The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Fashionably late, I see.” Flora Weinstein stood at the door, martini in hand, and greeted Carly and Abby with an almost professionally gracious smile. As always, she looked as though she’d just stepped out of a Tom Wolfe novel, albeit one that had been updated to keep pace with the latest fashion.

“Sorry,” Carly grimaced. She flicked snow from Abby’s locks while her wife handed their coats to a butler. “We got caught behind a snow plow.”

Flora clucked and swirled her drink. “No, darling, it was a compliment. The first hour of any party is the dullest one. It’s when all the punctual people show up, you see.” She said ‘punctual people’ almost as though she was putting capital letters on the words. “I have only managed to meet three punctual people in my life who have anything interesting to contribute to a conversation, and although one of them is here tonight, it takes at least two to make a party worth showing up on time for.”

Abby smiled and kissed Flora on the cheek. “I told her we wouldn’t miss anything if we skipped the first hour, but I’m afraid Carly gets a little tense driving in bad weather.” She shared another, more tender kiss with her wife. “She’s originally from Florida. Took her two years to get up the nerve to drive at this time of year.”

Flora smiled. “The advantages of being wealthy. I have people for that. No, apart from a slightly-less-than-tedious altercation with a party crasher who insisted one of my guests had stolen his girlfriend, it’s been dull until a few minutes ago.” She led them into the ballroom as she spoke. “Now, let’s see. Abby, you already know most of the people here, but whom shall I introduce Carly to?”

Abby laid a hand on Flora’s shoulder and pointed. “Is that Dalila? Oh God, I’ve been wanting to shoot her forever.” She turned to Carly. “Wanna meet the hottest new alt-model on the international circuit?”

Carly followed her finger and frowned at the sight of a woman in a flame-colored kimono and full-body makeup, surrounded by men and women in similar, though less colorful, garb. “The Kabuki chick with the real, live harajuku entourage? Nah, you go on ahead. She looks too high maintenance to carry on a decent conversation. I’ll let Flora steer me toward someone more...normal.”

Their hostess arched her brows. “Normal? Here? Darling, I spent the first seventeen years of my life surrounded by the most bourgeois people you could possibly imagine. The day I got married, I swore I would never speak to a normal person again unless I absolutely had to. Frankly, the only reason I’m still talking with you is that fascinating tattoo on your left wrist. It speaks to a potential for interesting strangeness.” She took a sip of her martini. “Nothing personal, of course.”

“Of course.” Carly smiled thinly. “I’ll try to make up an interesting story about it for you.” She grabbed a drink off of a tray from a passing waiter. Carly tried not to drink too much at events like these; people at parties where they didn’t know anyone tended to fill the social gap with alcohol, and Carly had been a bartender too long not to know where that led. On the other hand, she needed at least one cocktail in her system before she could cope with someone like Flora. “Allow me to rephrase, then. Instead of ‘more normal’, how about ‘less pretentious’?”

Flora let out a peal of laughter. “Oh, that is a tall order! Let’s see...” She scanned the crowd. “No, no, no, definitely no, no, no, already too drunk to talk, no, claiming he’s a butch lesbian in a straight man’s body, no, no, is she wearing that on a bet, no...ah!” She hooked her arm around Carly’s, dragging her away from Abby. “You go have that chat with Dalila, dearest. I’ve found someone your wife will get on with like a house on fire, right down to the property damage and potential loss of life.”

Abby squeezed Carly’s hand before they got separated. “Love!” she called out. “Have fun, I’ll be networking!” Carly blew her a kiss in response, and let Flora pull her into the knot of people.

At first, Carly thought Flora had introduced her to Dalila after all. The woman was almost as pale as the snow outside, with long, flowing white hair. She wore a bright red dress that contrasted brilliantly with her skin, making her look more than a little like a special effect in a music video. She appeared strangely ageless; her skin was immaculate and unwrinkled, but her eyes seemed somehow old. “This is Renata,” Flora said. “She was dragged here against her will, too. I’m sure you two must have lots to talk about.” And with that, she vanished into the crowd.

Carly tried not to fidget as the stranger looked her over. She was used to public attention, but at the bar, the people who looked at her looked through her. Renata, on the other hand, seemed to be studying her in detail. Carly felt almost as though she were being graded, but that might just have been her imagination. Or perhaps it was the effect of Renata’s eyes. They were were a cold, depthless obsian, a shocking contrast with the white of her skin and hair. Both colors appeared natural rather than chemical, but since when did albinos have jet black eyes?

“So,” she tried, as Renata maintained her silence, “I’m Carly D’Antonio. I’m here with my wife Abby. ‘Married in Massachusetts’, you know? She’s a photographer; you might have heard of her. Abby Desai? She works with most of these people.” Carly felt a nervous grin stretch her lips. Normally, she was pretty good with strangers, but she felt like she was talking to a statue, here. “So how did you wind up getting invited?”

Renata paused another moment, then pursed her scarlet lips. “D’Antonio,” she said at last, utterly ignoring the question. “You are of Italian ancestry, then.”

Still, at least it was a response. “And proud of it,” Carly replied. Feeling slightly more confident, she cocked her hip. “How about you? I can tell you’re not from New York, but I can’t place your accent.”

“I’d be extremely surprised if you could.”

Not much of an opening, but it was something Carly could work with. “Well-traveled, huh? I had a girlfriend like that, once. She was from Spain originally, but she was a wine seller, flew all over the world. She wound up speaking English like an announcer on the BBC.”

Renata’s eyes flashed suddenly to life. “I prefer Spanish wine to French. The quality of the sunlight is different there; the wine tastes like the distillation of a summer afternoon. Some of the happiest days in my life were spent with a lover and a bottle of Spanish wine.” She took a sip of what Carly judged to be sherry. “Did you know that the Spanish vineyards were once a part of the Roman Empire? Your ancestors used to own the grapes your lover pressed and sold. They might even have owned her ancestors, for that matter.”

“Not my ancestors,” Carly said, her smile thinning a bit. “My family comes from Naples. It’s a bit too far south to be owning any Spanish land, don’t you think?”

Very slightly, Renata smiled. “Well parried.” Then her eyes grew distant as she looked over Carly’s shoulder. “And your wife is the young woman in the turquoise gown? You must have a taste for dark lovers.”

Carly’s hip swung in the other direction. “Yeah. And I’m taken.” Her smile was now so tight you could have played it like a violin. “Nothing personal.”

“Is she taken?”

Carly looked around to see Abby across the room, flirtatiously twirling a lock of hair as she chatted with Dalila. She turned back to Renata. “She’s just networking.”

“You’re not concerned that such an exceptional beauty might slip through your fingers?”

Carly looked over at Abby again. “She’s a busy girl, you know that?” she said, still with her back to Renata. “Not famous—the models are famous, the photographers are busy—but she’s in demand. She works with the most beautiful women in the world, every single day of her life. She dresses them in gorgeous clothing, skimpy clothing, sometimes nothing at all. And then, every single day, she comes home to me.” Carly turned to Renata again and tossed back the last of her drink. “I know Abby. And I’m not concerned.”

“And I know Dalila.” Renata’s eyes were still locked on Abby and the model. “To answer your question, it was she who sent me the invitation. It was her idea of a joke, I think. She didn’t expect me to come, which is of course why I knew I had to. We have something of a...a history together, I believe you would say. A long one.”

Carly bit back her curiosity for a moment, then decided, screw it. Renata hadn’t worried about offending her, and it wasn’t like they were ever going to see each other again anyway. “You were lovers?”

Renata surprised her with a loud burst of laughter. “Oh, God no!” she blurted out, before slipping into a fit of quieter giggles. She looked momentarily carefree, as if this was the first thing that had given her cause to laugh in decades. “No,” she said eventually, “Dalila isn’t interested in lovers she can’t possess.” She looked back over at Dalila, who was lightly touching Abby’s wrist as they laughed together.

Carly wasn’t sure what bothered her more, the laughter or Renata’s insinuations. “And you think she’s just going to snatch Abby away from me, huh?”

Renata’s eyes were colder than the air outside. “That is Dalila. What she wants, she takes. And she is always hungry for more.” Whatever small connection they’d shared, Renata had broken it with a snap that was almost audible. “Go to your wife. Talk to her. Be with her. I have no more patience for Dalila’s humor today.” She turned and walked away.

Carly gaped for a moment at Renata’s retreating back. She stared down into her empty glass. Finally, she stared up again at Abby and Dalila, now standing noticeably closer together. “Hell with it,” she muttered, and left the glass on a table.

Abby’s back was to her, and Dalila’s entourage had eyes only for Dalila, so the model was the first to notice Carly’s approach. Her black eyes glittered, and she mouthed something to Abby that Carly couldn’t hear. Abby nodded, then turned, an easy smile spreading across her face. “Hey, babe,” she called. “Done chatting with all the ‘normal’ people?”

Shit, how many drinks had Abby downed already? Carly fought to maintain her smile as she strode up and slipped an arm around Abby’s shoulder. She leaned in, and under the pretense of pecking her cheek, whispered, “Manners, chickie. Manners.”

Abby pressed a hand to her lips and giggled. “Sorry,” she whispered, altogether too loudly. She turned back to Dalila, twining her arm around Carly’s waist in the process. “Dalila, this is my wife, Carly.”

Reassured by the display of affection, Carly bumped her hip against Abby’s. “Hi,” she smiled. “I’ve just been talking to a friend of yours. Renata—damn, I just realized I didn’t get her last name.”

“It’s not important,” Dalila purred. Her eyes, painted in a startling array of reds and golds, glittered a warm hazel. “You’ll have much more fun talking to me, I promise. Renata is always such a puritan. She’s terrified by the notion that someone, somewhere, might be having fun.” She squeezed Carly’s upper arm and smiled. “You have the frame of an athlete. Such a lovely contrast against your wife’s curves.” The harajuku behind them laughed appreciatively, but Carly couldn’t see a joke there.

She wondered for a moment if anyone here besides herself knew the meaning of the word ‘tact’. Even Abby seemed to be lacking it at the moment. Then again, Dalila seemed genuinely appreciative. Maybe that was just the way people talked in these high-fashion circles. Carly decided she should probably just shake the chip off her shoulder and relax. “Thanks,” she said, the word coming out in a sigh. “I used to be on the varsity crew team, back in college. Then I dropped out, and I got my exercise as a bouncer. Now I’m a bartender, and I have to get my exercise in other ways.” She put her arm around Abby and lifted her just a bit off the ground for a half a second. Abby squealed in delight and surprise.

Dalila chuckled, swatting both women’s forearm in mock consternation. “Oh, you’re just as saucy as she is! And lucky to have found her, I might add.” Was it just Carly’s imagination, or did Dalila’s hands linger for a moment before she pulled them away? Probably just imagination. Everyone always thought that being a lesbian led to loads of kinky sex with random strangers, but Carly had only had one threesome in her whole life, and that was as a favor to a bi friend with a boyfriend. She usually had her kinky sex with just one woman at a time.

“I’m the lucky one,” Abby said, giving Carly a slightly sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Nobody takes care of me like my wife. Carly’s an absolute treasure.” She leaned her head against Carly’s shoulder with a sigh.

Something struck Carly as odd about her wife’s behavior, but she couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was just that it was out of character for Abby to drink so much at what was, for her, a business event. Dalila had probably plied her with drinks or something. Anyway, Abby was right; Carly did take care of her. She was doing it right now.

“It’s always nice to own something precious,” Dalila murmured. Something in her eyes brought Renata’s words to mind, and for a moment Carly tensed; but then Dalila’s expression softened as she leaned in and took the girls’ arms. “Now Carly,” she said conspiratorially, “Abby and I have been talking a little business. Of course, I always tell people I don’t talk about my work at these parties, but that’s just to deflect the sycophants who only want to tell me how pretty I looked in my last shoot.”

Dalila’s coterie chuckled, and this time Carly and Abby joined them. It was nice, Carly thought, that Dalila had a sense of humor about her looks. Most of the models Carly had met would have said something like that and meant it, but Dalila gave the words a charmingly ironic spin.

“So Abby here has been telling me she wants to shoot me,” Dalila continued, “and of course I’ve seen her other work, so I’m already interested. But doing a photo shoot with someone, it’s not just a matter of skill. It’s more intimate than that. It’s like a relationship. You don’t want to walk into the studio and find out that the two of you are totally incompatible, because by then you’re already committed. It’d be like getting married on the first date. No, if I’m going to let someone shoot me, I have to get to know them. Really get inside their heads.”

“Okay,” Abby agreed eagerly. “Let’s see. I’m a second-generation American. My grandparents are from India, but my parents and I were born in Chicago. They wanted me to be a doctor, but my uncle got me a camera for my ninth birthday and I never looked back. Did some local shoots for ad agencies and the like, and that got me started, but eventually I had to move to New York if I wanted to really get anywhere.” Her eyes grew distant. “I was actually kind of miserable here until I met Carly.”

Dalila smiled. “Oh, and when was that?”

At last, Carly thought, here was someone who seemed genuinely interested her story. “Five years next month,” she beamed. “Abby was actually on a date with someone else at the time—what was it, Abs, the second or the third time you’d gone out with her?”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Second. I learned pretty fast with that one.” She leaned toward Dalila. “Shawna got soooo sloppy drunk that she started hitting on the girl on the other side of her and left me out in the cold.”

“And of course,” Carly added, hugging her tighter, “Shawna wound up puking in the john shortly after. And all the while, Abby was just sitting there at the bar with those big, sad eyes, looking like a wet kitten.” She gave Abby a peck on the cheek. “Absolutely irresistible. And once we got Shawna into a SoberCab, well, naturally someone needed to make sure Abby got home. Lucky me.”

Dalila ran her hand down the curve of Abby’s arm, leaving a streak of white body paint behind. “I think you definitely got lucky that night,” she said, drawing another round of titters from the blank-faced entourage. Carly was starting to wonder if they were animatronic or something. “And you’ve always been behind the camera?” she asked Abby. “Never in front?”

Abby shook her head. “Don’t have the body for it. An extra pound here, a little bulge there...nothing to be ashamed of—”

“Some women like it,” Carly interjected, kissing her again.

“—but I’m sure you know that the camera has no mercy,” Abby finished. “I don’t mind, though. I got into this because I loved to take pictures.” Both Dalila and Carly gave her a look. “Okay, pictures of hot women in their underwear specifically.” All three of them laughed.

“I always knew you only wanted me for my body,” Dalila teased, flouncing her hips in a way that drew more attention to the body under discussion. It was a nice one, Carly had to admit. Dalila wasn’t nearly as angular as some of the other models in the room. She wasn’t what you’d call voluptuous, but she had curves. She’d probably look much better modeling lingerie, or perhaps doing nude shots...

Carly blinked. She’d definitely had too little to eat. Or too much to drink. Maybe both. She felt suddenly self-conscious, like everyone was staring at her; but the coterie was still focused on Dalila, and everyone else had something far more interesting to occupy their attention than her. Just a twinge of social awkwardness, Carly told herself, the kind of thing she’d seen happen to other people in her situation. The kind of thing she’d specifically planned to avoid tonight. She was just being paranoid. Nobody was staring at—

She caught Renata’s eyes from across the room. It was like touching a live wire. Renata’s face was a mixture of anger, envy, sadness, anxiety...a whole host of emotions, and none of them pleasant. Carly almost broke away to go talk to her, but she remembered Renata’s advice just as Abby said, “Of course I’m interested in your body.” Carly had heard Abby network enough times to recognize real flirting when she heard it. And that meant Renata would just have to take care of herself for a while. Setting her chin, Carly turned back to Dalila.

Something flickered in the model’s eyes, but before Carly could interpret it, Dalila smiled and lifted a hand from Abby’s arm. “Mmm,” she said, running her fingers along the line of Carly’s jaw, “you have such strong features, you know that? So striking. But really, it’s not worth the stress just to make your chin look like that. Relax, darling. It’s a party. You’re supposed to be having fun.”

Carly felt the tension in her shoulders ease, and she sighed and nodded. Party. Yeah. Relax. “Sorry,” she mumbled, looking from one woman to the other. “I didn’t mean to get in the way of your work.” Inwardly, she winced. Her shoulders might be relaxed, but the chip hadn’t quite fallen off yet. Still, she felt like she needed to say something to make it clear that this was just business, and not...not...her thoughts skittered away into confusion. Not whatever she’d thought it was a few moments ago.

But if Dalila was bothered, she didn’t let it show. She just cupped Carly’s chin for a moment longer, letting the touch linger and fade. Somehow, that made Carly even more aware of Dalila’s other hand on her arm. “Oh, darling, we haven’t even started working yet. This is just getting to know one another. It’s not work until the camera comes out.” She squeezed Abby’s arm again, but Carly felt too relaxed to mind.

“And of course,” Dalila went on, “until the camera comes out, you have no idea whether any of it is going to work or not. Whatever the model’s done before, whatever the photographer’s done before, you have no idea if they’ll have that essential chemistry until the film starts rolling.” Her coterie watched her, seemingly too amazed by her wisdom even to nod. “That’s when you find out whether you’ve got million-dollar photos, or shots not worth the cost of exposing the film.”

Abby nodded eagerly. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean! People just look different through the viewfinder.”

“Oh, but it’s more than that, love,” Dalila responded. “It’s all in the chemistry. When the photographer and the model click—really connect on an emotional level—they work on an entirely different plane. You seem to find just the right words to tell her how to move, how to pose, when to smile, when to pout...it brings out the inner beauty. That’s what always worried me about working with a new photographer. Will she be able to find that intimacy? Or have I just wasted my time?”

Abby waved her hands. “Oh, I promise you wouldn’t be wasting your time with me! In fact, I can prove it! Here—” she dug in her handbag and pulled out a tiny digital camera. “I carry this with me everywhere, just in case. If you’ll let me, I’ll take a few test shots right here, tonight, and you can see what you think. They won’t be professional quality, of course, but you can at least get an idea—”

“Of how I look standing around with a bunch of strangers, swilling wine and eating canapés?” Dalila chuckled. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, sweetie.”

Abby’s eyes lit up and she grinned mischievously. She leaned in, glancing quickly at Dalila’s posse to make sure they wouldn’t overhear, and whispered, “How about taking off to a private room, then? We’ll get away from all these people, find somewhere we can get some really good shots...see how well we click together.”

Carly’s head came around. She opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, Dalila jumped in. “Sneak off somewhere? Just the three of us?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’m beginning to like you already.”

The way Abby’s face fell when she heard the word ‘three’ was almost a physical pain in Carly’s chest. “Um, sure,” Abby said. “I mean, so long as you don’t mind...I mean, I know some models like privacy.” She looked at Dalila’s coterie again. “Was there anyone you wanted to...I mean, will your friends mind if we...?”

“My friends?” Dalila glanced around for a moment before realizing what Abby was looking at. “Oh.” Her smile hardened a little. “My friends. No, they’ll stay put if I tell them I’m wandering off for a bit.” She broke away from the two of them to whisper something to the harajuku gang, then quickly moved back to Abby and Carly. “I’m all yours,” she announced.

The three women moved off silently, arm in arm, exploring first the downstairs, then the upstairs. It was there that they found the perfect bedroom, lit with a cozy fire that threw all kinds of interesting gleams off the mahogany bedposts.

“Well,” Dalila clasped her hands appreciatively, “we couldn’t have planned this any better if we’d asked Flora herself.”

“We probably could have, you know,” Abby said.

Dalila’s eyes glittered in the firelight. “Now where would be the fun in that?” She settled herself almost primly on the edge of the bed. “So, darling, how would you like to start?”

Something in the model’s eyes made Carly step a little closer to her wife. “Can you even shoot in this dim lighting?” she muttered.

“Sure,” Abby shrugged. “It’s a good camera. I might have to get a little closer, but—”

Carly moved with her as she approached the bed, and Dalila’s smile grew lushly welcoming. “As close as you like, darling. Both of you. After all—” she took their hands again—“we’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

Carly felt almost like the question had two answers. The warm, happy, feeling-no-pain part of her that had drifted along with Abby and Dalila from room to room? That part of her wanted to say yes. The part of her that still remembered Renata’s conversation? That part of her wanted to say...to say...she looked down at her arm, streaked with white makeup where Dalila’s skin touched hers. It felt warm. Intimate. Carly suddenly couldn’t think of anything except how good that felt. Her legs grew suddenly weak, and she abruptly decided to sit down before she fell down. The carpet was soft and welcoming.

Beside her, Abby had let go of Dalila’s hand and started to click away with the camera. Maybe it was the way the flash showed the model’s skin, or maybe it was just that her make-up was fading, but Dalila didn’t look so pale now that the metaphorical film was rolling. Her cheeks held a faint blush, as though she was just a little bit startled by the camera. Carly didn’t have Abby’s eye for composing a shot, but she knew Abby would capture the look perfectly.

“Beautiful,” Abby said, as Dalila let go of Carly’s hand and leaned back against the pillows. “Good, turn your head just a little to the left. A little more...” The flash went off again. “Wonderful. And now look at me, right at me...lovely.”

Dalila didn’t even blink as the flash went off. She just stared right at Abby, her eyes so intense, so hungry...it reminded Carly of something, but she didn’t know what it was anymore. She sagged against the bed, and Dalila reached over and delicately brushed her fingers across Carly’s forehead.

“Lovely,” Abby said again, but Carly only half-heard her. She was entirely focused on Dalila’s fingers, the way they slowly, teasingly trailed along her skin, then danced away for an achingly long moment, then returned....She rested her chin on the mattress, staring blankly at Dalila’s body as Abby continued to trill her photo-babble. “And just tilt your hips now, no, a little higher...perfect. The firelight does wonderful things with that kimono.”

“Abby?” Carly murmured suddenly, surprising even herself, “wouldn’t it look better if the kimono was open?”

Abby pulled the camera away from her face, looking as startled by Carly’s suggestion as Carly was. “Um....Dalila, are you okay with that?”

“Whatever you want, precious,” Dalila chuckled. She unfastened the obi, drew it away, and tossed it playfully over Carly’s shoulder. Carly leaned in to nuzzle the hand while it was in reach, but Dalila pulled it away again to slowly part the two halves of the kimono. Abby’s camera clicked again and again, capturing each inch of flesh as it was revealed.

Dalila’s nipples were palest pink in the firelight.

Someone—Carly wasn’t even sure if it was her—purred like a kitten.

“Beautiful,” Abby breathed. She leaned in closer, and Dalila reached up to caress her wrist with one hand and Carly’s forehead with the other.

“Spread the kimono a little further,” Abby murmured, and it seemed that neither Dalila nor Carly had any question whom she was addressing. Carly turned up onto her knees and took the silk in her hands, parting the fabric and groaning at the sight of all that smooth, pale flesh. She turned her eyes briefly up to Dalila’s and found the model smiling at her.

“That’s right,” Dalila purred, and Abby echoed the words unthinkingly. She continued to shoot, but it appeared to be more from instinct than any conscious thought. Her eyes were wide and glassy, and her mouth hung open in naked astonishment. In every sense of the phrase.

Carly reached up and took Dalila’s hand in her own. She brushed her lips against the soft flesh of Dalila’s wrist, and it just tasted so good that she had to do it again. Then again, and again, each time finding her way further up Dalila’s arm from wrist to elbow and elbow to shoulder. She didn’t even consciously notice climbing onto the bed, not with Dalila’s smooth, beautiful, pale skin commanding all her attention. This close, Carly could see that it wasn’t body paint at all; Dalila really was that gorgeously pale. Something about the realization almost triggered a question in her mind, but then she noticed that Dalila’s shoulder led down to her breasts, and the question was lost in the anticipation of the pleasures to come.

Just for a moment, out of the corner of her eye, Carly caught a glimpse of Abby quivering with indecision. Then Dalila crooked her finger just slightly, and Abby fell forward as though the model had her own gravitational pull. A muffled thunk might have been Abby’s camera hitting the floor, but Carly was past noticing or caring. She watched her wife lean down to nuzzle Dalila’s pale, perfect breasts; and Carly could do nothing less than follow her example. Carly took the left breast, and Abby took the right.

Everything seemed to be rising, drifting effortlessly in the warm firelight: their moans, their scents, their thoughts. It all evaporated into the same hazy, pleasant glow; and nothing mattered anymore but pleasure. Carly’s pleasure. Abby’s pleasure. And most of all, Dalila’s pleasure. The object of their adoration moaned, twining her fingers into their hair and pressing them against her body. Carly’s whole world was filled with the taste and feel of that nipple in her mouth, the sweet sensations of flicking her tongue against it over and over, just to hear Dalila moan.

The barest touch on the nape of Carly’s neck drew her away, Abby rising in tandem with her as Dalila smiled beneath them. They stared down at her, slack faced, as she trailed her fingers from their drooping lips down across their chins. They arched their necks in unison and sighed as the fingers traveled onwards, tickling their nipples erect, exploring the soft undersides of their breasts and the gentle cups of their navels.

Carly wished she could see herself giving in to the sensual power of Dalila’s touch. But she was content to watch Dalila’s hands caress Abby instead. It was so utterly beautiful, the way the streaks of white blossomed under Dalila’s fingertips and slowly, reluctantly faded away. Carly imagined her own pink flesh surrendering its blush and groaned.

Then Dalila’s fingers roamed lower, and Carly almost forgot what thought was. She and Abby mewed, arching into Dalila’s touch as she teased the tips of their pubes and then traveled sideways, across the tenderest parts of their hips. Vaguely, Carly noticed that although her torso was wire taut, her hands drooped loosely beside her thighs and she felt no urge to move them. No, it was Dalila’s turn now; and Carly would give her every free inch of rein she desired. Abby would do the same. It was only natural.

Carly’s breath came in long, shuddering gasps as Dalila cupped her vulva with her outstretched hand, holding it perfectly still for a long moment. Her gaze was locked on Abby, her wife, quivering gently under the exact same touch, aching for more, the skin and hair of her mound turning winter-white around Dalila’s hand, begging wordlessly for that moment when Dalila would...

Dalila slipped a finger inside Abby, and Carly felt it as though it was inside her. Then she realized it was, but the realization was lost in a surge of pleasure as she felt it sliding in and out again and again and again. Her eyelids fluttered with the strain of containing so much bliss, and tears of joy ran down her cheeks. Abby’s body blurred into a haze, becoming nothing more than a gradually paling form that shuddered again and again as Dalila teased the orgasm out of her.

Then Carly’s own orgasm hit, and her eyes closed at last. Her head lolled backwards, filled with images of Abby’s flesh turning white wherever Dalila touched. The color returned, but a little paler every time, closer to Dalila’s own beautiful shade of winter. Carly imagined her own skin turning that pale. She’d never realized how hot that might look.

Dalila gathered them close again, pressed their bodies tight against her own. Carly felt the warmth of Dalila’s skin against her and knew that she was turning whiter everywhere they touched. It was a wonderful, blissful, perfect idea. She wanted that, wanted to give her color and her energy and her very self to Dalila. She felt Dalila’s hand pressing against her head, guiding her further down Dalila’s body. She wanted that. Everything Dalila wanted, Carly wanted. She wanted to give herself, she wanted to give Abby...

No, Carly thought, her mind thick and fuzzy. That wasn’t right. She couldn’t...she didn’t...with what felt like a tremendous effort, she managed to open her eyes, not even sure what she was fighting but knowing she needed to fight it. Her eyelids flew open...and Dalila’s pussy was right there. Right in front of her. Beautifully flushed with stolen hues. Perfect in every way.

Carly couldn’t help herself; she leaned in just a little, letting her lips brush against it. Her tongue darted out of its own volition to taste Dalila’s juices.

Well, she thought giddily, at least she and Abby both looked good in white. Then she began to lick, and stopped thinking altogether.

THE END...FOR NOW