The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

You know what annoying is? I’m not talking the kind of annoying like being stuck in traffic behind an old lady who won’t go the speed limit or get out of the left-hand lane. No, I’m talking the kind of annoying like when you’re standing in line at the bank behind someone counting pennies. AND you have to go to the bathroom REALLY bad. AND you’ve got a splinter in your finger you can’t get out. AND a pebble in your shoe. AND something in your eye. AND two women behind you who won’t stop talking about their periods. AND a guy in the line next to you talking to his stockbroker about how much money he made in the past ten minutes. All at the same time.

Well, that’s about how annoying I figure Mrs. Michelle Distario (police psychiatrist from hell) was after just about ten minutes. Even the French accent was getting annoying. And the constant hand waving was getting annoying. And the condescending attitude was getting annoying. And that long damned floral print skirt that kept making awful swishing noises as she kept crossing her legs was getting annoying. And the way she kept staring past me at the wall behind me was getting annoying. And the way she kept going ‘hmm’ and writing little notes in her little green note book was getting annoying.

Annoyed yet?

Good. Now you know how I felt.

I looked over at Bubbles to see if she was as annoyed as I was. She was falling asleep. Lucky kid.

“So, Mr. Bandan...”

“Call me Warren.”

“Sorry, Mr. Bandan, but that would be unprofessional.”

“No, I guess we can’t have THAT, can we?”

“No, sir, we cannot.” She started with the hand waving again. “If I am to get a balanced evaluation, I cannot let myself get involved in informalities.”

“What are you writing in the book?”

“Just some thoughts as we progress.” She smiled a very condescending smile as she tipped it back towards her. “Nothing to be concerned with.”

“Are we making progress?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” She was staring at the wall again. Like I wasn’t there. So I finally turned around.

“Hmm, I guess that crack IS pretty strange.”

“What do you mean?”

“Must be more interesting than me, as much as you keep staring at it.”

She adjusted the collar on one of her long blouse sleeves and went to make a notation in her book. “Well,” she said without bothering to look up at me, “it is not the wall so much, it is that you seem to be not taking this too seriously.”

“I don’t take much very seriously.”

She looked up at that. “Well, this is your freedom we are discussing, is it not?”

I shrugged. “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”

“I have not heard that one before.” She went back to her book. “Would you care to explain?”

I guess they don’t play Kris K. in France. But you’d have at least figured she’d heard Joplin. “An old Americana proverb.”

“I had guessed that much, Mr. Bandan.” She twirled the pen between her fingers like a magician with a coin. Lots of practice, I guess. “But how does it apply in your case?”

“Without risk, there is neither failure nor success.”

Back to the book. “And that means...?”

“To get an omelet, you have to break a few eggs.”

She stopped writing and I detected a faint sigh before she began again. I sensed we were FINALLY making progress.

“Sooo,” she crossed her legs again, put her book in her lap and looked up at me, “let us move on to your attorney’s assertion that you are not quite well in the head.”

At that, Bubbles suddenly came back to life. “Michelle?!!”

The maple planted herself more firmly in her seat and turned to my schoolyard lawyer. “Ah, but Barbara, that is, as they say, the ‘bottom line’ to the insanity defense.”

Bubbles frowned. “Well, yeah, but you don’t have to be, like, rude about it.”

I smiled at Bubbles. She smiled back. She winked. I winked back.

Michelle frowned and wrote some more in her book. Things were looking up.

“Sooo” she began again as she looked back up at me, “have you always had this delusion that you could, how you say, ‘control minds?’” She was REALLY good at beginning sentences with that particular word. Stretched it out to almost three syllables that time.

“It’s not a delusion,” I chuckled.

She jotted very quickly in her book, but didn’t miss a beat and didn’t look up. “That is for myself and the courts to decide, Mr. Bandan.”

“To decide whether or not I can control minds or whether or not it’s a delusion?”

She hesitated for a moment, then looked up at me. “Since it is impossible to control minds, I certainly must have been referring to whether or not you have a delusion.”

She must be having a bad day, I thought to myself. I can’t imagine Olivet or even Skoda being that blunt about it. Kinda defeats the purpose. Oh, yeah, I forgot. Not everyone watches cop shows as much as I do.

“But isn’t it your JOB to decide whether or not I can really control minds?”

“No, it is my job to decide whether or not the insanity defense is adequate in this case.”

“But if I CAN control minds, I’m not delusional.”

“That is, as they say, beside the point, Mr. Bandan.” She put the pen in the hand with her book and used the other to brush back some stray hairs that had fallen down around her forehead. “If you could control minds, then you would have no defense.”

“Soooo,” I countered. “You ARE conceding that it’s possible I can control minds.” Heh, mine was four syllables.

It looked like she was going to actually roll her eyes for a second, then she regained control and started scribbling in her book again. I think she was on the second or third page by now. “No, I am not conceding anything, Mr. Bandan.

“We are talking about two different subjects. It has never been proven by science that it is possible to do what you claim without either drugs or hypnosis. Are you actually claiming that you can control minds without either of these?”

She had this really defeated look on her face, like this was an area she really didn’t think was worth discussing. Normally, I’d agree, but just the fact that it seemed to bother her egged me on. I’m funny that way.

“Yeah,” I answered.

She drew a heavy sigh, and turned another page in the book. I smiled.

“OK, Mr. Bandan,” she said, finally. I do not normally do such things in interviews, but I will make an exception in this case. I want you to try and prove to me that you can indeed control minds without the use of conventional means.”

I drew up in the bed, crossed my arms and shook my head. “Nah, not in the mood,” I smiled. “Maybe later.”

She sighed once again, muttered something in French under her breath and jotted something down quickly. I glanced over at Bubbles. She looked kinda disappointed. Again, I winked and blew her a kiss before the psych from hell looked up again.

“Sooooo then, Mr. Bandan...”

“Call me Warren.”

Didn’t miss a beat, though that harsh voice was beginning to strain just a little. “So, then, Mr. Bandan, maybe we should move on.” I could almost feel annoyance factor slowly moving across the room from my side to hers.

“Hokay,” I smiled.

“When did you first discover you could ‘control minds?’”

“Well, I was in the attic of this house and found this really thin book lying underneath some floorboards. It was full of these really funky symbols and after a while I figured out how to use them to make people do what I want them to do.”

“Soooo, I seee.....” she started scribbling furiously. “And you are the only one who read this book?”

“Well, yeah, I think, but there are a bunch of other people who can do kinda the same thing, but there’s this place called ‘The Institute’ where they kinda, sorta collect them all and experiment on them to try and figure out...”

She had stopped writing and was twirling her pen and looking up at me with one eye open and one eye shut. “That might make an interesting movie, Mr. Bandan, but I hardly think...”

“No good, eh?”

“Maybe another approach.”

“Actually, I’m one of a number of near-immortals who have been living with humans for centuries...

She bent her head down a bit and started jotting lazily...

“We all have abilities that humans don’t and there’s this Great River, see, and...

She looked up and began tapping the pen on the book.

“No, actually, I got this computer disc from an old lady down the street, and when I ran the program on the disc, it turned out to be a program that could change the minds and bodies of everyone in the general vicinity...”

That time the pen never even reached the book. Strangely enough, she actually looked kinda attractive when she was annoyed. In a doctoral, schoolmarmish, condescending, pain-in-the-ass sorta way.

“I am from France, Mr. Bandan, not Remulac. If you are trying to convince me you are not delusional, you are not doing a very good job of it.”

“Cool.” I smiled. “Does that mean I get off?”

“Hardly.” That time I could swear she DID roll her eyes as she put pen to notebook once again. Being an ugly American does not necessarily mean you are insane.”

“I am NOT ugly.” I crossed my arms and looked at Bubbles. She smiled, silently shook her head, and blew me a kiss.

Michelle the maple muttered something else in French beneath her breath as she continued to write. Yep, she really DID look kinda cute when irritated. I bet it didn’t happen all that often, though. Maybe something her husband ought to work on.

“Soooo,” she continued, “are you going to tell me when you first learned how to control minds, or should we find some other avenue?”

“Eh, just put down that I’m a demon from the nethermost pits of hell. That’s pretty much a catchall.”

Her eyes widened and she adjusted herself in her chair. “Are you certain you REALLY want to go on record as claiming to be a devil of some sort?”

“Not really, but it’s as likely as anything YOU’RE going to believe.” Plus, it’s a cool image.

“So you control minds with some kind of magic?” she asked, turning a page and writing furiously now.

“Well, I guess you could call it that. There might be some kind of scientific explanation, but I ain’t no Einstein. All I know is it works. I always figured it had something to do with the parts of the brain most people don’t use.”

She stopped writing and looked up at that. “That is an interesting theory.”

“Well,” I said, smiling over at Bubbles, “at least it makes me human.”

“I suppose...” the maple mused, jotting down a few more notes. “But it would also make you a very UNIQUE human, subject to much poking and prodding if discovered, correct?”

“Heh, maybe.” I chuckled. “You never know, I might LIKE being poked and prodded. I’m sure you come across a lot of that in your line of work.”

She halted momentarily, then continued writing and talking, without looking up. “Yes, I do, but, usually, my patients are not so forthcoming with their peculiarities, Mr. Bandan. In any case, that is not the subject at hand.”

Then she looked up and stared right into my eyes. It was kinda funny, really. I wonder what she saw?

“The subject at hand is, the reasons BEHIND those peculiarities. If you can do the things you say you can do, WHY do you use them to achieve such...unpleasant ends?”

From across the room, Bubbles snorted. But, just about like everything else she does, it was a CUTE snort.

“Unpleasant?” I shrugged.

“Yes, I believe rape is considered unpleasant, even in the United States.” She was tapping that pen again.

“Well, last I heard, Sally...err, Miss Hooper isn’t complaining.”

That got her. Her legs kinda tensed up and her pen stopped tapping. She frowned and held her breath and then, finally, sighed a little sigh. Then she muttered something in French (again) and went back to writing.

I decided to press. “I bet you don’t get THAT a lot from rape victims, do you?”

Unfortunately, she wasn’t biting. “Now, what exactly about the rape did you think she enjoyed?” She didn’t even bother looking up.

“Well, it sounded to me and everyone else in the general vicinity like she was enjoying herself.”

“But if you can indeed ‘control minds,’ how are we to judge if she was really enjoying herself or if you were simply forcing her to?”

Again, I shrugged. “People make deals all the time. One party always wants it more than the other, at least to a degree. Sex is no different. In the end, it’s what you GET from the relationship that’s important. How you grow and learn and adapt so you become stronger.”

She hesitated and looked at me, a bit puzzled, I suppose, then went back to writing. “That is an interesting view, Mr. Bandan. I do not think I have ever heard rape expressed in those terms before.”

I breathed deeply. Never really cared much about explaining myself. Never felt I had to before. Especially to an overgrown kid with a superiority complex.

“Well, in order to control minds, I pretty much have to be able to reach out and touch ‘em. Can’t help but pick up a few feelers for what the other person needs and wants.”

That one surprised her a bit. She stopped writing for a moment and crossed her legs the other way, causing her skirt to crawl a bit further up her leg. No hose. And here I thought the French invented those. Oh, well.

“Sooo, you are basically saying that Sally Hooper WANTED to get raped?” She squinted.

“Nah. But she didn’t object really, really strongly, like you would have figured.” I shrugged again. “Some do, some don’t. Look, I’m no angel, Miss Michelle, but I’m no demon either. Sometimes I feel like a good fuck. Sometimes I feel like getting a blow job. Sometimes I feel like GIVING a blow job.”

I was carefully watching her while I got crude. Gotta give her credit, she didn’t blink. Much. Must have heard a LOT of this kind of talk in her line of work. Just kept writing. I glanced over at Bubbles and smiled.

“Sometimes I feel like licking pussy.” Bubbles got all red and started playing with her pigtails. I guess that beat the alternative.

“I just don’t have to work at it like everyone else.” I continued as I smiled back at her. “But I remember those needs and wants and I make sure that I leave a piece of myself with everyone I touch as kind of a present for being so nice to me.”

She stopped writing again for a moment and scratched her nose. “And that somehow makes it right?”

My turn to roll my eyes. “Maybe. Maybe not. Not for me to decide. No one gets anything worthwhile for free. Life is nothing but a string of deals you make with the rest of the world. Difference is, my deals might cost a bit more at first, but no one else can give what I can, so I think most people find it worthwhile.”

She started writing again. “Sounds like you ARE describing the devil, Mr. Bandan.”

I laughed out loud, long and hard at her. “We’re not talking souls here, we’re talking pussy! You sure you come from France?”

Bubbles started giggling. The maple bent down and scratched her foot, seemingly unfazed by the insult. Well, OK, it was a pretty weak insult, as insults go. But even a clueless shrink should be able to tell the difference between a good deal and a bad one.

“Soooo, Mr. Bandan,” she continued again, stretching this one out to five syllables in the ongoing war of annoyance. Just when I thought I was winning, too. “You say you ‘leave a piece of you with all you touch.’ This must lead me to ask how many victims you have raped with your mind?”

She was good, this one. Really good. I can certainly see how she got all those awards and shit. Don’t understand how she’s managed to get and stay married, though. That guy must be a REAL wimp.

“I dunno,” I half-smiled and shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe a couple hundred.”

She almost dropped her pen as she looked up at me, trying to gauge how serious I was.

“Hey, what can I say, I’m a horny devil,” I chuckled.

“We are not making much progress here, Mr. Bandan.” She sighed deeply and turned the page. “You really expect me to believe that you have raped over a hundred women and never been caught?”

“Uh, women AND men,” I corrected, solemnly. “And both kinds of transsexuals, too. I’m an equal-opportunity mind-rapist.”

I especially liked the M/F transies. When I was through with them, they were more woman upstairs than most women, if you know what I mean. Heh, let some gender doctors try and do THAT. “Victims,” indeed.

“I stand...corrected,” she said with obvious disdain as she continued scribbling. I figure she must’ve crossed over short story and into novella by now.

“As for not getting caught, well, that’s probably because I’ve never had any complaints.” And it was true, for the most part. Well, that and the fact that most of ‘em either still want something from me or know damned well not to get me too upset. Heh, or can’t remember me. Again, nobody out there can do what I do. “Everyone I touch is much HAPPIER afterwards.”

She looked up at me again. “I find that hard to believe.” At least she stopped looking at the wall. Brought the annoyance factor down to bearable. I HATE being ignored.

“It’s true.” I sat up higher in the bed so I could look down on her, despite her height. “Everyone can be happier. Take yourself, for instance. I can’t imagine how tough it must be day in and day out to be so much smarter than everyone else. To have all the answers, to know what’s best for everyone, to have to put up with their pettiness and little annoyances because they’re not nearly as well-adjusted as you.”

She half-smiled and continued jotting. “Very good, Mr. Bandan, please continue.”

“I bet even your husband is beneath you. I bet you married him just so you can have someone to look down upon on your days off.”

She stopped scribbling for a second and shuffled her feet.

“Think of how much happier you would be if you didn’t have to be so damned perfect, if you could look around you and see the rocks as just rocks without wondering if they’re igneous or metamorphic or how the hell they got there.”

“I think that maybe I have heard enough, Mr. Bandan,” she said as she turned another page. “I do not doubt that you BELIEVE you have this power over other people, but I do not know if that is enough to...”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you don’t know if that’s enough to make a recommendation one way or the other as to my competency to stand trial.”

She snapped her head up suddenly and just stared blankly at me for a second or two before replying. “That is a VERY good guess, Mr. Bandan. You are clearly a very intelligent person, despite your ill-manners.”

“Well, THANK you, Doctor.” I clasped my hands together and pasted on a huge smile. “I believe that’s the NICEST thing you’ve said to me this entire time.”

“And I think this delusion should be studied more closely. I believe it is the first that I am personally aware of...”

“OK, OK, you’ve convinced me, Doc. I’m ready to give you that demonstration now.”

“Oh, I do not think that is necessary, Mr. Bandan...” She started to get up.

“But you mean you actually would pass up the chance to document a genuine case of mind control?”

She sighed deeply and sat back down, turning another page. “Very well, Mr. Bandan.”

“OK, but first you have to tell me what you’ve been writing about me.”

She crossed her arms and folded her book beneath her right armpit. “I certainly will not, it is unprofessional.”

“Then let me see the book.”

She turned it slightly in my direction so I could see some of the print. “It would not do you much good if you cannot read French,” she smiled.

I frowned and drew a heavy sigh. “Oh, well, it was worth a try. No, I can’t read French—yet.”

At that, Michelle Distario stood up and stretched her roots and flipped the book back to the first page. “Then...”

“But you can.”

She straightened out her skirt and tugged at her blouse. “I certainly will not.”

“Oh, C’mon, Doc, at least the first paragraph.”

She looked at me and smiled that condescending smile that I’d come to hate so much in so little time. “Sorry, Mr. Bandan, I am a Doctor, and...”

Then she glanced down at the book in her hand and her face went pale. These are the kind of moments I live for. You know, those Kodak moments, those “priceless” American Express moments that money can’t buy. Call this one a “Warren Bandan Presents: A You Are SOOOOOO Fucked” moment. I ought to apply for a trademark.

Suddenly, she started flipping madly through the pages, talking rapidly to herself in her native tongue.

“Oh, C’mon, Doc, show some of that high-society upbringing. English, please.”

“Zis is not...zis is not what I wrote!” Well, OK it was an improvement. Still English French, but English enough that Bubbles and I got the general gist. Plus, it sounded ultra sexy.

“I do not...I do not understand! Zis is not what I wrote!” She had now stopped flipping through the book and was back at the first page.

“Uh, Doc, we heard that part already.”

“I did not write zis!” She repeated, staring at the book and running her hand through her jet black hair.

I looked over at Bubbles. “Bubbles, did you write that?”

She shrugged. “I, like, don’t do French. Well, not THAT kind of French, anyway.” And smiled. Cutely, I might add.

I leaned out over the bed to get a better look at the book. “That’s not MY handwriting.”

“Yes, well, it IS my handwriting, but I did not WRITE zis!” She genuinely looked shocked. And I’d be willing to bet all the flowers in my bathroom that it was probably the first time in quite a while. She had a lot of catching up to do.

Luckily, I’m REALLY good at that.

I looked around the room. “No one else here, Doc. I’m pretty sure Deevers out there doesn’t write French either.”

“But...” She had slowly sunk back into her chair now, but the color still hadn’t come back to her face. More like a birch than a maple. She was still staring at the book, moving it back and forth in front of her eyes, like she was missing her glasses or something.

“Look, Doc, surely it can’t be THAT bad.”

“But it IS zat bad.” She was starting to shake a bit. “I do not know how zis happened!”

Bubbles came over and put an arm around her. Never figured her for the motherly type, but who knew? “Oh, C’mon now, Michelle, like, maybe we can help.”

“Yeah,” I chimed in. “I’m REALLY good at helping.”

“But zis is...so ‘orrible.” She was staring at that first page again. “Zis person...”

I leaned over closer. “You mean zat person who wrote in French in your book?”

“She is ‘orrible.” Michelle’s face started trembling a bit as she started scanning again. “Today I took ze money for my make-up from Muzer’s purse. She will never suspect her little angel, no.”

“Oh, No!” Bubbles put both hands to her cheeks. “A MAKE-UP thief!”

Michelle ran her fingers across the page. “But, you do not understand! She gets WORSE, zis one!”

“Worse than a MAKE-UP thief?” I chimed in, incredulous.

“Yes, yes!” she continued, getting more and more unnerved with every line. “Right here. ‘Today, I took ze camera and sold it to Phillipe. I finally have enough for zat new dress! Muzer does not suspect. She thinks ze valet at ze chalet took it. I feel so naughty.’”

“What an AWFUL little girl!” Bubbles tried her best to look judgmental. She really did. Unfortunately, she looked pretty much like an awful little girl herself, so it didn’t work so well. Luckily there was no one around in any shape to notice.

“Oh, YES,” Michelle agreed as she continued. “A TERRIBLE little girl!”

“Today, I was walking next to ze pool wiz my new bathing suit and Yves was zere while Muzer was shopping. I could tell he was looking at me in ZAT way and I felt so sexy. I bent down in front of him to scratch my feet and I could tell he was looking at my breasts. Muzer would die!”

Bubbles just stood there with her mouth open. “WOW!”

Michelle put the book down. “I...I cannot continue. It is just too ‘orrible.”

“Hey, now, Doc, you can’t give up on her so soon.” I opined, cheerfully. “Everyone can change.”

“But...” she started, glancing down at the book, then up again in obvious disgust. “You do not understand. Zis one is obviously suffering from growing up wizout an authority fauzer figure.”

“A LOT of us grow up without fauzer figures and we do OK,” I countered. Heh, OK, maybe I’m not the best example.

“Maybe she DID change,” Bubbles mused, looking down at the notebook which had plenty of handwriting yet to be de-Frenched.

“No, no,” Michelle picked up the book like she was handling a cobra or something. “Zis one got WORSE.”

“NO?” Bubbles said, sounding kinda like a housewife discussing a soap opera over the phone. Reminded me of Stanley when I told him Bailey was a lesbian. “Don’t tell me that she, like, actually...”

“YES!” The maple was getting goose bumps now. Dunno if it was guilt or rage or excitement, but I was betting on a little of all three, and I’m pretty good at handicapping this kinda thing.

“Today, Yves and I finally did it. It was AMAZING! My poossee was SO wet, I thought he was never going to be able to stay inside me. He says I have ze MOST sensuous poossee. He says I smell like apricots. He stayed down zere for almost an hour. It was the most amazing zing I have ever done. I saw heaven six times. He says he will marry me. I will truly be an angel.”

Bubbles looked like she was going to swoon. I dunno how much of it was an act, but it certainly added to the atmosphere. This wasn’t one of my best performances, but it was pretty fun nonetheless. Michelle Distario was a piece of work, all right. But, then, I’ve found hypocrites to be pretty fun in general.

“So,” Bubbles now had her arm tightly around Michelle and was breathing hard, “did they get married?!”

“Certainly not!!!” The reply was terse in that lovingly annoying way. “She does not DESERVE to be happy, zis one does not. She is a ‘orrible, evil child woman, zis one is!”

“So, what DID happen next, silly?” Bubbles was almost in her lap, trying her damnedest to learn French on the fly now. Michelle wrinkled her nose and fought to continue.

“Yves was drunk and told Muzer about us. She has said she will send me to school in ze United States. Zat will make me happy. Yves is a bastard skunk and zey deserve to be togezer. I will become ze best and smartest doctor and zen zey will see how wrong zey were.”

Michelle dropped the book back in her lap. She was visibly shaking with rage now. “What an evil, manipulating bitch! She will always blame ozers!”

I shook my head and sighed. “So, Doc, what kind of therapy would you recommend?”

That seemed to calm her for a moment as she stared at the wall in thought. “Well,” she said, finally, “as I said before, I feel zis girl suffered from ze lack of a strong figure of authority.”

Bubbles rolled her eyes. “Sounds like she needs, like, a good spanking to me.”

I sat up. “You, know, Bubbles, this IS the USA, after all...”

Michelle stood up, book still in hand and slowly walked to the bed. “Zat is true, of course. I am a strong believer in discipline, after all.”

Without missing a beat, she laid herself across the bed, the notebook still in her hands. “And it does sound like zis girl’s muzer was not one to readily apply discipline when needed.”

“That certainly could have helped contribute to her problems, " I started as I lifted her skirt about her waist and pulled her plain white (ugh) panties down to her knees, “in my unschooled opinion, of course.”

“Of course,” she said as my hand came down on her butt with a fairly soft smack. This was only the third or fourth time I’d ever administered a spanking—well, a physical one, that is—so I wanted to make sure I did it right. Being an authority figure is a huge responsibility, after all.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Bubbles sitting on the edge of the bed. One of her hands had snuck beneath her skirt. Seemed she got off on this kind of thing. Again, who knew?

But somehow, she still managed to lean over and gaze at the book as Michelle was flipping pages. “Hey, there’s still more,” she said as she leaned ominously close to Michelle’s ear.

“Yes, zere is,” the tall woman continued, even as I laid another one down on her behind. “Zis naughty girl is not finished wiz her manipulative ways.”

“When I got to college in Boston, ze first zing I noticed was zat American girls do too much studying and do not spend enough time wiz zeir boyfriends. It was very easy for me to steal zem away. Zey all LOVED my accent.”

You betcha, I snickered to myself as I laid another down, just a bit harder this time. This WAS one naughty girl.

“Zey do not let zeir boyfriends...lick zeir poossees, for example. uhhh... Zey zink it is somezing evil. uhh... I LOVE having zem lick my poossee and zey LOVE licking my poossee. uhhhh....”

The hell with licking, I thought as I smacked her again, Mr. Chuckles—incapacitated as he was—was just loving hearing her SAY the word. It was getting harder and harder for her to continue, though, since the little gasps were coming more quickly now. And the sheets were getting wet.

“Zen...uhhh.... one day I got caught...uhhh...wiz...ze boyfriend of Angie...uhh.... but I could tell she was turned on by my poossee...uhh... He made her get down...uhh and lick my poosseee....”

Bubbles had her skirt up around her waist and her five fingers were now playing along with mine, keeping time with the rhythm of my hands on the evil child’s love drums. I bet Ringo never had this much fun.

“I...uhh...never had a woman eat...uhhh, my poossee before...uhh...it was AMAZING! She did not want to do it...uhh...and zat made it BETTER!”

Uh, oh. As she was bouncing up and down between my waist and my hand, I felt Mr. Chuckles stir. I guess this performance was better than I thought.

“Then ze word got around about...uhhh... my apricot poossee...uhh...even the professors...uhh... Amazing grades.... uhh....”

Suddenly, Bubbles leaned over and whispered, “Michelle, you have been one, VERY bad girl.”

Michelle gave a little gasp and looked up wide-eyed from her book. “But, no...uhh, Barbara....uhh. but zis is not ME.”

Smack! That one came down REALLY hard.

“I could not...uhh...be...” One hand still held the book, the other reached back around and under her waist.

SMACK!!!

Bubbles gave me one last smile before she started shaking all over. Did I mention she even does THAT cutely?

SMACK!

“No. I mean...uhh...zat person....” Her fingers started working now, in and out of her poosee to that same bum beat...

SMACK!

“It cannot! Not ME!” Her butt was really red now, but her face was even MORE red. Cherry red.

SMACK!

“NO!!!!” Fire engine red.

SMACK!

I felt for, just a second, that the annoying shrink might overcome that evil little girl of thirty or so years ago. But, hey, why should she be any different than the rest of us.

SMACK!

“I been a uhh...very, very...uhh...bad girl...uhh...Daddy.”

SMACK!

“Physician, HEAL thyself!!!” Damned if it DIDN’T smell like apricots in here. Very RIPE apricots. The housekeepers are going to have a great time with THESE sheets tonight.

“PLEASE, DADDY!!!! I WILL BE A GOOD GIRL!!!” And I bet she never saw heaven like THAT from some guy eating her “poossee,” I thought as she came so hard I had to look around to see if someone hadn’t hit the hospital bed controls by accident.

“Yes, Michelle, I believe you will.”

And that goes for the rest of you too.

Because Dr. Bandan is ALWAYS on call.