The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Charli wiped another tear off her cheek as the computer in front of her beeped, signaling it was time to swap disks again. Dr. Harrison’s computer was taking especially long to upgrade – which was ironic since this upgrade was the first time it had even been turned on since the last upgrade more than a year ago.

‘Fucking God damn sorority bitches!’ Charli muttered under her breath, looking nervously at the door as if to see if anyone overheard. Even in the almost sound proof confines of Dr. Harrison’s office, she couldn’t bring herself to say those words at much more than a whisper.

Charli had been around the ESU campus for about a year now – at least part-time. The high school she attended didn’t have the facilities to let her take the computer science courses she wanted, so they made an arrangement with ESU to let her take computer science and math on campus in the early morning three days a week and her high school classes in the late morning and afternoon. She graduated high school mere weeks ago with honors and dove right into college life by enrolling in a full-time summer program that let her live on campus in the dorms. Even though her mother and younger brother lived just a few miles away, she eagerly jumped at the chance to live on her own…even if she still visited several times a week (after all, laundry doesn’t do itself!). Her computer science professor put in a good word for her and she was able to get this IT work study job in addition to her academic scholarship. For her skill level it was menial labor, but it helped defray the

costs of living on campus when she could have been living at home for free.

She had only been a true college student for two weeks and she already had been put down as hard as ever when in high school. ‘College was supposed to be different,’ she thought to herself sadly. ‘Just because I didn’t win the genetic lottery, doesn’t give those…those…BITCHES the right to be so mean.’

Shutting down Dr. Harrison’s computer to quietly collect dust for another year, Charli packed up her disks. ‘Maybe I’ll just head back to my dormroom. I’ll tell Jim I’m not feeling well and I’ll make up the hours tomorrow. Maybe Shin will want to play a little head-to-head Doom.’ Chen Du was Charli’s roommate in the freshman dorms. Both were computer science majors and both very shy. Charli initially thought Chen was a foreign hyper-genius and Chen thought Charli was a goth-freak. They had spent nearly two days in their room together, quietly clicking away on their respective laptops not saying a word to each other when Charli finally asked Chen if she played Doom. Soon both girls were laughing and giggling as they blew the snot out of the minions of hell. It seemed that they had more in common than they originally thought and in their online digital worlds, both were very aggressive.

But that’s the virtual world – this is real life. ‘If you don’t have high cheek bones and zero-percent body fat, you’ll always be in second place…if you’re lucky.’

Charli closed up Dr. Harrison’s office and started to walk toward the elevator. She just made it around the corner when down the hall one of those blonde bitches exited Dr. Walter’s – Gregg’s – office. She wished she knew their names. Then she’d be able to get revenge…maybe a burning bag of dog poo on their front porch. ‘Jesus Charli, is that the best you can think of? Flaming poo?’ Charli backpedaled back around the corner and peeked her head around just enough to see what was going on. ‘If that girl comes my way, I’ll just take the stairs,’ she thought, not wanting another run-in. She looked down at her watch and, to her amazement, realized that Little-Miss-Barbie-Doll must have been in Gregg’s office for more than a half hour if she was just getting out now.

Charli was almost jealous until she looked more closely at the leggy pony-tailed skank. Even from down the hall, Charli could see that she was wiping away tears and holding her stomach, looking around nervously and walking on weak knees. No wait, she wasn’t holding her stomach, she was holding her… ‘What the hell– ’ Charli’s thought was interrupted as Gregg’s door opened again and the first blonde’s near-twin was forcefully ejected from the same room. The door slammed shut and Charli would swear that clone number two was looking longingly at the solid oak slab, even gently caressing it before realizing her partner in crime was standing there waiting.

Wiping away her own tear, the taller of the two – the one without the ponytail – seemed to draw up her strength and turned to her friend. “Not a word plebe. Not a word…Let’s go. You’ve got…chores…” Her attempt at sounding forceful came out distracted as she again looked at Gregg’s office door. The shorter of the two gulped nervously and followed her friend into the elevator that just opened up.

‘I don’t know what he said to them, but they certainly don’t seem half as high-and-mighty as before.’ Charli smiled to herself and decided she’d finish out the rest of the workday. She was looking forward to the next time she’d get to talk with Gregg. Maybe she could even convince him to give up that silly notion that thin-crust pizza was better than deep-dish.

Tonight, however, she was going to install that patch that transformed all the Doom demons into cheerleaders…

It was almost an hour later when Gregg finally emerged from his office. He was just too…well…‘up’ to get out in public. He typed up an email to Emily giving her a brief run-down of the morning’s events (minus the mind powers stuff, of course). ‘Won’t she be surprised to get a dirty story from ME!’ he thought, clicking the send button. Staring at the “message sent” window on this screen, Gregg realized that he really missed Emily. He was madly in love with Heather, no doubt about that, but Emily held a special place in his heart. It was Emily that had taken his virginity in the hospital bed where he recovered from the lightning strike. It was at Emily’s father’s house where he first made love to Heather, Emily later joining them. It was Emily who helped arrange his going-away party with Brenda, Jenny, and Chad. Since coming back from to the States, Emily had sent stories she had written to him and Heather almost every day. On days where she didn’t have time to

write, she’d sent copies of stories that she found online that particularly intrigued her. Every story she sent was erotic. Some were sweet and romantic, others were very hard-core. In all the time since he’d left the Mediterranean, this was the first time Gregg had sent a story of his own. It wasn’t nearly as well written – he had no flair for the written word – but unlike Emily’s stories, everything he wrote was true.

Gregg forced himself to recite lists of dates and names of dynasties until finally he could coax his erection down. He may never have heard of the term “blue-balls,” but the discomfort in his pants was exactly that. Packing up a few books and his legal pad, he decided to sit outside in the quad to do his thinking. It used to be that he preferred the flickering glow from a fluorescent over the sun, but today he just didn’t feel like being confined in his box…even if it did reek of sex.

Finding a bit of dry ground under one of the large oaks in the quad, Gregg cracked open the text book, post-it flags on hand for when he found items worthy of being repeated in his lecture. As was becoming annoyingly routine, girls passing by on their way to some building or another would giggle behind their hands or sigh lustily…almost all at least looked in his direction. He could feel their desire as they passed – he could even hear some of their thoughts. Most involved “ripping bodices” and “palming milky globes of flesh…” These girls read too many romance novels!

Deciding to try an experiment, Gregg closed his eyes and did his best to tune them out and focus on un-sexy things: multiplication tables, conjugating Latin verbs, golf…Opening his eyes, he noticed that the girls were, well…NOT noticing him. That lasted all of about ten seconds until an attractive co-ed wearing a particularly tight t-shirt walked by. She saw him looking and winked, continuing on with an exaggerated sway to her hips. Gregg couldn’t help but notice and once again, all around girls were turning their heads to take notice of the hunk studying under the tree.

Gregg sighed resignedly. ‘Well, at least it’s a start. I’m just going to have to learn to keep my thoughts under control…no easy task with so much flesh around.’ Just thinking about all the girls he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about had them all looking at him that much more intensely. ‘Before they chase me down the street, I better head back to my apartment for a long, cold shower…maybe two.’

Gregg felt like a schlub. Dressed in simple khakis, a polo shirt, and loafers, he looked positively slovenly compared to the regal beauty sharing a table with him. ‘When she said we were meeting at her favorite restaurant for dinner, I had no idea it’d be so upscale!’ The restaurant Heather told him to meet her at was one of those family steakhouses that had been serving wealthy clientele for over a hundred years. He would have thought he was in the wrong place, but Heather gave very specific directions on where it was. It was inconceivable that someone working as a waitress could afford to eat here often – much less name it her favorite place. ‘Maybe she once worked here? She’s probably been saving her money just for tonight.’ It was decorated with dark woods, had a wine list as thick as a history text book, and had a very doting wait staff. ‘Then again, looking the way she looks right now, Heather would get very doting service at McDonalds!’

Gregg wasn’t exaggerating. Eyes that were on him while he waited at the bar for her arrival all turned – male and female – when she walked through the door. Gregg almost dropped the club soda he was sipping when his eyes spotted her. She was wearing an elegant, but very tight strapless red dress that went from below her knees up over breasts. It showed a lot of cleavage, and constantly looked on the verge of bursting open. However, somewhat to his disappointment, it never did. Her feet were wrapped in matching red strappy sandals, she carried a tiny silver purse, and her lips were painted a bright, glossy red. Her hair was piled in a complicated knot at the top of her head that left wispy strands free to frame her face. She could literally stop traffic. Giggling, she used her thumb to wipe a trace of lipstick off Gregg’s cheek when she kissed him hello. Gregg was still unable to utter a word. With her hair up, Gregg was reminded of just how long and graceful

her neck was – and it took every ounce of self-control not to ravage her on the spot.

The snooty maître d’ who wouldn’t seat him earlier (probably thinking he was a low-class tourist) hurried up to him now, apologizing for making him wait, finding that “their most romantic table” toward the back was empty.

Two hours and five courses later, Gregg and Heather were sitting cross-corner from each other, holding hands on the tabletop, both having satisfied one hunger while another simmered, threatening to boil over. Heather dominated the conversation – she talked about how cute the pre-frosh students were she gave tours to and how she was hit on by over-confident freshmen as well as a few parents. Heather really was a people-person and on days she gave tours or met with prospective students, she shone. Days she was stuck doing paperwork, she was miserable.

When Gregg asked if this restaurant was one of the places she once worked as waitress, she gave a quick response about having worked in the area before quickly moving on to other topics. Gregg would have pressed the issue, but her hypnotic gaze, her sultry smile, and her foot rubbing against his shin really didn’t give his brain a fighting chance. While over the course of the meal he shifted positions several times (often in an effort to surreptitiously adjust suddenly snug pants), Heather maintained perfect posture – back straight, chest out. She only got up once to “powder her nose” and when she sashayed across the room, all conversation in the room stopped. Men openly gawked and women either glared angrily at the men no longer paying attention to them or they stared at Heather’s perfect figure jealously.

It was only when dessert came that Heather finally allowed Gregg to speak at length. It was as if she knew that once he started talking about his adventure earlier that day, she’d be too excited to talk. “Now, I’ve been prattling on and on,” she said somewhat nervously, refilling their wine glasses with the last of the deep red Syrah. “It’s your turn…tell me about the lesson you had to teach, dear Professor…” she said the last with a knowing wicked grin as she dipped her finger into her glass, tracing the rim a few times before sucking the wine off her delectable digit.

Gregg first relayed his meeting and conversation with Charli. Heather’s excitement grew thinking that this was the student he had “taught a lesson” to but was mildly disappointed when he said that she left his office unscathed. While she was happy Gregg had made a friend…she was anxious to hear about his other meeting.

Disappointment turned to lust when he told how he confronted the two sorority girls and brought them into his office. Gregg spared no detail, detailing how both girls sucked his dick and how he did his best to make the leader of the two, Laura, feel humiliated. For a change, Gregg was too excited by his recitation to be embarrassed by the words he was using. Heather’s free hands were wringing her cloth napkin on the table with each new detail, her perfect poise marred as she licked her lips and fidgeted excitedly in her chair. When she spotted the waiter approaching she merely locked eyes with him and shook her head and he turned around to tend to another table.

In hushed tones so other patrons wouldn’t overhear, Gregg continued the story – Laura on hands and knees under the desk while he ate her friend out. Forcing Laura to watch while Natalie got the fucking of her life. And the final indignation, getting a face full of sperm when he finished. His prose wasn’t great and he stumbled over his words, only slightly embarrassed to be whispering phrases like “face full of sperm” to this fiery goddess beside him, but she could picture every detail of his actions in her mind.

It was all Heather could do not to reach under the table and finger herself. She could feel her heartbeat pound in her chest in time with the pulsing between her legs. Her self-control was a tad better than the couple seated near them who, for reasons they didn’t understand, beat a quick retreat into the men’s room to relieve their sudden and inexplicable lust. It was time to take her professor home and reward him for such a creative pedagogy. Heather raised her hand to signal for the check and when she looked up she paled visibly. Burning lust became an icy ball of fear as a man approached the table.

Gregg saw the color drain from Heather’s face and turned to see what had caught her attention. A man dressed in an expensive looking suit with hair slicked back and plenty of gold around his fingers stood by the table, looking from Heather to Gregg and back to Heather again. Behind him, a woman with blonde hair and breasts so huge and obviously fake they bordered on the ridiculous stood staring somewhat vacantly into space.

“Raven? I almost didn’t recognize you. What brings you back?”

“Pardon me sir,” Gregg stuttered. “I think you must have her confused with someone else.”

The man gave Gregg a look that summed up just how little he thought of him before returning his gaze back to Heather. “You cost me a lot of money Raven. You seem to be doing quite well for yourself, I’d say. What, did you abandon me in my hour of need to start turning tricks?”

Gregg eyed the man warily – who did this asshole think he was calling Heather a whore? “Sir, you’re obviously mist—”

The blonde eye candy seemed to break through her daze and finally notice Heather. “Raven? I mean Heather? Is that you? It’s me, Cathy! My God you look great! Vinnie, doesn’t she look great? Then again you always—”

Vinnie cut her off with a snap of his fingers and a harsh, “Shut up slut! I’m talking here. The next time you open your mouth, my dick better be in it!” The blonde took a step back, her head hanging meekly.

Heather’s eyes went wide with recognition and then sadness. Her one time friend and lover from the strip club circuit had been transformed into an over-inflated sex doll. Heather’s eyes trailed down to Cathy’s arms, verifying her worst fears. Cathy saw where her eyes went and self-consciously tried to cover up the track marks with her hand. “Oh Cathy, I’m so sorry…”

“Forget about her. She made her own choices. She’s a big girl…and I don’t just mean her tits!” Vinnie smiled at his own witty comment.

“Heather, who is this?” Gregg asked, with surprising calm. “Do you know him from one of the restaurants you used to work at?”

That finally got Vinnie’s attention. He turned his gaze to Gregg and looked at him incredulously before barking out a laugh. “Ha! Is that what she told you? That she used to work in a restaurant?”

“Please, Vinnie, don’t…” Heather pleaded, knowing that Vinnie wasn’t one to bestow mercy. He was a shark, and right now he smelled blood in the water.

“Heather…or should I say, Raven – that was her stage name – used to dance at my club. She was the best stripper in town. Moves so hot that she could make the Pope pop his cork. Men would pay a hundred dollars just to let her shake her tits in their face or grind her cooch in their lap.”

Gregg turned to Heather, whose head was hanging in shame. “Heather, is this true?”

Tears ran down her face. Unable to speak, she simply nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

Vinnie took in the scene with glee. He dreamed about running into Heather again – she owed him, and he’d make her pay. “Okay sweetcheeks, let’s not make a scene. I made you famous, so if you’re gonna be turning tricks, you’re going to give me my fair share. It’s the least you owe me. You come with me quietly and I won’t have to mess up that pretty little face of yours. Your John can crawl home and jack off to memories of the sweet piece of ass he ain’t never gonna get.”

An anger like he had never known before began to rise in Gregg. Heather, filled with shame at both her past coming back to her, and Gregg finding out about her secret, couldn’t look him in the eye. ‘If I don’t go with him, he’ll hurt Gregg…’ Gregg heard that thought clearly and a protective instinct took control.

Heather grabbed her purse from under the table and started to rise. She had just pushed back her chair when Gregg’s hand shot out and tightly gripped her wrist. “Sit.”

Heather turned her gaze to Gregg, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Vinnie. When she failed to sit back down, Gregg tightened his grip and said again simply, “I said sit.”

“Gregg, honey, you don’t understand. He’s dangerous. Don’t be a hero – just let me go.”

Gregg finally turned his gaze. Realizing Heather’s hand was turning purple, he released his grip. While she massaged her wrist, he said calmly, “We’re not done with our meal. I don’t intend to leave until the meal is over. And when it is over, you’ll be leaving with me…not him.”

Heather sat nervously down, knowing full-well what Vinnie was capable of. She had seen that wicked sneer on his face before as he leaned forward, resting his palms on the table, getting within inches of Gregg’s face.

“Listen you putz, you picked the wrong day to mess with the wrong person. Since you don’t know who I am, I’m giving you that one for free. That’s the limit to my generosity. Now, go find yourself another high priced whore or I’m going to have to mess you up. Believe me, no one in this restaurant is going to call the cops. Little Miss Heather has a dick to suck tonight and it ain’t gonna be yours.”

Gregg had heard enough. Gregg quickly leaned over and kicked his foot out toward Vinnie’s shins as hard as he could. It was a clumsy move, but Vinnie found himself unable to move a muscle. Gregg felt no dishonor using his power to give him an advantage – he had lost enough fights growing up to know when not to fight fairly. Vinnie’s legs were shoved out from under him, sending him face-first into the hard table top. With a resounding thunk and a clatter of broken dishes, Vinnie rebounded backward and collapsed to the ground, his face a bloody mess.

Standing over the dazed and prone Vinnie, Gregg reached down and grabbed him by his necktie, pulling him up just enough to rear back and punch him across the face with a strength he didn’t know he had. Two teeth that were loosened by his face-plant into the table flew across the carpeting with a spray of blood.

As quickly as it started, it was over. Gregg stood shakily, gasping for air. Every eye in the restaurant was on him, and it wasn’t because of the usual reasons. Heather’s eyes were perhaps the biggest, fear and awe battling it out across her wide green globes. She wanted to hold him, but she was too shocked to move.

Gregg shook out his hand, the pain from the punch starting to be felt now that the adrenalin was wearing off. He reached down and patted Vinnie’s coat. Gregg flinched when he saw the shoulder holster, but moved past it. Finding a wad in one of the pockets, he pulled out a roll of money. Peeling off five one-hundred dollar bills, he put them on the table to cover the food and damages. “Thanks for dinner Vinnie.” Then he handed the rest of the wad to Cathy.

“My advice to you is to take this money and get away from this asshole.” Cathy gulped nervously and looked down at Vinnie’s unconscious body before looking back at Gregg and taking the money with a trembling hand. “Now the meal is over. Heather?” He held out his hand and Heather took it, eager to leave the scene.

As they were leaving the restaurant, Heather looked back, dismayed to see Cathy crouching over Vinnie, trying to revive him. A spark of hope remained when she saw her slip the money into her purse. ‘Use it to get help Cathy…not more drugs…please.’ she pleaded silently as she was led out the door.

As the warm night air filled his nostrils and the realization of what he had just done hit him, Gregg’s knees buckled. Staggering around the corner toward the alley, he doubled over, an exquisite meal threatening to return. Luckily after a few calming breaths, Gregg regained his composure and returned to Heather. Fear, awe, and pity all played across her face. ‘Some hero I turn out to be!’ He helped Heather into a cab and she scooted across the seat to make room for him, breathing a silent sigh of relief that he actually joined her. Gregg gave the driver Heather’s address and they pulled away from the restaurant. For long minutes neither said a word. Heather was too stunned to speak, afraid that if she opened her mouth, she’d break down and cry. Gregg on the other hand was wrestling with a moral dilemma.

He was furious that Heather had been lying to him all this time. Gregg harbored no illusions that under different circumstances, they both could have winded up dead tonight. ‘Is that why she wanted me to sleep with other women? To assuage her guilt over the secret she’s been carrying?’ His anger was tempered knowing that he too had a secret. ‘Is it fair for me to be mad when I still haven’t told her about my abilities? No. It’s not the same. She blatently lied to me. I haven’t told her about me because I don’t even understand it myself. What would I tell her? Maybe. Someday…If I live long enough…’ Gregg’s thoughts turned morose as he remembered all those recurring dreams where he saw through the eyes of others with his abilities – all of whom died violent deaths.

Gregg’s silence reached Heather’s limit. “Gregg…Gregg? I…You shouldn’t have done that. You don’t know Vinnie…he’ll kill you…he’ll kill me.”

Gregg couldn’t explain to her that he took precautions to make sure Vinnie didn’t seek revenge. Heather couldn’t know that when Vinnie wakes up in the hospital, he’ll have no recollection of how he got there…He won’t even remember running into Heather…Raven…whatever she called herself. “No Heather. He won’t. You’re safe.”

Heather gulped. There was a steely edge to Gregg’s voice that scared her, but his surety also comforted her. She knew he was right – she didn’t know why, but he was right. But, he said “you’re safe,” not “we’re safe…” The multiple meanings of that spun in her brain to the point of paranoia. She wanted to reach across the seat and hold his hand, kiss away the pain from his bloody knuckles, but she was afraid of him rejecting her.

“Tell me everything, Heather. The whole truth. You never were a waitress, were you?” To her surprise, she didn’t break down in tears. In fact, the truth came spilling out matter-of-factly. It was like a final confession before being sentenced. While she hoped she was wrong, she felt that if things were going to end with Gregg tonight, they’d end with no more lies between them.

“I was a rich spoiled kid. I was also beautiful, and popular. I learned early on that I could get whatever I wanted with just a flirtatious glance. When I graduated high school, I went to college and quickly flunked out – partying instead of studying.” Heather held up her hand, her thumb and forefinger almost touching. “I came this close to being just like your little sorority friends. My boyfriend at the time took me to a local strip club for an amateur night. If I wasn’t drunk, I may not have gone…but it was the easiest $1,000 I ever made. I had no real skills and Daddy was cutting me off from my allowance. If I could make that much in a single night just by showing my tits, then why not? Once Daddy learned how I was making money, he completely cut me off. It’s been three years since I’ve spoken with him…” Heather paused for a moment, as if feeling that loss fully for the first time.

“But the easy life wasn’t as easy as I thought it’d be. Sure, there was glamour – I got to party with rock stars, rub up against celebrities…literally…but I soon learned about the dangers. I few weeks after I started dancing full time, I was assaulted by a drunk patron. It was also the night I met Cathy. She didn’t used to look like what you saw there. She was one of those strong-willed women who didn’t take shit from nobody. Besides becoming my lover for a time, she also took me under her wing, kept her eye on me, keeping me away from drugs and shady deals that could get me in trouble.”

Heather paused, collecting her thoughts. “Gregg, you can’t imagine how many girls are chewed up and spit out by the system. I chose to do what I did – many of them didn’t have a choice. They had kids to support, abusive boyfriends, pimps. I had plenty of opportunities to make amends with Daddy and go back to living an easy life, but every month that passed just widened the gap between us. Well, after four years of strutting my stuff on stage, I was burning out. I watched two of my friends die from overdoses and another got gang raped at a bachelor party…she’s so scarred up now no strip club will hire her. The guys had a high-priced lawyer and got off with community service. Many of the girls get addicted to drugs to wash away the humiliation of what they’re doing and then become prostitutes on the side to pay for their drug addiction. Guys brag about nailing a stripper, but they’d never take one home to meet their parents. Once someone tags you with that label

, you can’t clean the tainted lens they see you through. I knew I had to get out. That’s when I decided to quit the business and go to college. The sooner I had a real degree, real skills, the sooner all this could be a distant memory.”

Gregg had never seen anyone he loved die. His parents were alive, even though he didn’t talk with them much. He never had any friends, but the thought of losing anyone who was close to him now was almost more than he could bear. Gregg reached out his hand and held Heather’s. With a cracked voice he whispered, “Go on.” Heather was almost overwhelmed with emotion. Gregg’s simple gesture told her everything would be alright.

With barely contained tears, she continued. “Vinnie was – is – the owner of the club I worked at. He made a lot of money off of me, but like all men with money – he wanted more. More money and more of me. Cathy had warned me to avoid a relationship with him at all costs and I took her advice seriously. Some girls thought that their lives would be easier if they slept with the boss, but every single one of them just got passed around and ended up on the street, bitter and used. One day he pulled me aside to say he was starting his own porn production company and thought I would be the perfect star. I knew that once I crossed that line, there’d be no turning back. I refused…something people just don’t do with Vinnie.

“A few days later one of his mob connections comes into the club. Apparently this was the guy who was going to finance his movie business and I was going to be the down payment. Cathy found out about it and stopped me on my way to work. ‘Heather,’ she says, ‘don’t go to work today. In fact don’t come back ever again…not even to pick up your last paycheck. If you walk through those doors, you’re going to be pinned down, shot full of heroine and then raped on camera. You’ve saved enough money…you’re done here.’ I hugged her goodbye, knowing that Vinnie would know who tipped me off.”

Tears were running down her face in a stream. “That should have been me on Vinnie’s arm tonight, not Cathy.” Gregg pulled Heather into his arms and her final reserve broke down, sobbing mightily. “I’m so sorry I lied to you Gregg. I don’t deserve someone as good as you. Vinnie was right, I am just a whore.”

Gregg was going to soothe her but the cab came to a halt. He looked out the window and saw they were in front of Heather’s duplex. Gregg paid the driver and walked Heather inside, his arm protectively around her waist, holding her close. Even in her state of distress, he couldn’t help the tiny prickles of pleasure he felt holding her against his body.

He sat her on the couch in the small living room and handed her a tissue which she used to blot her increasingly mascara-smudged eyes. Opening up the cupboard where she stored her liquor, he poured shots of Amaretto into two glasses, giving her one. Gregg only wanted to calm her nerves, not get her drunk.

Taking a seat next to her, his hand gently rubbing her back, Heather talked. It felt good knowing she could finally tell Gregg everything. It especially felt good to share the hard times. Gregg was a good listener – he had to be, he had nothing comparable to contribute. Having never set foot in a nudie bar, he barely understood a lot of what she was talking about. But he listened and didn’t judge and that was what was most important to Heather.

After an hour and several more shots of the almond-flavored liqueur, Heather had moved beyond her sadness and was even reminiscing about some of the fun times she had doing what she did. She giggled when she told Gregg about the not-so-rare patrons who’d walk away from one of her lap dances having shot their load.

Gregg’s visage darkened. It was one thing to dance near somebody…even naked. It was another to perform sexual acts on strangers. “I thought you weren’t supposed to touch them. You said you never touched them! Were you just lying to me again?”

Heather was momentarily stunned by Gregg’s emotional turn. It quickly dawned on her that she’d gotten so comfortable talking about her past, she didn’t realize Gregg may not be as understanding as she led herself to believe.

“Gregg, a lot of girls did what you are thinking. I’ve seen it. How much of a leap of logic is it to move from grinding yourself against someone’s lap to just removing the cloth barrier and giving them a hand job? Then giving head isn’t that much more of a leap…then full-on sex. No, we’re not supposed to, but for many of the girls, the promise of a few extra bucks helps grease that logic through.

“But I never did. Not once.” Heather looked intently into Gregg’s eyes. “Not once Gregg.” Gregg didn’t need special powers to know she was telling the truth. Seeing his slight nod, Heather relaxed and took on a slightly bemused expression. “Vinnie may be an asshole, but he wasn’t lying when he said I was good. I – was.” She emphasized those last two words with simultaneous pokes into his sternum.

Gregg caught onto her tone and decided to play her game. Grabbing her poking finger in his hand, he returned her intense stare. “Prove it.”

Heather was not used to Gregg asserting himself. It wasn’t a dare. It was a command. She felt a chill run up her spine knowing she couldn’t…wouldn’t say no. The simple command was one to be followed. Gregg had taken charge. Heather continued looking into his eyes, but Gregg’s commanding glare never wavered.

Heather stood, conscious of the goosebumps prickling her skin, of the moisture building between her legs. Turning around, she opened up her CD collection and pulled out one of her favorite mixes. She put it into the player, but didn’t press play. She sauntered into the kitchen, returning with a kitchen chair which she placed in the center of the living room.

“Fix yourself another drink and give me a minute to change. Maybe light some candles. When I tell you to, start the music and have a seat…It’s time for El Professor to learn a lesson he’s never going to forget.” With that she disappeared around the corner into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Gregg poured himself another drink, trying his best not to notice the painfully slow ticking of the kitchen clock as he waited for the start of the show. Dimming the lights and finding a couple candles, he set up the room’s ambiance. He fought down the temptation to visualize what Heather was doing in the other room. As eager as he was to know, he knew that the experience would be that much more enjoyable if he let her do what she claimed she did best. Besides, he had his own plans…

An eternity later – actually fifteen minutes – the door to Heather’s room opened a crack, just enough for her to tell Gregg to start the music. Gregg pressed play and took his seat on the lone chair in the middle of the room. A heavy grinding beat from the stereo filled the room. The bedroom door creaked fully open and Heather emerged from around the corner. Before she came fully into view, Gregg closed his eyes and concentrated…

Heather stepped out from the bedroom, turning the corner and blinked in surprise. From the moment Gregg said to “prove it,” her excitement was barely contained. It had been just over a year since she last danced for anybody, and that she’d be plying her former trade again for the man she loved made it that much more exciting. As fast as she could, she washed her face and reapplied her make up. Half her closet was dumped onto her floor so she could find one of several boxes she had buried in the back. It was one of her favorite outfits and it was sure to knock Gregg for a loop. Just holding it in her hands filled her with some of the remaining fond memories of her life on stage. Sure there was plenty to be miserable about, but there was a certain power in taunting and exciting a man, having him desperately throw twenties, even hundreds!, just to get you to show a little more skin.

All these thoughts literally filled her mind as she exited the bedroom and entered, not her living room, but an empty stage. She shook her head wondering if it was a dream. Seeing Gregg sitting on a chair at the end of the runway, Heather suddenly didn’t care. Her imagination had been taking odd turns of late, but right now that didn’t matter. Stage lights flooded the thrust stage, blocking out the audience. Except for the music, it was eerily quiet. There was no hooting and hollering…there was just Gregg, sitting in his chair.

As she approached the end of the runway, she took in Gregg’s smile – it wasn’t his usual boyish grin of delight. She was used to that smile – that wonder-filled grin that he got whether explaining the markings on an ancient ruin to the group in his small trailer in Tunisia or after a sweaty round of animalistic sex. No, this smile was definitely different…it was knowing…as if he were playing a game of chess and his opponent didn’t know checkmate was only a few moves away.

Gregg sat in his chair, excitement threatening to boil over. Heather hesitated only a second before continuing her seduction. Just like when they played doctor all those weeks ago, Gregg filled Heather’s imagination with an image of the club she used to dance for. It was easier this way, using Heather’s own memory rather than trying to create an environment from scratch. Once that flicker of doubt or disbelief passed, Gregg let go of the image, letting it sustain itself. That done, he could finally drink in just how sexy Heather was.

It was an outfit that left little to the imagination, and still it caused its viewer to beg to see more. Heather wore a tight green low-cut bra that pressed her already magnificent breasts against her chest, showing a lot of cleavage. Her excitement was plain to see as her nipples pressed against the tight, stretchy fabric. Around her waist was a matching skin-tight skirt with a zipper on the side that barely went below her round asscheeks. Shiny white boots with heels that must have been four inches or so went up her legs past her knees to mid-thigh. On top of her head was a white hat that looked like a cross between a cowboy hat and something out of Clockwork Orange pulled low. In the shade beneath the rim, Heather’s incandescent eyes seemingly glowed with desire as she crossed the space between them. Gregg drank in her beauty, taking a sip of his drink to steady his nerve. His momentary feeling of control was difficult to maintain looking up at this sexy godd

ess and her dominating presence.

Standing in front of Gregg, Heather leaned forward, giving him a generous view of her bra-clad tits. She removed the drink from his hands, taking the smallest sip for herself. Pulling the glass from her lips, a perfect impression of her freshly-applied lipstick was left on the rim.

Heather walked around behind Gregg, putting one hand on his shoulder. The clinking of ice cubes in the glass filled his ears, the fruity smell of her perfume filled his nostrils. When Gregg lifted his hand to his shoulder to grab hers, Heather leaned forward so her breasts pressed against his back and her whisper filled his ear. “Hands down.” Gregg hesitated a moment before doing as she said. “Good. You can follow directions,” she said in her normal voice. “My name’s Raven and you’re in for the show of your life, but you must obey three simple rules.” Heather’s free hand moved down from Gregg’s shoulder to rub his chest. “First rule: your hands stay locked to the side of the chair, no matter what I do.” She swiped his earlobe with her tongue. “Understood?”

Gregg shuddered and gulped excitedly, finally getting enough control over his body to nod his head in assent.

“Second rule: your hands stay locked to the side of the chair, no matter what I do.” She leaned a bit to the side and her hand trailed down to Gregg’s crotch, rubbing his cock through his pants, happy to see that he was already hard. Again Gregg gave an almost imperceptible nod. He was so excited he had to remind himself to breathe.

She stood up and walked back around to stand in front of Gregg, facing away. She bent fully at the waist keeping her legs straight as she placed the glass on the stage, off to the side. Bent in half, her skirt rode up giving Gregg a view of her nearly transparent panties.

“Third rule: your hands stay locked to the side of the chair, no matter what I do.” She stood again and turned, straddling Gregg’s chair, holding herself tightly against him, his face buried in her cleavage and his cock pressed against her mound. Her hips made slow circles, grinding sweetly. “Do you understand these rules?” Gregg nodded, his head firmly encased between her magnificent mams.

“Good.” With that she stood and stepped a few paces away from Gregg who took a deep breath after nearly being suffocated, or so it seemed. Heather’s heels clicked on the stage floor, and it took Gregg a second to remind himself that the sound was just part of her imagination, since her living room floor was really a tight-weave carpet.

Heather turned to face Gregg again and began moving her body to the music. Her hips swayed and her body flexed. Her moves were sensual and seductive, her eyes were locked on him as his roamed every inch of her body. She smiled to herself seeing the white-knuckle grip he kept onto the side of the chair.

“Do you like my body?” she asked, holding one heavy tit in each hand, her tongue tracing circles around her lips. Gregg was unable to reply, his mouth having gone dry the moment she started dancing. She licked her finger, trailing the wet digit between her breasts and then leaning forward to press it against Gregg’s lips. He opened his mouth, attempting to draw it in, but she removed it too quickly leaving him merely a taste of her on his lips.

She spun around and grabbed the zipper to her skirt. With her hips making small circles, she pulled the zipper down, and the loose end practically snapped free around her body. Heather casually tossed the small garment to the side, walking away from Gregg, her nearly transparent thong disappearing between her heavenly asscheeks.

She turned again marching close to Gregg and dropping to her knees. She leaned back on one hand and thrust her hips up and down. She was so close that Gregg could have turned his foot and touched her between her legs. Her free hand played with her pussy over the nearly non-existant material of her underwear and she groaned in pleasure – whether real or part of the show, Gregg didn’t care.

Balancing forward again, she sat up, kneeling between Gregg’s open thighs. Her hands came around and again held onto her large breasts, squeezing the nipples before moving her grip underneath. She pressed her breasts together and like magic the bra unclasped from the front, leaving only her hands to protect her modesty. Heather moved one hand just enough to give the nipple a playful tweak before winking playfully at Gregg and standing once again. She turned and dropped her arms, the bra sliding down to land in Gregg’s lap. The sides of her heavy breasts were visible from behind, and Gregg silently prayed that she would turn around.

No such luck. Heather resumed her sensual grinding, flashes of her tits appearing around the sides, but no full-on view. Her hands slipped to her waist and with a thrust of her ass and a flick of her hands, the side-clasps holding that barely-there material sprang free. Heather was now clad only in her thigh-high boots and her hat. Still holding one end of the material in each hand, Heather pulled it up tight against her pussy mound, rubbing it back and forth like floss before tossing it behind her to land on Gregg’s shoulder. Gregg turned his head and her musky aroma filled in nose, teasing him with its scent, knowing he couldn’t move a muscle.

Heather again sank to her knees, leaning forward onto her arms, flexing her back and spreading her legs so her ass was in the air, her pink pussy lips spread and inviting. She arched her back fully and ground her pussy against the stage floor, her asscheeks dimpling. Gregg’s knee started bouncing as he fought the temptation to dive forward and molest her there on the stage floor. As the material of his pants rubbed against his steel-hard shaft, it became painfully obvious how she could cause so many men to cream their jeans without laying a finger on them.

She swung around, facing Gregg, and crawled cat-like between his legs, her breasts hanging beneath her. Climbing up onto his lap she deftly kept her breasts out of reach of his open mouth which kept trying to capture a nipple whenever one came close. Her hips ground against his lap and she could feel his considerable girth between her legs. She held one heavy tit just out of reach of his face. Lifting her tit and bending her neck, her mouth opened to allow her pink tongue to stretch out and lick her nipple. A thin strand of saliva bridged the gap as she sat back up. Gregg groaned in frustration as every treat was denied him.

Heather slid back to the floor ready to show her best stuff. Lying on her back, she spread her legs wide, almost to the point where her legs were touching the stage to either side of her. Her pussy spread wide open, its pink interior glistening with her own excitement. Even with her legs spread so wide, she still was able to grind her hips, their hypnotic motion beckoning Gregg to break her three rules.

Sitting up she removed her hat, flinging it to the side. A cascade of red locks fell free. She shook her head and her hair rested around her shoulders in a wild tangle that set Gregg’s eyes afire. Leaning onto her side, she grabbed her top leg behind the knee. She pulled back, and back, and back, until to Gregg’s amazement, she was holding her shin near her face. She smiled wickedly as Gregg fought with every last ounce of strength to keep control. It was only when she turned around onto her knees in order to stand that she learned that his tenuous grip on control had just snapped.

She had rolled toward Gregg’s side and onto her knees when her arms were suddenly pulled in a firm grip behind her. Bracing for her head to crash to the stage floor she was surprised when it only dropped a few inches onto a soft cushion. Opening her eyes she saw the familiar material of her living room couch before her eyes. Blinking she looked around as much as she could, pinned as she was, and realized she was back in her apartment. In the moment she had to again marvel at the tricks her mind seemed to play on her recently, she shuddered in pleasure as a tongue scraped up between her spread thighs. Involuntarily she groaned.

“Now that I have your attention…Raven,” Gregg said pinning both her wrists in one large hand to the middle of her back, the other gently rubbing a perfectly smooth asscheek. “You’re in for the time of your life…if you obey MY simple rules.” SMACK! Heather yelped as Gregg’s hand came down forcefully against her bare cheek in a open-handed slap. It was more surprise than pain, but she could already feel the skin beneath his hand tingling as it turned pink. “Rule number one: No more lies.”

A second SMACK! punctuated his command. Just as she was just about to protest, Gregg’s hand pulled her cheek to the side and he buried his face between her legs. His tongue flicked up and down her gash, tickling her clit up to her rosebud. Just when she thought he was about to put his tongue where no tongue had gone before, he pulled away. Heather’s revulsion over what she thought he was going to do battled with a secret desire for him to do that very forbidden act. Gregg hadn’t taken her in the ass since that day when he took her anal cherry. Only now was she realizing how much she missed it.

“Do we understand rule number one?” Heather tried to squirm free to face him, but his large hand kept a firm grip on her narrow wrists pinned behind her back. SMACK! Heather screamed both in pain and pleasure, the sound muffled by the couch cushions. Gregg gently rubbed the raw skin under his hand, moving it down so he then massaged her now dripping quim. “I said, do we understand rule number one?”

Gregg’s almost banal voice scared and excited Heather, wondering what she had unleashed. “Yes! Yes! I understand…No more lies…” she practically weeped, from fear, humiliation, pain, or pleasure, she didn’t know…nor did she care.

“Good.” Gregg rewarded her answer by again burying his face between her legs. With her limited mobility, she spread her legs as wide as she could, arching her back even more to give Gregg better access to her treasures. His animalistic pussy-licking was in stark contrast to his banal conversational tone. He licked and sucked, shaking his head side to side, thrusting his tongue in deep. To her delight, he even rimmed her asshole, causing her to flinch in surprise at first. Her cheeks clenched as his tongue tried slithering up her rear hole. But he was not to be denied. Once she relaxed and allowed his tongue some access, she found the experience surprisingly enjoyable. Her last traces of disgust were erased as the intense ticklish pleasure consumed her. When Gregg moved his face back down to her clit, he inserted his index finger from his free hand into her now spit-lubed asshole.

That was all Heather could stand. Burying her face into the sofa cushions she groaned loudly, her entire body tensing. Her hips bucked, threatening to bloody Gregg’s nose. “Ahh FUCK!! Oh Shit!!” Her moans of pleasure spurred Gregg on, pressing harder, licking faster.

As quickly as he brought her to climax, it was over. To her surprise, her hands were free, and she used them to push herself up off the couch. It was then that she realized that no more music was playing…Gregg must have turned the stereo off. Strangely, she could hear a rhythmic thumping coming from upstairs.

Before she could ponder that too deeply, Gregg entered her peripheral vision. Turning her head a little more, she watched Gregg remove the last of his clothing, his cock standing out from his torso like a long, angry spear, his hand slowly jacking up and down the stalk. He walked over to her, standing by her side and she knelt before him.

She leaned forward intending to take him in her mouth. Instead, Gregg grabbed a fistful of hair and firmly, but gently, held her head at bay. She was agonizingly close and her tongue snaked out trying to reach the tip. This close to her face, his cock seemed absolutely huge!

“Rule number two,” he said, enjoying her frustration.

Unconsciously, one of her hand pulled at a turgid nipple while the other reached for his cock only to be slapped away. Heather couldn’t ever remember ever feeling so desperate to suck a cock. But if she didn’t taste him, soon, she’d just die.

“Rule number two,” he said again, “no more lies.” The weight of his words fell on her and she nodded her head yes. Gregg loosened his grip in her hair and she practically dove for his cock, engulfing him nearly to the root on that first lunge. If she wasn’t so delirious with lust, she would have been amazed at her accomplishment.

Gregg only allowed her a few moments to suck before forcefully prying her off his meat, pushing her back to her prone position kneeling in front of the couch. He knelt behind her, pressing his wet pole against the underside of her pussy, teasing, but not entering. She moved her hands as if to help guide him in, but he intercepted them, holding them against the couch cushions.

“Please Gregg…Please. Fuck me. I’ve never been so turned on.”

Gregg lined up the tip of his cock with her entrance, but refused to insert it. Heather could feel it pressing against her moist lips, but to her frustration, Gregg kept it from going any further. “Oh God! Please, stop teasing me!” A tear actually rolled down her cheek.

“I will…but first, rule number three. Do you know what rule number three is?”

Heather’s brain was on fire, she was so overwhelmed with desire that she couldn’t think straight. Every nerve in her body was tingling and she couldn’t process his question. “PLEASE!!”

Again Gregg’s voice was calm and lacking any emotion. “You know this Heather. What is rule number three?”

Heather started sobbing, her frustration was nearing a breaking point. At that moment, she figured it out and with the barest whisper she said, “No lies.”

With those two words, Gregg slid fully inside her. Like a stick breaking the surface of a pond, Gregg watched as immense waves of pleasure spread out from her now filled cunt and overtake her body. Heather shuddered and gasped for air. Her body felt limp and her weight was fully supported by the couch. Gregg’s cock hadn’t moved except for that single thrust but she felt like he’d been fucking her for hours.

Gregg leaned over her and kissed her shoulder, flexing his hips causing her to groan and twitch. He whispered into her ear, “No lies,” and aftershocks from her orgasm shook her body.

Once she had calmed down enough, Gregg sat up and really started fucking her. Quickly he built to a rapid and powerful stroke, his hips slapping noisily against Heather’s ass. Gregg could feel his own release building quickly – a white-hot spark inside him barely contained, ready to explode. But he wasn’t ready to end this yet. Just as he had done with Heather, Emily or the others in the past, he formed a barrier around that growing spark. Rather than tying it off, he left it part open so that excess energy would flow into Heather through their bond. Gregg marveled at the simplicity of his solution and knew that from now on, he’d have complete control over when he came. His power over himself was almost as rewarding as the power he could exert over others.

All Heather knew was that Gregg had turned into an inhuman fucking machine. His cock pounded into her repeatedly without any hint of his impending explosion. It rasped against her raw clit overwhelming her with the dual pleasures of friction and fullness. Shortly after he settled into his rhythm, she came. A few minutes later she came again. When Gregg reached around her and played with her tits, she came yet again. When he inserted his finger back into her netherhole, her body convulsed in yet another orgasm. All throughout this blissful torture, Gregg never once broke stride.

Slap Slap Slap was the music of the room – the music of Gregg’s pelvis striking her ass – the music of the control he had over her. Despite his ability to keep from cumming, Gregg was starting to get exhausted fucking her so furiously. Heather’s body shone with sweat and glowed pink as if she had been running a marathon. Her hair was matted to her face and she no longer had the energy to even lift her head, despite the sensation of another orgasm rapidly approaching. Gregg, himself, was in no better condition. Sweat poured down his torso, and the smacking of his hips into Heather’s ass was sounding more and more like a wet splat.

Releasing the hold he had over his orgasm, Gregg used the last of his strength to drive himself toward the finish. Heather felt the change and tapped some last reserve of strength to raise her head. Gregg slipped his hands under her and grabbed her by her breasts, pulling her up so she was pressed against him as his hips went into overdrive.

Gregg’s vision tunneled and everything turned red as his release took over. He stabbed forcefully deep into Heather’s abused cunt, the first shots of semen firing out from his enraged prick. As his seed splashed inside her, Heather released a full-throated groan, her vaginal muscles clamping down hard on Gregg’s spurting cock. Again and again he fired inside her, both their bodies convulsing beyond their control.

Gregg was dimly aware of their bodies falling to the side, crashing onto the floor, Heather somewhat on top of him. Still his cock kept spurting. A moment later, everything went black.

Gregg’s eyes opened a crack. He didn’t know how long he was out, but he could feel Heather’s body still pressed against his. He flexed his hips to pull his cock out from Heather only to realize it was already resting on top of her mound. He lifted his head to look at her and was amazed by the sight of Heather’s torso completely covered with his cum. At some point during his orgasm, his cock must have slipped free from her channel only to continue spurting across her body. He had no idea he could produce so much semen.

Twisting slightly to get out from under Heather’s sodden form, Gregg winced in pain as his cock scraped through her pussy lips. He was raw and tender and hyper-sensitive from so much fucking. Bracing himself for more pain, he got out from under his exhausted lover, and knelt by her side. Heather didn’t wake up, but her lips were moving silently. Gregg placed his ear beside her lips and heard what she was saying over and over: “No more lies. No more lies…”

Summoning up his strength, Gregg lifted Heather in his arms, and carried her into the bathroom where he washed her off in the tub. Neither the spray of water from the detachable shower head, nor his loving caresses with the soapy washcloth managed to wake her.

After he dried her off, he again picked her up and carried her to bed, stepping over piles of discarded clothes from her open closet. Gregg cleaned himself off and then joined Heather under the covers. As he wrapped himself around her, she mewled contentedly, already in a deep sleep…

Heather was back in the black room. It was cold and seemingly endless. She no longer walked around looking for a wall. She knew from past dreams that there was never a wall to reach. She simply waited for the nightmare to begin. As if on cue, her thin silky white robe started flutter behind her, and yet there was no wind that she could feel. As usual the fog started drifting in, hiding her feet from view. An icy chill up her spine signaled the presence of the man in black. Somehow he always first appeared behind her.

Turning, she faced the man of her nightmares. His face was obscured by his deep black cowl, but she knew somehow that she knew this man.

“You’re mine. You always were,” he growled.

“Who are you?!”

“I own you. One day, you will accept that.”

“No.”

Heather gasped. She had intended to say ‘no,’ but it wasn’t her that said it. A large figure stepped from behind her and stood to her right. She looked up and it was Gregg. For the first time, he wasn’t a little boy. He looked just like she always saw him…only larger. She felt like a little girl standing barely more than waist high next to him.

His eyes were fixed straight ahead at the man in black, ignoring her as she grasped onto his arm, trying to pull him to safety. The man in black reared back and thrust out his arm, the long black claw flying directly at Gregg. Heather closed her eyes, knowing what was about to happen. But Gregg casually waved his arm, as if shooing a fly and the claw flying directly at his heart was batted aside. “I said ‘No.’”

Again the man in black hurtled another claw, this time with as much force as he could muster. Gregg caught it out of the air flinging it back at the man with a flick of his wrist. The hook flew into the man’s cowl and with an inhuman scream he disappeared in a poof of grey smoke.

Heather looked up at Gregg with awe-filled eyes. “Gregg, is it you? I…how…wha?”

“Shh. Go to sleep. It’s okay now.”

Heather desperately wanted to stay in the dream with Gregg but his words were like weights on her eyelids. She fell back into a deep, peaceful sleep. ‘My hero, twice,’ was her final thought.

Never again would she dream of the black room. Never again would she think of Gregg as a little boy.

Christine sat on the kitchen stool brushing her long golden locks with measured strokes. From behind one of the two bedroom doors, a toilet flushed. Breathing a small sigh of relief, she noted that it came from Brian and Adam’s room. Since Adam was still passed out on the living room couch, that meant that Brian was now awake.

‘What a strange turn my life has taken,’ she thought putting down the brush and getting up to make a pot of coffee. What a strange turn indeed. Several months ago she began backpacking across northern Africa, free and independent, surviving on wits and charm. Now, here she was in Amsterdam, holed up in a small two-bedroom apartment with the man she affectionately referred to as “Master” and his two friends. It was only two weeks ago that she finally learned their real names. Master was called David by his friends, but that name never passed her lips. The others were Adam and Brian. She had been thoroughly fucked by all three, but none fucked her better than Master.

Despite the cloud of sexual bliss she’d been living under for the past weeks, it was these early morning hours she liked best. It was her time to be alone with her thoughts, time to see to the things that needed doing. She filled the coffee filter with the last of the grounds and set it to drip. On the counter in the corner, she jotted ‘coffee’ on the shopping list and placed it next to the small pail filled with money. It was strange that nobody ever thought to steal from the pail, but nobody ever went near it – only Brian when he went out to buy essentials.

Christine’s thoughts were interrupted when Brian entered the kitchen. He smiled at her weakly, almost sadly before pouring himself a cup of coffee from the still filling carafe. “How are you feeling this morning?”

She squirmed a little on the stool, his words reminding her of the tenderness she still felt. “Still a little sore, but thanks for asking.”

“Yeah, Adam’s been getting a little rough lately. I’d tell him to stop, but he and Dave really don’t like people giving them advice…And…well, you seemed to enjoy it.” He cast his gaze into his coffee, unable to look her in the eye.

She stood on tip-toes and kissed his cheek, rubbing his arm. “Honestly, I don’t enjoy getting fucked back there by Adam…he’s so rough. But when Master’s watching, I always cum…”

Brian took another sip of coffee to hide the fact that he had no idea how to respond. “Is this the shopping list?”

“Yeah. Oh, can you add laundry detergent? The guys really stained the sheets again and I’ll have to wash them.”

Brian winced at the memory. Mornings had been particularly rough on him in the past few weeks. He couldn’t understand how he got sucked into living this life, treating Christine like she was everybody’s fuck toy. And yet, every afternoon and evening, he found himself unable to avoid partaking in the entertainment. No matter what David would dream up, he was a willing participant at the moment…only to question how it seemed normal the night before. And tonight, like all previous nights, would be a bacchanal of carnal delight.

“Why do you stay, Christine?” He asked, almost surprised by his own willingness to ask. “I mean, he treats you like shit. He doesn’t even let you leave the house…not that you’ve tried. He makes you fuck everybody he brings through that door: hookers, dealers, the landlord who owns the tobacco shop downstairs…why haven’t you run away?”

Christine looked at him, puzzled. Brian might as well have asked, “Why haven’t you grown wings and flown?” Christine patted the stool she recently vacated, indicating that Brian should sit. He did, and she stood behind him, gently massaging his shoulders. “You’re awfully tense. Here, let me work that knot out. I don’t think you’re eating enough. Really, I don’t put vegetables on the shopping list because I like how it looks on paper.”

Brian grabbed her hands and halted her massage, sighing in resignation. This wasn’t the first time he had asked, and like always, she deflected his answer. “Christine—”

“Brian. Shh. It’s okay. You may be my favorite, but I belong to Master. It’s just the way it is. Besides, you guys need me to take care of you. Honestly, you boys need a woman to keep you in line.”

Brian could almost have cried. She was a queen of her own little domain. No matter what humiliations David seemed to dream up, she still made sure she did what was in her limited power to take care of them.

Christine walked in front of Brian and held him close, his head resting on her chest. Brian put down his coffee cup and hugged her back. For what it was worth, he always had a little affection for her in the morning before everyone else woke up. In the back of his mind, he promised himself that he would take Christine away from all of this one day, once he figured out why he hadn’t already! But heroic thoughts took a backseat to others as he held her warm, soft body close. David didn’t let her wear much more than she had on right now: panties and a cropped t-shirt.

Feeling his excitement pressing against her thigh, Christine smiled to herself. She knelt on the kitchen floor between his legs and fished his hardening cock out through his underwear’s fly-hole. “Wait Christine—”

“Don’t worry. Master’s still asleep and probably will be for a while yet. Given the amount of pot he smoked and beer he drank last night, he’ll be out for hours. This is just for you…for being so concerned.”

Before Brian could raise further protest, his cock was inhaled to the root in Christine’s warm, wet mouth. The silence of the kitchen was filled with the wet slurping sounds of Brian’s cock repeatedly disappearing into the beautiful blonde’s throat. Brian truly was her favorite – he was the most gentle, despite the intense orgasms she received from Master’s brutal treatment. It dawned on her that since meeting up with these guys, this was the first time she had done anything sexual to one of Master’s friends without his permission or command. But that was okay. Brian was a nice guy and he deserved this.

Brian’s fingers tangled in her hair as she bobbed her head up and down his glistening shaft. He did his best not to groan out loud, not wanting to wake Adam who was passed out on the couch, or the two prostitutes asleep on the mattress in the corner. Like all the others before them, they’d eventually wake up and empty all the cash they had on them into the money pail. They wouldn’t know why they did it, nor would they remember doing it by the time they got home.

Christine felt Brian’s hands grip her skull even tighter and she knew that he was about to shoot his load. Her tongue went wild on the underside of his cock, and she massaged his balls through his briefs. That was all it took. Brian inhaled deeply holding his breath as the first shot of warm jism splashed against her throat. Eagerly she swallowed, not wanting to miss a drop. She felt a warm glow of satisfaction as she sucked the juice from Brian’s stalk. She didn’t get the same sexual high she got from sucking Master’s cock, but still this was still special. Something private just between her and Brian.

When Brian stopped jerking on the stool and there was no more cum to be had, she gently put his softening cock back inside his briefs, kissing it one last time through the cotton material. She stood and grabbed his cup of coffee, taking a drink and winking at him over the rim. Brian laughed while catching his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

When he got up to pour himself a second cup, he almost dropped the carafe in surprise when a loud crash and a yelled “ARRGH FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” came from behind David’s door.

David burst out from his bedroom, holding his forehead in pain. He danced around not really seeing where he was going and he stubbed his toe on Adam’s couch. “GOD DAMNIT!!”

Neither Brian nor Christine moved, both too scared to approach. Adam just rolled onto his side, probably still too drunk to notice. The two prostitutes on the mattress in the corner sat bolt upright, looking around somewhat confused.

David finally got control of himself, and when he pulled his hand away from his face, an angry welt was forming in the middle of his forehead. “Bitch! Can’t you see I’m in pain? Get me some fucking aspirin!” Christine immediately ran to the cupboard and found a bottle, opening it up and giving it to him. He put the bottle to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of pills, washing it down with a swig from a bottle of vodka on the floor near the couch. She was on her way back to the kitchen when he yelled again, “Where the fuck are you going?”

“To make an icepack.” Given the harsh tone David was using, Brian was amazed that she responded without a hint of sarcasm or malice.

David bit back the next curse he was going to hurl, and finally nodded. Christine found a small plastic bag and filled it with ice and wrapped it in a towel. David turned toward the mattress in the corner and eyed the naked girls sitting there. “Get dressed and get out,” he told them, and they hurriedly began looking for their clothes.

Christine held the icepack against David’s head, and for a few moments there was calm. He took it out of her hand and held it himself so he could pace the floor. The white of his hand contrasted starkly with his naturally darker complexion. Brian had explained to her last week that his hand turned white when he and their professor got struck by lightning at an archeological dig.

No one was dumb enough to ask what happened to cause such a painful looking bruise. Weird things tended to happen when David was upset. Once when Brian suggested he ease up on Christine, he found himself in the bathroom pulling out pubic hairs one by one for five minutes. He didn’t understand why he was doing it, but he couldn’t stop. After five minutes, the compulsion to mutilate himself stopped, just as if somebody that thrown a switch.

Like all the other prostitutes before them, these two got dressed, marched into the kitchen, dropped off their cash and headed out the door. When the door closed behind them, David turned to Brian, considering something. Given his bloodshot eyes, it was impossible to predict what he was thinking.

“Brian when you go out to run her majesty’s errands,” he said with a sneer, “pick up a another fresh whore.” This was nothing new. Everyday he went to the red light district and found one or two more. Milk? Check. Eggs? Check. Alcohol? Check. Bag of weed? Prostitute? Check and check. His mocking nickname for Christine was something inexplicable that he’d been doing since their first night together. He often referred to her as a queen or ‘your majesty’ when humiliating her in the worst ways. “Find me one that’s short, thin, with brown hair that we can put in a pony tail…Oh, and add hair dye to your list.” He turned to face Christine. “Your majesty is going to be a red head tonight.”

He threw the bag of ice onto the floor and pushed Christine into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Moments later, Brian could hear her loud moans and the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin.

Picking up the list and a handful of money, he headed out the door.