers sprouting from a tail and headpiece. Bunny Nathalie, being out of practice, squinted at the dog to see through its mental camouflage too. There actually was no dog there. Instead there was a shiny black latex coated woman standing tall but tied to the end of a leash. She was a fetish puppy girl, who dropped to her knees and held her front hands up like paws. She wiggled her hips as a sign of greeting. An all black dog masked obscured her identity.

Electra stopped projecting the old bitty and dog illusions. Not many could see through her creations.

Nathalie knew that the front door man and the other Bunnies would always be oblivious to Electra’s camouflaging powers. The head Bunny looked again at the puppy girl. “That better not be what I’m sensing it is.” She walked over and with her fingertips gave the latex girl’s chin a slight lift to examine the eyes framed in a latex dog mask with a protruding doggy snout. “Do you want a war? We burned down San Francisco the last time.”

“She was licking-out one of my showgirls in my own house in the Presidio. That’s an automatic imprisonment just for invading my territory, let alone the attempted seduction of my secretary—let alone, it’s my fucking house!”

“I don’t know this girl.” Nathalie walked away dismissively. “She’s not one of mine—that is if she ever was a Bunny at all.”

“It’s San Francisco. She’s a Bunny—or used to be. That makes her yours, period. I know you sense she’s a Bunny. Don’t try to deny it.”

The puppy girl’s head looked-up turning left and right to follow the discussion like a tennis match. She looked a bit lost. Maybe the poor thing no longer even understood human languages. Nathalie tried not to care.

Electra straddled the puppy girl from behind and played with the floppy latex doggy ears. She lifted one of the ear flaps and bowed to get her lips next to a human ear smoothed over in latex. “Little puppy-wuppy. Now that you are at your new home I want you to know, you’ll never speak again. Never.” She laughed and straightened the poor girl’s floppy beagle ears. “Puppy girl suits are a prison for a human mind.” The tall showgirl gave a little smack to the back of the submissive’s head.

Nathalie saw the girl’s fearful eyes. It seemed as if the girl could follow English after all. The puppy girl glanced at Nathalie, a sister Bunny for confirmation.

Nathalie stood motionless, her arms crossed, her butt pressed against her desk’s edge. Her tail had pushed over a pencil holder. This liquid smooth fetish popsicle really was a Bunny after all. Electra was now pissing her off.

Electra exaggerated her enjoyment of caressing the latex surfaces from the girl’s head down to the butt. The action forced an instinctive doggy move of raising the butt into the air as the elbows were pressed to the floor. Electra continued to torment the creature. “You can’t sign, wink, speak, write—nothing—not ever. No human communication. Enjoy it bitch.”

The girl received a spank on the ass from the showgirl and responded involuntarily with a happy looking butt wiggle. Her eyes contradicted the happiness with a flash of helpless pleading aimed at Nathalie.

“I’m afraid it’s true darling,” acknowledged Nathalie. “You are in for a maddening experience of eternal isolation. We haven’t found the way out yet. Sorry.”

“What Nathalie is saying is that ever since the first woman in the 1600’s was burnt naked with hot tar poured over her body and then feathered, no one has ever escaped this branch of the costume family. No one.”

Electra threw the end of the leash towards Nathalie’s feet. “Your Bunnies are also hanging around too long in the Cow Hollow District—that’s neutral territory, but only for safe passage—brief safety, which they are abusing by obviously setting-up shop.”

“Watch yourself,” warned Nathalie, referring to any further latex fetishing. “I will take care of any Bunnies.”

Electra arched a long nylon covered leg above the puppy girl’s head as she stepped over the poor girl. Tail feathers dragged across the sad black latex creature as the showgirl took a few steps towards her foe Bunny in a face-to-face stand-off of egos. The showgirl strengthened her tone adding, “The Presidio and the Marina are mine. Control your rogue apprentice, what’s her name,” she acted like she had to remember, “Bunny Maria. After all, us Saloon Girls and you aristocratic fancy peacocks don’t mix.”

Nathalie let her anger—or maybe angry lust—show. She felt intoxicated by Electra’s smokey shaded eyes with speckles of glitter. “I’d love to feather you and silence you forever with a bird’s beak. Besides, who is the strutting peacock now?” She gave one of the yard-long showgirl feathers a flick to the side.

Electra put her hands on her hips just above her glittering rhinestone covered bikini panties. “I so want to strap you up in leather and buckles, stick a ponytail-plug up your ass, and jam a metal bit in your mouth.” She licked her wet lipstick lips, “I’d whip you everyday. Really. I promise.” Her opera gloved hand did a motion over her breasts to cross her heart. “I would.” She posed with a pout and completed the hand gesture by patting her chest just above her left boob, signaling a little pitter-patter heartbeat.

“Would you like a lizard tail that you can wag or,” said Nathalie pausing to relish another idea, “a mermaid tail maybe?”

“Ooo, a Selki seal!”

They both stood nose to nose, each taking deep breaths that lifted their breasts almost to the point of touching each other. They exhaled into each other’s faces. It was too much for them and they leaned in the tiny distance remaining and pressed there lips together careful not to touch elsewhere. The ground began to rumble. The penthouse began to shake. Dust fell from the ceiling as the light fixtures began to swing. The clamor stopped when they pulled away.

Electra stepped back regaining her composure. Her wide spreading tail feathers slapped around the puppy girl’s face and a nearby side table as she pretended to inspect the selection of books on display. She strutted around the perimeter of the office doing a bad job of trying to hide that her real need was to calm her sexual urges.

She noticed the executive swivel chair behind the huge oak desk. She caressed the leather chair and noticed its cut-out opening at the lower back perfectly designed for a Bunny tail to protrude through. She also paused at another feature strange for an office chair: the right armrest had been rotated out creating an open gap to slide, a perfect pathway for a costume tail t slide in and out from the side. The missing Lumbar support was an invitation to her.

“Hm, I like the chair,” Electra said. “I should get one.” She swung her feathered tailed ass around, sat her bikini butt on the corner of the chair and slid into place. Her huge radiating feathers mounted at her tail bone slide right into the gap. The front of her bikini was covered in sharp rhinestones, but the back was satin. “Don’t worry my costume won’t hurt the leather.” She adjusted herself, checking that her feathers were safe. She popped the armrest back into position and smiled smugly back at Nathalie. Enjoying the chair, she kicked her heels up and rested the backs of her nylon covered feet on top Nathalie’s desk. Her tiny feet had the thinnest strappy stiletto shoes Nathalie had ever seen. The showgirl’s tail feathers pressed up the chair’s back and were long enough to peer over the top like a supportive chorus line.

Nathalie knew the showgirl probably never sat and relaxed in full costume like that. Showgirls typically had to take their tails off to really sit. Such disrobing in front of other costumed girls, especially of different types, would be too submissive for Electra. ‘Costumes,’ that is the girls trapped in costumes, all had their unique hang-ups. This showgirl was a tough one to get along with, going completely Joe Pesci if she felt disrespected.

“I miss the old days,” the showgirl said. “When did we last talk? Kennedy was still alive I think?” She checked Nathalie out: the dark nylons, the blue Bunny costume, the bare shoulders. “Why did you switch to being a Bunny anyway? I liked your feathered tail.”

“Same reason you became a Showgirl,” said Nathalie walking around the desk to join her feathered foe. She stood facing the reclined chair, taking a second to see Electra’s midriff, the tight abs, and the diamond mounted in the bellybutton. Nathalie leaned back against her desk with her arms crossed in front. She crossed her ankles and leered down at the showgirl’s body on display. The Bunny went through a mental list of options. She queried her costume for ideas. It had been so long since Ecletra and her conversed. The chance shouldn’t be wasted. Her costume thought otherwise. Electra didn’t know it, but the chair had left her at a disadvantage. Nathalie listened to her costume’s hesitant feelings. Maybe, in this case, she should let the moment pass.

“Ah, I was in Vegas then,” said Electra stretching her arms out trying to look in control and relaxed. When she let her head fall back against the chair, her headpiece feathers dusted the bookshelf behind her. “It was the 60’s—women’s rights, bra burning.” She grabbed her glittering crystal covered bikini top and gave her jugs a firm squeeze. “And, of course, for you, the Bunny Clubs.” She then popped the right armrest, slid out sideways, and stood.

Nathalie hoped her Bunny costume was right. The chance to trap Electra was gone, but Nathalie decided that this conversation could be a starting point to something more.

“The costumes wanted change,” said Nathalie. She liked keeping Electra on edge and was trying to think of a lever to pull. “Personally, I liked you in a slutty corset better. All though, that little diamond in your belly button is cute.” Maybe that remark would seem both a little cold and hot.

Electra pouted her lips and rubbed her opera gloved fingertips over her flat tummy. She actually looked appreciative. She took a breath. Nathalie could read her old friend. Electra was probably thinking sexually and trying to hold back. The showgirl most likely worried that if she got wet now, she would have to hide it. Being caught so sexually aroused was something she wouldn’t dare do for fear of looking weak. The showgirl walked around the study stepping with a crossing action in her legs to give her thighs a squeeze against each other. She projected a more confident walk forgetting that Nathalie could see through the illusion to the reality of a slower less settled gait.

“Get them out of Cow Hollow,” warned Electra opening the oak door to the hallway and projecting the old bitty image all around her body like a blazing mental fireball for all to see.

Nathalie squinted to see the real Electra again. It was like the tips of the feathers were electrified, but Nathalie could still catch a glimpse from the side of the showgirl’s cute ass and bare hips before the lanky creature scuffed her high heels down the hallway all while playing her role of a harmless old hag.

The Purple Bunny, sitting across the hallway, stood to attention. She let a magazine she was reading drop to the floor as she scurried with quick short stiletto-heeled clicks to get a look at her mistress. Seeing a quick curt hand wave from her Bunny boss, she turned to escort the old biddy down the stone hallway to the private elevator. Once the elevator lowered down one level, the two women slowly stepped short scuffled paces towards the front door. Nathalie could hear the Purple Bunny awkwardly try small talk as she helped grandma out to a public hallway offering a half dozen elevators down to the lobby, thirty floors below.

Nathalie watched from the marble railing just outside her office upstairs.

Electra hadn’t bothered to look back; a little act of defiance. It worked actually. Nathalie had wanted to see her lover’s face for another second. She sighed having hoped that the showgirl would look back.

The Purple Bunny opened the pent house front door to the public elevators.

Electra wasn’t going to look. No glance or goodbye. It wasn’t fair that a curse kept them apart.