The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

[Hey, this is Paul again, but for those of you anticipating more from Kim, fear not and read on! I found Kim’s diary a week or two back. All right, so the truth is I asked her if she kept one, made her turn it over to me, then made her forget she’d done it. The privileges of power, y’know. The point is, it was really hot reading and I thought, why not share some of it with the public? So that’s how Chapter 2 got out there. And then it occurred to me that it might be fun if Janus would edit my stuff and Kim’s together, so you could get both perspectives at once. That makes this chapter different that anything we’ve tried before, so bear with the experiment. Let my front man Janus, know what you think! He’ll forward your thoughts to me. Here goes.]

Paul

If you’ve been following along, you know that my life took a really amazing turn for the fan-fucking-tastic a while back. In the first weeks after I finally tried using the Q’injo powder my buddy Jim gave me, things got so good so fast, that I felt a twinge of guilt. Not for the stuff I was doing, so much. I mean, given the chance, there aren’t too many people who would turn down the opportunity to control the minds of others. My guilt was more along the lines of “Why should I have it so good, when other guy’s love-lives suck so bad?”

I consoled myself by recalling that I’d had my share of crappy relationships, bad dates, and long, dry stretches before things turned around—and, besides, some guys just were beyond help. It eventually occurred to me that there were a couple of buddies of mine on whose behalf I might be able to intervene, if the opportunity presented itself, but I was enjoying myself so much that the thought of sharing the wealth didn’t linger too long. And then, as is so often the case, the first such opportunity presented itself in the situation faced by my old pal Matt.

When I was planning my first real date with Kim since dosing her with Q’injo, I decided to take her to a restaurant where I used to work. It was an upscale Italian place with a great wine list where I’d made some serious bank for more than a year, until things got weird between me and this waitress. It had been a few months since I’d been in, so I called Matt, who still worked there, just to check things out.

Matt was glad to hear from me and, while talking with him, I realized a couple of things. First, he was a pretty cool guy to hang with, which I’d kind of forgotten in the months since I’d left the restaurant. Second, he was having a relationship crisis of his own . . . and what I could do for him might be a big help, while having the extra-added benefit of giving me a sweet taste of revenge.

Here’s the backstory, brief as I can make it:

When I worked at Giovanni’s (yeah, not an original name, but it’s Florida-whatta we know from authentic Italian?), I hung with Matt, his girlfriend, Rose, who was a hostess, and a couple of the waitresses. One of them, Charity, got a job managing the floor at the Lizard Lounge, a dance club next door to the restaurant, a few weeks after I started. The other, Ileana, was this hot little Puerto Rican chick with a tight bubble ass and a head-full of dark, gleaming curls. After I broke up with Susan, I hooked up with Ileana as a rebound thing, so it was Matt and Rose, Paul and Ileana (Yana for short), all the time and we’d hang with Charity at the Lizard after work on the weekends.

The thing with Yana was hot, nasty, and a little dangerous. She was pretty temperamental and I guess I wasn’t the height of maturity and discretion myself, but that was kind of part of the fun. Rose and Matt would always tease Yana about starting fires wherever we went just because she couldn’t wait to drag out the hose. Usually, it was my hose, though I suspect there were times when I wasn’t handy and she used someone else’s.

Like I said, it was very hot, nasty and loads of fun-for a while, but then she started getting manipulative with me, trying to get me to go out when I didn’t want to, stay in when I wanted to go out-not because she really wanted one thing or the other, but just because she wanted to feel in control. And all the while, I knew it wasn’t that she really liked me for much more than my dick and my tongue. I mean, we had fun, but we didn’t have all that much in common with the lights on and she never expressed a bit of interest in my life, while expecting me to be fascinated with every friggin’ detail of her vapid existence.

The natural ground for most of Yana’s manipulations was sex. Once I got that the sex could be incredible, she turned into a tease, getting me going and keeping me going all night, then shutting me down when I wanted some follow through. I mean, once or twice this happens and you figure, “Ahhh, she’s just being flaky.” But then the power trip came into focus. When she started in on the flirting with other guys while we were out together, then told me I was imagining things when I caught her at it, I figured enough was enough-but the dick was still willing and the willpower was weak, so I hung in.

Finally, one night, after we had a knock-down drag out over the way she was coming on to another waiter at the restaurant, followed by some very hot make-up sex in the employee locker room at Gio’s, we went to the Lizard to meet Matt and Rose, as we usually did on Saturday nights. Fifteen minutes into that part of the evening, Yana decided I was checking out the other talent in the place-in particular this slinky, exotic black chick with dreads and a really prominent pair of nipples. It wasn’t an unfair charge, I just didn’t think it was really that big a deal, since she was constantly looking at other guys and often pointed out hot chicks for my perusal.

She started in on me, playing all faux-jealous (like I hadn’t just been giving her the business twenty minutes before, after accusing her of the same thing) and, when I didn’t give her the response she wanted-didn’t deny it and, thus, collaborate in stoking the fire again—she tossed a drink in my face. And it wasn’t even her drink!

I sat there for a second, wearing my own very expensive vodka martini, wanting to respond in kind, but thinking it over as every eye in the place turned toward us. She was looking at me like she expected the fun to start now, her mouth slightly open, her eyes lidded. It hit me like a high school bully’s sucker punch: the shouting, screaming, public drama was foreplay for her, and it was never going to change. She wasn’t going to get any more interesting out of the sack, either. If the great sex was worth the manic ups and downs, then I should soak her and get the ball rolling. If not . . .

I just stared her down for about twenty seconds before telling her that I was over the soap opera games and she could find her own way home. I waved to Charity, tossed a twenty on the table so Matt wouldn’t have to cover our round of drinks, and left. Everyone in the place was staring at her. Matt later told me that it finally dawned on her that she was the bitch without a partner to play the rest of her scene. She’d left a few minutes later and called in sick at work for a couple of days until the sting wore off. We worked together for a few more weeks, but then school started and I left.

Apparently, she bad-mouthed me for weeks afterwards, making out like I’d left because I couldn’t bear to face her, but Matt and Rose were on my side and everybody kind of knew what Yana was about anyway.

This was three months ago. Even though I’d seen Matt and Rose a time or two at the beginning of the semester, it had been a while since we’d last hung out, so when I called, he sounded kind of surprised. Then he filled me in on what was going on with the old crew. Charity had moved on from the Lizard and was now managing a club of her own, financed by dear old daddy, in Boca. He and Rose had moved in together about six months ago. I asked about Yana and I could tell something was up.

“She’s still there,” and then, after a pause, “Man, I really admired the way you ended that. Little bitch can really fuck with you, y’know?”

I asked what was up and he spilled it. Yana and Rose were having an affair.

After I reassembled the pieces of my dropped jaw, I think I managed a gargled, “Whathefuck?!” before Matt launched into his tale of woe.

Rose was this slender red-head-that kind of burnished copper red, and straight and long. Waaaaay more gorgeous than Matt thought he deserved. Her nose was dusted with the lightest spray of freckles when she wasn’t wearing base, and she favored clothes that accentuated her very nice pair of C-cup boobs and a fine, round ass that swayed like a palm tree in a tropical breeze. I mean, she was model beautiful, and had that kind of poise and reserve you expect from a much older woman, but she wasn’t stuck up about her looks at all. In fact, you could tell from this adorable shy smile she’d give you whenever her gorgeousness was the topic of compliment or conversation, that she didn’t have a clue about how she affected guys. In other words, the exact opposite of Yana.

I’d always wondered what a taste of Rose would be like, but she and Matt seemed really tight, so I never found out or even really tried to. What a first-rate piece of class like Rose saw in Yana, I couldn’t figure at first-until I remembered the raw, sensual and sexual impact that just being around Yana could have on you. And if I were to be honest about it, Rose and Yana having a passionate, if short-lived, affair made more sense to me than Matt and Rose as a long term prospect. He always struck me as the kind of guy who was going to settle down with someone, have a half-dozen kids, and get fat watching football and drinking brews, whereas Rose . . . well, Paris, London, New York and a life among the fashionistas seemed more her speed.

Turns out, Rose “discovered” she was bi one night when she and Yana went out to a lesbian club for kicks and ended up doing a mutual muff-dive in the backseat of Rose’s Honda in the parking lot.

Matt didn’t find out they were an item for a few days, but then he came home to grab lunch unexpectedly and there they were, the love of his life and her Latina lover, sixty-nining in the bed he and Rose bought for their new apartment together.

Yana left after finishing Rose off-not embarrassed at all, according to Matt, which sounds about right. He and Rose fought for hours after, ending up exhausted after some make-up sex that rocked both of their worlds and confirmed Matt in a confusion similar to the one Rose was experiencing herself.

Rose didn’t want to give Yana up, but said she was still in love with Matt and just hoped he’d understand and let her “experiment” for a while before tying her down. Matt didn’t want to give Rose up and, being a nice guy and a bit of a doof, he agreed to try to give her some space, even though it hurt like hell. And as if things weren’t already fucked up enough, a few nights later, Yana cornered Matt in the restaurant freezer near the end of a shift and said that she had a solution that might work for all three of them. Then she went down on him. Matt said, “I wanted to slap the grin off her, but she got that hot little hand down my pants and I was toast, dude.” I could hardly blame him, since the mere thought of Yana on her knees in front of me in that freezer-she’d done me in the same place a couple of times-got my dick twitching.

Since Yana’s surprise BJ gift to Matt, he and Rose and Yana had done a few threesomes, but it never felt right to Matt and he didn’t think Rose liked it much either, preferring to keep the two relationships separate. Even though the girls tried, he usually ended up feeling like a slightly annoying sex accessory, without the benefit of a vibrate function.

I really felt for the guy. Clearly, Yana was still playing her bitch goddess games and he and little Rose were her latest pawns. It was the obvious pain in Matt’s voice that made me decide to help him out. My chance to give back to the community, as it were.

I told him to tell the girls that I was coming in that night with my new girlfriend and that we should all go hang at the Lizard after shift, just like in the old days. Turns out Matt had taken on some bartending shifts at the Lizard to help he and Rose save for a house, so he’d be working there that night after getting done at Giovanni’s. Instead of saying, “You chump, quit the job and tell her if she wants a fucking house, she needs to kick Yana to the curb!” I said that his being a bartender that night would be even better. I’d be able to watch Rose and Yana together, get Kim’s input, and evaluate the situation. “Maybe,” I told him, “We can put our heads together and see a way to help you guys work this out.”

All this happened on the afternoon after I got back from the theatre, where I’d left Kim, naked, trembling, and more turned on that she’d ever been in her life. So, that night, when I picked her up for the date-and fucked her very smart little brains out on her pink coverlet-I had already hatched a nefarious plan to settle Yana’s hash, set Matt and Rose up for life, and expand my adventures with Kim into some new territory.

Kim

Night before last, Friday night, after that AMAZING day in the theater, Paul promised to take me out. He brought me the nicest bunch of flowers and I brought him to bed. Yes, I finally got him to give me what I’d been longing for all day-if I’m honest, all WEEK. And in my own bed, with Mom upstairs on the phone and totally clueless! I felt like even more of a naughty little slut girl than I had when Doctor Hawkins saw me on the balcony!

Then I jumped head-first into the deep end. I don’t know what possessed me to tell him how I was feeling about him, but then, I couldn’t tell you why I have become totally obsessed with this guy since we first made love. Besides, if I have one fault in love, it’s that I’m kind of quick to fall in and slow to get out. Why should last night have been any different?

Anyway, I told him how I just knew he was it for me and he was just as wonderful as I thought he’d be, even though I was scared when I said it. So we started off the night just right: sweet, romantic, but with five or ten of the most satisfying orgasms I’d managed to have in DAYS. I get the shivers just thinking about it.

But that was just the beginning. When we walked out of the house, I was in my favorite little black dress with the v-nick that absolutely forbids a bra and the shirring at the waist, which turns into little pleats in the skirt. It’s the dress Tina Nichols called “The Terminator” when I wore it to the opening night party for Romeo and Juliet last month and completely upstaged Juliet herself, that witch Marilyn Hightower. So that and my best black pumps were the sum total of my wardrobe that night, if you don’t count my necklace and rings! That’s right. Paul wouldn’t let me put my thong back on or change into a new one. The cool breeze gliding across my wet pussy and thighs felt so wicked! It was the same feeling I got at Ricky Mansfield’s pool party after the Homecoming win senior year, when the cheerleaders lost that stupid bet-but I already told you that story.

<I haven’t edited it yet, but Paul sent me this diary entry the other day. Very hot. I’ll get to it soon.—Janus

Paul is, by the way, a real gentleman. I mentioned the flowers he brought, which were gorgeous. When we went to the car, he held the door for me, then hopped in beside me. It was a perfect night for the convertible. December in Florida can be wet, but there are times when it’s perfect-cool and clear, without that nasty bite of winter you get up north.

He’d planned a nice dinner at a very ritzy Italian place where he used to work called Giovanni’s. Several of the wait staff were still friends of his, so he made it sound more fun than stuffy and I was all for that. Then we were going dancing, which just made my head spin a little. You know how I love to dance, but you know how I get after a couple of drinks when the beat is pounding through me, diary! I mean, I’ve written to you about how exciting it is to be pressed onto a dance floor with all those sweating, writhing bodies and. . . well, I always thought it was really sexy. But I’d never gone dancing without underwear before and a thrill of anticipation went through me at the thought! Paul must have felt the goosebumps on my arm, because he smiled and said he wanted to show me off. He meant it in a way that made me proud, but also got me wet all over again.

The drive took longer than I expected, but Paul and I slipped into a really interesting conversation about movies and music. We never mentioned the activities of earlier that day or even a few minutes ago. Again I was reminded how much I genuinely liked him. He was insightful and funny, on top of all the other great things I’ve already mentioned. He said some really sweet things about me that had nothing to do with how hot he thought I was. I got the feeling that he hadn’t liked a woman the way he liked me in a while, and that maybe there was somebody in the not-too-distant past that hurt him a lot.

[Hey, this is Paul with a quick note: Kim’s a very perceptive girl, but we knew that. What she didn’t realize was that the drive to the restaurant took longer than expected because I pulled into a park on the way and put her under. I didn’t so much change anything as open up a few more alternatives that I hadn’t thought of the first time, when I was doing hypnosis on the fly. I won’t spoil the surprise by telling you exactly what I did-we’ll talk about that AFTER you’ve read the rest of Kim’s account.]

When we walked into the restaurant, I was impressed. It was warm and cozy, kind of dark in the corners, with understated music and an efficient looking, but very young and attractive staff. Paul’s friend, Rose, was the hostess. When he introduced us, she was really warm and sweet to me. I thought she was stunning and, as we followed her into the dining room, her long red hair swaying above a really nice butt and long legs just confirmed it. For a second, I was jealous. She’d known Paul before me and she was so pretty. There’s no way he couldn’t have been interested in her and maybe he still was, even if she was with this Matt guy. And then I realized I’d been checking HER out, and maybe Paul was the one who ought to be jealous!

Then I felt some of that warm coziness between my legs as I noticed all the men’s heads turning to look at us. It was a mostly older-than-us, but not older crowd. Prosperous looking people in their twenties and thirties. And the obvious envy of Paul on the men’s faces made me really happy. I knew my tanned, bare legs looked good contrasted with the black dress and the plunge in the neckline pointed right where most of them wanted to go. As sexy as Rose was, their glances moved past her and came to rest on me. “The Terminator” was doing its work. And then the women, looking at Paul, made it clear that they envied me too. All of the attention and the repressed sexual energy it implied turned me from simmer to slow boil in the space of the few seconds it took us to follow Rose to our little booth in the back corner.

As we arrived at the booth, Paul whispered something in my ear that threatened to turn my slow boil into steam.

“Don’t sit on your skirt. Bare ass on the seat.”

The order sent a jolt right through me, taking me back to earlier that afternoon in the theatre, when I was naked and anticipating the humiliation of being seen. He wanted my naked ass and pussy on the seat and Rose was right there, so she’d probably see me flip my skirt up in back as I slid into the booth. Not to mention what the people at the neighboring tables might see. And then there was the next thought: what is he going to make me do after that?

I knew there was no way to avoid obeying, although I considered taking a spanking later-but figured Paul knew I’d enjoy that too much and would devise something even more humiliating than he already had planned if I tried to dodge. As Rose leaned over the table to set our menus down, I took a deep breath, flipped up my skirt and hopped into the booth. Scooting across the seat, the cool leather did some very nice things to my bareness and, by the time Paul met me in the middle of the booth’s seat, I was blushing furiously and breathing a little harder. I glanced around at the people nearby, trying to tell if anyone had been looking, and thought I detected a bit of a smirk on the face of a middle-aged gentleman having dinner with some colleagues at the table next to ours. Had he seen anything? Rose looked at me quizzically. Had she seen something too? Or maybe she’d even overheard what Paul had ordered? There was no way to tell from her expression. She might just have been wondering how we’d met.

She looked us both over and said, “Matt tells me we’re all doing the Lizard after work. Yana’s pretty excited.”

I thought I detected a little up-tick of Paul’s eyebrow when Rose mentioned her friend, Yana, but I couldn’t be sure. Paul glanced at me, then answered for both of us, “Yeah, we’re good with that plan. It’ll be just like old times.” I thought an odd expression crossed Rose’s face when Paul said that, but I wasn’t really trusting my instincts right then. “Tell Matt to come over when he has a chance.”

She said she’d do that, gave Paul a quick kiss on the cheek, saying how good it was to see him, then left us with the menus. I leaned in to Paul and whispered, “I’m scared I’m going to leave a wet spot on the seat!” He smiled that melts-my-heart smile and replied, “Oh you will. But concentrate on the menu first.”

We’d barely opened them before Matt sauntered up to the table.

He’s the kind of guy I’ve mentioned to you before, diary, as a “cuddle bear” guy—sweet, sincere, gentle and soooo not my type. Not that I don’t appreciate those qualities, but they need to be accompanied by more spine than guys like Matt generally have. And physically, he was some other girl’s dream-body. He wasn’t fat or anything, but he gave you the feeling that he was . . . well, padded, and fuzzy from head to toe and had a soft, marshmallow center.

Anyway, Paul introduced us. They did the very brief version of catching up, since he was busy with a full station. Turns out he and Rose had moved in together about six months ago and celebrated their one-year anniversary as a couple just last week. He was obviously really into her and I guessed that, if she’d agreed to move in, she’d decided she was into him too.

Just before he went back to work, Matt looked over his shoulder at the floor and gestured to a waitress working her way towards us. He glanced at me, then looked back a Paul. With a hint of humorous warning in his voice, he said, “You know Ileana’s got this section tonight.”

Paul smiled back and added a bland, “Oh, really?” but I could tell something was up. I gave Paul a look and Matt just grinned again as he walked away. Then Ileana reached our table and greeted Paul and I knew. Call it women’s intuition or just admit that I’m a brilliant observer of human nature, but it was clear to me after watching them together for about three seconds that they’d been lovers and it hadn’t ended all that well. He wasn’t tense or uncomfortable at all, and she didn’t seem to be either, but there was just something about the way she looked at him and the way he looked back, plus the tone of their voices that made it seem like they were both kind of waiting to see what the other was going to do.

I was burning with curiosity, but had to hold it in while Paul introduced us. Then they talked, mostly about people and places I didn’t know. The good thing about moments when people are talking with each other and kind of ignoring you is it gives you a chance to analyze the relationship. Here was another woman that I knew Paul found attractive. I wanted to figure out what it was about her that had worked for him, and see if it still did work by watching him interact with her.

No question, Yana, as he called her, was a hottie. She was my height, so obviously he had a thing for small women. The men’s white dress shirt and the stupid pop art tie she had to wear, both part of the waitron uniform, made it hard to gauge her boobies accurately, but they were clearly bigger than mine, which wouldn’t be hard, since most tangerines are bigger than mine!

But the black uniform slacks she wore were tight around her butt and thighs. I found myself staring at her really great ass and speculating on what looked to be some very well-toned legs! In fact, I thought, she looked like she was probably a gymnast or had been at some point in the recent past. I pulled my eyes off her butt and noticed that her face was stunning. She had this toast-brown skin that looked like it might taste really sweet and these very dark brown eyes framed by a pile of curly, black hair. When she smiled-even the tight, hesitant smile she gave Paul-her eyes got into the game. They—and she—simply sparkled.

And for the second time that night, I realized I was checking out another woman!

Now, diary, I’ve told you that I sometimes notice other women, but except for that one little incident with Tina Nichols at the pool party, I’d never really been, y’know, into girls. But tonight, with Paul right there to make it safe, even as I was a flutter of fabric away from complete humiliation, I couldn’t take my eyes off this girl who stood there, talking about the specials and the wine list with my boyfriend and giving me sidelong glances that made me think maybe she was checking me out too.

After a couple of minutes of verbal parry-and-thrust with Paul, she started to relax a bit. I guess she realized he was going to be a gentleman about whatever it was that they had in their history. She asked me where we met, I told her. Then she asked about my major. Wow! Suddenly, it was like we were long lost sisters or something. She wanted to talk about the theatre department and the shows I’d done and the shows she’d done. Turns out, she’d been an actress in high school and was taking off a couple of years before starting college. Before she left the table, she reached out and touched my hand very softly, then said, “We’re going to be great friends, I can just tell.”

As soon as Paul ordered us some wine and an appetizer, Yana left and I pounced. “So, what’s the story with her?”

He smiled, sighed, and told me.

“Ileana and I dated for a few months last year. I never thought she thought it was anything serious, so I broke up with her after she threw a drink in my face in a club one night.”

He just sat there, pretending he thought that was going to be enough to satisfy me. When I finally jabbed him with my elbow, he continued, grinning.

Then he told me that, although Yana was really cool in a lot of ways, she was very manipulative with her sexuality. Well, okay, that’s not how he put it. What he said was, “She uses sex like a deadly weapon.” He gave me a couple of other stories he’d heard about her before their break-up which helped him to make the decision. One of them involved Yana breaking up a marriage by seducing the wife AND the couple’s son (on different occasions) and the other was about her starting a fight in a lesbian bar by promising to go home with two different women in the same night.

“So,” I said, “she’s dangerous and that makes her even more attractive, right?”

And he looked me right in the eye, slipped his hand onto my thigh and caressed me from my knee right up to my shaved, very damp slit, and said, “Well, what do YOU think?”

I turned a few shades of red and my breath caught in my throat, even as his wiggling finger pulled a confession out of me.

“She’s hot. You can tell by that little glint in her eye that she’s good in bed. I can see why you wanted to date her.”

“I didn’t really want to date her, but I did want to fuck her and dating was the socially approved way to get into her pants.”

I grinned at him, which I think surprised him a little. I’m sure he expected me to say something like, “Is that what you did with me?” So I know what I said next surprised him: “Do you want to fuck her again?” I’ll give him this: he recovers fast. His surprise turned to a slow smile. “Again,” he replied, “And again and again and again.”

And every time he said it, his finger slipped a little deeper into me and I panted just a little harder. I imagined him with her and was surprised that the image didn’t bother me a bit. Maybe that’s because the picture of Yana sitting on Paul’s beautiful pole flipped back and forth in my mind with a picture of me, doing to Yana’s clitty with my tongue what Paul was doing right then to MY clitty with his finger.

He leaned into me and whispered in my ear again. Have you ever seen one of those couples that look like they’re having this very intimate conversation in public? My mom calls it “canoodling.” Their heads are close together, they’re looking deeply into each other’s eyes, maybe she’s gently stroking his arm or he’s stroking her hair. And if they’re sitting in a park in broad daylight, all that’s probably going on is some romantic chit chat. But if they’re side-by-side in a booth in the back of a dimly lit restaurant where you can’t see their hands . . . well. . . the conversation may be a bit more like this:

“We’d been dating for a while,” Paul said, “and one night, Yana came over to the house for a drink before we went out. She was wearing these low-rise jeans that were so low and so tight they made me want to unzip them with my tongue. Her top was this gauzy, spaghetti strap number and let me tell you, she has a very flat belly.”

Paul’s finger slid deeper into me, up to the second knuckle. I bit the inside of my mouth, hard, to keep from moaning out loud. To distract myself, I asked if her stomach was the same lickable brown color as her face and hands. Thinking that way didn’t really work as a distraction. I’m sure my eyes glazed over, but then he pulled out and pinched me lightly on the thigh. I almost yipped, first from the sharp shock of his departure, then from the pain of the pinch. But I remembered where we were.

“Don’t let it show, baby,” he said, his eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. “Just enjoy my story.” With that, he again slipped his finger up and grazed my hyper-alert hot button. When he saw me take a deep breath, then smile back at him, he continued.

“I fixed her a drink and we were standing in the kitchen, talking about what clubs we were going to later and who she’d told to meet us where. I said something about how hot she looked and how that was creating kind of a dilemma. She was too hot not to take out, but so hot that I didn’t want to let her out of the apartment. She looked at me over the rim of her glass and took a long, slow sip. Then she said-and I’ll never forget this, mostly because of the way she said it, all husky and sultry and so kind of ‘fuck-me-now’—she said: ‘It’s still pretty early.’ She set the drink on the bar, crossed her arms across her body, grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.”

Paul had me on the edge of my seat in so many ways by this time. I knew where the story was going, but I didn’t know if he was going to give me the release I already needed so badly. As if answering my second question, he slowed his finger’s motion and eased up on the pressure. Bastard.

“She just stood there, one hand on her hip, the other dangling that top, looking at me like, ‘So what are you going to do with THIS, big boy?” I’d noticed her nipples through the shirt earlier, pebble-hard and begging to be sucked. Now they were right there in front of me. She was naked from the waist up and her nips were standing out on top of those smooth, upturned handfuls of tit. Her hips and tight waist framed that gorgeous belly. I knew what was just a couple of inches below her belt buckle. I knew what she wanted me to do about it.”

I was panting very quietly, I think. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Yana at another table not far from us and I was combining the mental picture of her Paul was painting for me with the reality of her not ten feet away.

“This just goes to show what a brilliant tease Yana is. We’d only been out a few times, but I was already getting familiar with her power games and was learning how to play with her instead of just giving in. It’s probably the reason we lasted as long as we did. If I’d just pounced, I would have been another pushover. Instead, I tried to meet the challenge. Instead of just grabbing her, I knelt down in front of her and very slowly reached for that belt buckle. It probably took me two full minutes to unbuckle that belt, unsnap her jeans and pull the zipper all the way down. Then I leaned in and breathed a warm breath on her, very softly. I had my hands on her hips, so I could feel the shiver and I knew I had her.”

Oh, God, diary! I’m writing this story the way Paul told it to me, and I’m reliving the story AND the memory of the telling. He’s staring into my eyes and it’s like he’s in my head, monitoring the rising passion I’m feeling and keeping me right—on—the—edge. One second, he’s teasing my clit with what feels like a feather, but I know it’s his index finger—then he slides it out and gently caresses my thigh, just firmly enough so that it doesn’t tickle, but so gently that it’s like a little electric circuit is being completed between his finger and the center of my being. And all the time, he’s talking to me, telling me the hottest, nastiest story. To top all of that, the subject of that story is standing right in my line of sight in a crowded restaurant!

“Of course, once she gave in that little bit, she had to make her next move and try and get control back. I felt her try and shift away from me, but I had I good grip on her pants at the waist, so I just started pulling them down real slow, but with this firm, steady pressure. I was exposing more and more of her and I was still dressed, which was part of the game. Who’s going to be more vulnerable to whom, y’know? She was wearing this tiny, lacy pair of underwear. No obstacle at all. It just came right down with the jeans and, in a minute, I had the pants at mid-thigh and she couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to-but by then, she didn’t really want to. I was kissing my way down, now, across her belly and over that sensitive hollow just above the thighs-all around her little black landing strip. I could see the moisture starting to form on her pussy. She took a really deep breath and I glanced up—I just love looking up at a woman from between her legs, especially when she’s standing up and looking back at you. There’s this charge that runs between us in that moment that I just can’t describe. Her boobs looked great from that angle, round and rolling up and down with her breathing, which was getting deeper and faster. I reached up with one hand and tweaked her nipples lightly, but kept my other hand on her ass to hold her to my face. Her stomach jerked with little stabs of pleasure as I dabbed my tongue into her slit over and over. Her eyes were open, but her lids were really heavy and I could tell she just wanted me to get to it—so I stretched it out some more.”

Diary, I’m telling you, it was the most incredible seduction I’ve ever experienced. He was doing to me exactly what he was describing in the story-short, sharp, feather-light stabs into my pussy with his finger. Every time I thought, “This is it. I’m going to cum,” he’d slow down or pull his finger out entirely and I knew that, if I moved to get closer to that magic digit, I would draw attention to us that would do nothing but humiliate me.

I thought it couldn’t get any hotter than it was already, and then Yana looked up from the table where she was taking orders just as I looked over at her! Suddenly, the image of her looking down at Paul between her legs was superimposed over the real Yana. That “charge” that Paul was talking about in his story took on a life of its own. In that instant, I knew that I was going to be seducing her and I knew it was going to happen soon!

Paul touched my chin and pulled me back under his spell. As I looked deeply into his eyes again, I could feel my acceptance of his control deepen and any lingering resistance to my newly awakened bi-sexuality crumble. As he continued his story of dominating and penetrating Yana on that night months ago, I longed for him to allow me the same privilege. Every breath I took was coupled with a fresh thought, all variations on a theme: control me, dominate me, penetrate me!

He returned to his story.

“I heard her moan. I guess it wasn’t really a moan, it was more of a mew, like a cat makes when you stroke them just right. Very high pitched and breathy. I kept licking her, but looked up again as she shifted her weight so she could lean on the kitchen counter and get some leverage. Then she tried grinding her pussy into my tongue, but I just backed off on the pressure a little bit. She bent her knees, frustrated, trying to get me to go deeper or harder, but I just kept pulling back and keeping the pressure and the pace steady. She finally moaned louder, using my name this time, in a kind of petulant little whine—‘Pauuuul!’ I knew that was all she wrote.”

“I told her to stand still. I unbuckled her sandals and pulled them off, one at a time, maintaining a firm grip on her calf each time so she knew who was in charge, even though I was doing the service. Then I skinned the pants completely down her legs and lifted each leg out. She was leaning against the counter, literally panting for it-kind of like you are, baby-and waiting for my next move. This was a big deal, you understand, her waiting for me to decide how it was going to go. She’d given up trying to manipulate the situation for a few minutes because I’d caught her so completely off guard. This is how I know she WANTS to be controlled too—just like you do.”

I would’ve asked how he knew me so well, diary, but the way I was behaving made it pretty darn clear what a slut I am and what I wanted from him. I also didn’t ask because I didn’t have the breath for it. It was like my whole universe was three points of contact between us-our eyes, my hand on the back of his neck and his finger in my pussy.

And then I felt another presence in our intimate space. Our contact was partially broken as Paul shifted to face Yana. His finger retreated from my clit, but still rested on my thigh as she set out appetizer plate in front of us, then presented him with a wine bottle. I was totally out of the loop on their conversation. No idea what was said. My brain was trying to clear the jumble of impressions: Yana, naked in Paul’s kitchen versus Yana, standing in front of me in a white shirt, black slacks and tie; throbbing heat and dampness from between my legs versus the background buzz of the restaurant full of people; the pulsing electricity of Paul’s hand on my thigh versus the heat I could feel from that table of businessmen in front of us, their chairs shifted so they could all look at us with just a slight turn of the head-and the realization that they must have been watching us! I was in such a fog that I don’t really remember registering any of this, and at the same time every piece of it came into my brain with crystal clarity. Before I’d really had a chance to recover, Paul had sampled the wine and ordered our entrees and Yana had gone. Had she noticed anything? Did she know what we were talking about?

“Now, where were we?” Paul asked, as he turned to face me again. “Oh, yeah. Yana was naked and leaning up against my kitchen counter, begging me to suck her pussy. I stood up, grabbed her waist and spun her around, then slapped her ass and sent her scurrying into the living room. Nice image of those tight cheeks bouncing across the room, by the way. I told her to go over to the window and she did as she was told-which was very unusual for Yana. You remember the way my windows are set deep into the walls of the apartment because of that boxy roofline? Well, I opened the drapes and have her lean over with her hands on that deep windowsill, so she was looking out the window into the courtyard below and the window across the way. Then I slid up behind her and unzipped. She was panting for it now, saying all this stuff in Spanish that I knew meant she was really hot. I don’t even think she realized my neighbor was watching

“See, I have this family who were my neighbors across the way and I saw the teenage son in his room almost every night, sitting at his computer, playing games on-line or surfing for porn or something. He was this chunky, greasy-haired kid, probably all of fifteen, and I’d never seen a girl near their apartment, much less in this guy’s room, so I thought I’d give him a little thrill. He was there tonight, just sitting in the glow of his computer screen in a dark room.

“As I eased into her from behind, I could see our reflection in the darkened window. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was open and her boobs swaying with our rhythm. I was going too slow, I guess, and she only had one way of exerting any control in the situation now, so she slammed that tight little ass back against me and let out a sharp little cry, followed by this deep moan of satisfaction. Apparently, she liked what that did for her, ‘cause she kept snapping her hips back every time I stroked in, just to make sure she got the maximum penetration. We got pretty active and Yana had to shift her weight forward. Her right hand slipped. She pulled it up and slapped it against the window to hold herself in place. Didn’t want to lose an inch of the dicking I was giving her. Anyway, my neighbor’s window must’ve been open, ‘cause he heard the sound and glanced up from his screen—and he just froze. We were back-lit by the lamps in the room, but the lights were on in the courtyard and I knew from experience that you could see right in to people’s apartments at night if they had their drapes open. He saw us, clear as day, but Yana’s eyes were still closed so she didn’t see him.”

And then Paul just stopped talking. I suddenly realized my eyes were closed. All my focus was on getting to the orgasm he was being so careful to deny me. I was living that story with him in my mind’s eye while my body was pulled in to the sensory experience of his finger in my pussy and the feeling of his warm breath on my neck. And then he stopped moving and talking all at once. I felt myself about to flip completely out of my skin. Paul had worked me up to such a pitch in just the few seconds since Yana had left the table that I wanted to scream

Slowly, regretfully, I came down from my high. I opened my eyes. I grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand up to my face.

“What happened? Did she notice him?”

“What do you think happened?”

“I think she opened her eyes when she came and she saw your neighbor boy watching and jerking himself off and she slapped you silly when she recovered enough to control her arms. I also think she still fantasizes about what you did to her.”

“That’s pretty close. She tried to slap me, but I took her over my knee and spanked her good, right there where the kid could watch. Then she got dressed and we went dancing. And she made me pay for it for the rest of the week with some unmerciful teasing in situations where I couldn’t do anything about it. I don’t know about that last bit. I think she liked my control over her a little too much, though, so maybe she does still fantasize about it.”

“You still want her?” I asked.

“Like I said, sweetie, again and again and again.”

“Would you like my help with that?” I heard myself saying, as my tongue darted out to taste his fingers, still damp with my juice.

“Open your legs a little bit,” he said. I did what he asked instantly, even though his order seemed like a total non sequitor. At least it did until I looked up and noticed the table of older gentlemen next to our booth. They were looking at us-at me, really—and I suddenly realized that, since the booth was a step up from the floor, they had a clear view under the table and had been watching what Paul was doing to me! Paul didn’t even have to touch me again. I’d been so close and the sudden stab of humiliation and excitement took me right over the edge into an orgasm I had to struggle to conceal from the whole restaurant. I bit my lip, my eyes closed, and the deep, loud moan I wanted to let out became a low, quiet moan into Paul’s neck as I turned my head and ducked into his shoulder.

I couldn’t believe what I’d said to him, couldn’t believe the things he made me do. Even more, I was again struck by how much I was willing to do for him. I was, absolutely, his total slut. I knew it earlier today when he had me naked and sucking him off in the theatre, but in this moment, it sank into me like . . . like his hard cock. He was my master and my soulmate. I was his slave—and I felt more free than I’d ever felt in my life.

I looked up at him, pretending that the last couple of minutes since I last spoke hadn’t happened, and said: “I think Yana’s very pretty, and if you still want her, then I know I would enjoy her too—but I would never do anything like that without your permission, Paul.”

“You’ve got it.” He patted my head in a way that told me my actions had met with his approval. And then, as an afterthought, he added something that gave my pussy a sexy jolt, “And if you get a chance to be with her alone somewhere for a few minutes, take it. I want her to come home with us tonight.”

I worked hard to be as tempting as possible to Ileana for the rest of the night, right through the salads and heading into the main course. Several glasses of wine made me bolder as the evening went on. My behavior was also of intense interest to the men at the neighboring table, and I threw an occasional coy glance their way as well, flashing them little glimpses of my bare pussy whenever Yana wasn’t around. Paul helped, caressing my thighs under the table, easing my skirt up and tickling my still-damp outer lips with his sensitive fingers. We didn’t say much, but we managed to look like we were carrying on a fairly normal conversation, even as my excitement built yet again.

As Yana walked by the table at one point, I flipped my hair mercilessly, showing loads of neck. Then, when she stopped to see if we needed anything, I asked about what she was wearing to the club tonight. She said she had a strapless top and a pleated mini that was just to die for, but that she wished she had a pair of shoes like mine. I said they’d look great on her, I bet, and she smiled, then leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Y’know, my girlfriend just loves open-toed sandals like yours. She starts by kissing my toes, then unstraps them while she works her way up my leg. My boyfriend is more interested in lingerie.”

I must have looked kind of wide-eyed as she pulled back, but I managed a smile. It was pretty obvious that I was succeeding in the mission Paul had set for me-but if she was already in a relationship . . . or two . . . was it fair of me to tempt her? I thought about her lips near my ear, her warm, sweet breath, and the dance of her fingers in my hair and made up my mind that, if all is fair in love and war, lust must trump everything.

More evidence of that truth came a minute later, when the table of guys that had been watching me all night stood to leave. The older one, who seemed to be the one in charge, walked over to the table and spoke to Paul.

“I’ve taken the liberty of paying for your dinner, including a generous tip for your lovely waitress. It seemed only fair, considering how much enjoyment we’ve had from watching your date this evening. The view aside, the scent of her arousal added a piquancy to dessert.”

Paul seemed surprised, but accepted the gesture graciously. I was too stunned by what he’d said to hear much of what happened for a minute. They could SMELL me?! I shivered as my humiliation deepened, my sense of being exposed was so acute-but I realized it didn’t make me feel violated at all, just more . . . and this is really perverse, diary, but I’m really trying to tell you the truth . . . I felt more grateful to Paul.

The man then pulled a business card out of his jacket and handed it to Paul. I didn’t even catch a glimpse of it, I was so caught up in my own thoughts. The guy was ignoring me now, even though I’d been the center of attention for his whole table for the last hour. I felt like was just an appendage to my man-and I guess, as far as he was concerned, I was. Heck, as far as I was concerned, that was pretty damn true!

“I hope you don’t consider me too forward, but I run a sales-based business. Should your young lady ever like to make some money helping me out with some of my clients, I could promise to make it very worth her while. And yours.”

Paul didn’t breath for a second, but he was still looking at the card, so I don’t think the man saw that. I realized what he was suggesting immediately and, again, my thoughts on the subject took a turn for the perverse. I was terrified that Paul might take him up on his offer, turning me into a whore. And then my terror was replaced with an expanding warmth as it occurred to me that, if that was what Paul wanted me to do, it would be exactly the right thing and, however humiliating I found it to be, I wouldn’t be this man’s whore, I’d be Paul’s.

Still, I was relieved-and a little puzzled—when Paul looked up, he looked totally calm and cool and said: “Thank you Mister Collins. I don’t believe I’d be interested in the proposition for Kim, but I may be able to offer you other help in the future.” He slipped the card into his shirt pocket and Paul thanked him for his generous gesture in paying for dinner.

I wanted to ask Paul about what he’d meant as soon as Mr. Collins stepped away, but Yana was approaching the table with our dessert. Our distinguished voyeur thanked Paul again, joined his colleagues, and left.

As Yana set a tower of chocolate, pralines and whipped cream in front of us, she asked about my necklace, a gold heart pendant, I invited her to touch it. As she did, I pushed into her hand, persuading her fingers to dip into the v-neck of my dress and tease my nipple. She looked shocked for a second, then parted her fingers around the hard pebble it had become and squeezed, once, before sliding her hand out. ““Very nice,” she murmured. My breathing was heavier. Her voice was a little shaky.

Paul continued gently caressing every part of me below the tablecloth throughout dessert. I was so grateful not to be sitting on my skirt with all the moisture I was generating. Even if the whole restaurant could smell me, I wouldn’t ruin “The Terminator” with my juices.

I hardly tasted the beautiful confection because I was on the verge of cumming again. Yana was finally not so busy that she had time to notice us and figure out exactly what was happening, because she kept cruising by, smiling at us suggestively and asking if everything was to our satisfaction. She drawled out that last word with a little flick of her tongue that belonged right beside Paul’s fingers, deep in my pussy.

With each trip by our table after that, Yana’s looks grew more searching, her glances at Paul more libidinous, and her attention to our table almost excessive. By the time we were done with the dessert, Yana was looking at us like Paul was going to be her main course and I was destined to be her entire diet of sweets for the month. I was ready to be a multi-course meal for both of them.

As Yana came by for the empty dessert plates, Paul insisted that she toast us with the last of the champagne. Yana glanced around and saw her boss by the bar, scanning the room. “Can’t do it, Paul. Gene would fire me in a second if he saw me drinking alcohol with a customer.”

Paul smiled and said, “Well, you could have water and we could finish the champagne. And just so it’s not a total waste, why don’t you get a head start on the rest of us with this,” and he pulled a little packet of white powder out of his shirt pocket and deftly dumped it into the fresh glass of water she’d just set down.

Yana looked first at Paul, then at the milky tendrils of powder dissolving in the water, with some suspicion. “And what is THAT?”

“Just a variation on X, Yana. Like we used to do at the clubs sometimes. This is powder, not pills and I was going to ask Kim if she wanted to try it later, but then we started drinking and X and alcohol don’t mix. So, if you promise you won’t drink tonight . . . " his words trailed off as he offered her the glass.

She smiled as she raised the glass and said, “You always did get the good stuff when you wanted it. Kim, Paul doesn’t do drugs much, but he always went first class when he did.”

We raised our glasses in a toast. Paul leaned into me and whispered, very, very softly so there was no way Yana could hear, “Ask for the ladies room, don’t be surprised when she suggests an alternative. Go with what I told you and follow your instincts.”

I asked for directions to the ladies’ room. Paul said that he needed to make a quick phone call and would step out to the bar, which had quieted down since we arrived. The dining room was almost empty, too. We were Yana’s last table of the night.

As Paul walked away, Yana said, “Why don’t you come back through the kitchen with me. We’ve got a bathroom and a little co-ed locker room/shower combo. I’m done with my side work, so I’m going to change anyway and hang at the bar if there’s time before we go.”

Here was the opportunity Paul had suggested I take, if it came up. It was almost like he knew it would and I figured that, if he knew Yana as well as I suspected he did, he did know it would come up.

We walked back through the kitchen and all the line cooks stopped their clean-up to give us the eye. Again, my dress was doing its job. There was a sliding sign on the door that showed a little man or woman figure depending on how it was positioned. I guess that allowed the owners to pretend the room didn’t go unisex, which probably would’ve upset them. Paul said they were pretty conservative.

Before I knew it, I was in the locker room, my business finished, and Yana standing before me in her bra and panties, holding out the little outfit she’d described earlier. It was adorable. Just like something I would have picked out for clubwear-very sexy, but not slutty. Watching her standing there like that, posed with her weight held just so, with a “look at you looking at me” smile on her face and Paul’s instructions ringing right beside my own inclinations in my head, I blurted out the one thing guaranteed to get this ball rolling without further ado: “Oh, can I try it on?”

Her eyebrows arched up, but her smile deepened and I knew it was go for broke time. She handed me the outfit and, as I turned to hang it on the open locker door, I heard the click of the door lock. Yana said, “Just in case you don’t like being surprised by somebody walking in while you’re undressed.”

I didn’t respond directly, just turned my back to her and gestured for her to unzip me. Feeling her fingers at the base of my neck sent a shiver right down my spine and beyond. She made a point of standing very close behind me, caressing me with her free hand on my shoulder as the zipper dropped to the small of my back. She tugged the dress off my right shoulder, I shrugged it off my left, and “The Terminator” dropped to the floor. As I stepped out of it, I stepped back into her and her arms responded by encircling my waist and rising to cup my titties. I rolled my head back and she dove under my hair with greedy lips. I moaned and my nipples, already burning from a night of teasing from Paul, pulsed under her delicate fingers.

I was about to just sink into it and let her have her way with me, but then I remembered all the things Paul had revealed to me about her. And I recalled, too, that submitting to Paul was one thing—the only thing, in fact—so submitting to her was out of the question. She was going to have to give me what I needed on MY terms . . . and wow, did that thought put some sizzle in my snatch! (Like it needed any more by that point in the evening.)

It was hard, but I broke from her embrace, spun around and took her face in my hands. We were almost exactly the same height, but I was still wearing my heels, so it was easy plunge my tongue into her mouth, which was open in a small ‘oh’ of surprise. My hands skimmed down her body, teasing, searching hotly among the many soft, curvy surfaces she offered. Finally one hand came to rest on her left butt cheek and the other nuzzled under her lacey black bra to free up some of that mocha-brown boob I’d been fantasizing about all night. I pulled her into me as roughly as I could-I’m not all that strong, but I had plenty of motivation. She grunted, kind of surprised by the sudden turn of things, then got into it. I kissed down her neck to the nipple my hand had revealed, then sucked it deep into my mouth like it was the last gumdrop in the world and I was a gumdrop junkie. Her panting sharpened and was joined by something gutteral that crawled up from her belly, through her throat and out between clenched teeth.

Man, this sexual control thing was HOT!

Her hands went into my hair, holding me to her until I pulled back, leaving her panting for more. I held her at arm’s length. I was panting too, but I did my best to keep it on the inside and give her my best ice queen stare. I just tried to do my best imitation of Paul from that point on.

“Take off your bra and panties.”

She tried to make it smooth and seductive, but she was too hot and bothered Her impatience revealed itself in her timing, which was just a little too fast to be considered “in control.” I felt real pride in this, since Paul had told me how much she liked her sense of control.

Once she was naked, I just looked at her. She hesitated, bit her lip, and said what I’d been thinking just a minute earlier: “I . . . I can’t believe . . . All night I’ve been thinking about was getting YOU this hot . . . and now . . .” It dawned on me that she was still playing with me. I hadn’t won yet. We were still in the middle of the game. She was going with the flow and giving me what she thought I wanted with the idea of getting my sympathy, then turning the tables. I could see the wheels turning. She had confidence in her abilities as a lover and figured even if she got me off first, she’d have me begging for more after a dose of what she could offer. She might very well think so, but the way I was feeling, I wouldn’t have advised anyone to bet on that horse.

“Yana, I think you and Paul know each other a lot better than he’s let on. I also think you two have some big plan for me to be in the middle of Paul and Yana sandwich, and that’s fine-but I’m not going to go along to get along and hope I get mine, ‘cause you two have been messing me with all night. If you want a chance to get some more of what you just got from me, you’re going to have to earn it. Get on your knees.”

If the look of shock on her face, accompanied by the slow collapse of her knees as she descended to the floor was any measure of what she was feeling, she’d never been spoken to like that by a potential lover before in her sweet, promiscuous young life. Of course, I’d never said (or even really THOUGHT) anything like that before myself, so you could have knocked me over with a feather. Instead, I sat on the cushy bench in the middle of the locker room and spread my legs, then reached out, caressed her cheek with my fingers, then cradled her chin in my hand.

I smiled down at her-my absolute sweetest smile, I swear. It’s the one I use when I want a teacher to give me a break on some homework I missed or the one I used to use on boys when I wanted them to spend money on me and not expect to get anything more than I was willing to give in return. Then, and I swear, diary, this is exactly what I did and said, I slid my hand back up her check, grabbed a big handful of Yana’s thick, dark curls, and pulled her into my pussy, saying, “Make it good, you little tease!”

And oooooh, she did. I’ve only had guys go down on me a few times and Paul is by far the best. When you combine all the other things he does for me sexually, he’s the absolute best overall. But for sheer, mind-blowing cunnilingus, it’s very hard for any guy to compete with a hot chick who knows what she’s doing. I learned that back in high school with my one previous lesbian experience and over the last couple of days, which we’ll get to in a minute.

I guess it’s true that we know how the equipment works and where everything is located better than guys do. I also think it’s true that women generally just care more about making it good for each other. That last wasn’t really Yana’s thing, though. As good as she was, technically, I could tell she was playing to impress me. There was just something about her energy that was all, “look how good I am at this” and not “feel how good I can make you feel” if you know what I mean. Still, she was very good—not that I have a wide basis for comparison so far.

But she did get the job done and she did it in a way that made it VERY hard for me to contain the moans coming up from my toes. It was helped along by back-up reel of images and feelings from the whole night that were running in my head: Paul, slamming into me from behind on my bed, walking through that restaurant knowing I was naked underneath, checking out the sway of Rose’s cheeks and the swish of her hair, the teasing and storytelling through dinner, Mr. Collins and his business colleagues watching, Yana teasing and flirting, I had to bite my hair at one point to keep a scream of pure, unadulterated OHMYGODINHEAVEN! from echoing through the heavy locker room door to the near-empty dining room.

And she kept at it after the first big finish, too. I’ll give her credit for being thorough. She made sure I was done, done, done before she stopped, resting her chin on my belly and smiling up at me with my snatch-juice all over her pretty face and hair.

I sat up, pulled her up into a deep kiss. As our nipples touched and the weight of our breasts pressed against each other, she almost managed to get me into her game by tangling her fingers in my hair and gently urging me down. It wasn’t a very convincing effort. She seemed mostly passive and a little out of it-hungry for it, but not really willing to go for it. It was a lot different than what I expected, based on Paul’s descriptions, though I still think it surprised her when I pulled away.

“You’ve got to ask Paul’s permission before you get anything else from me. And I think you’re probably going to have to apologize really sweetly to him for trying to seduce his girlfriend.”

With that, I got up and started putting on her outfit. It looked great on me, just like I knew it would. Probably fit Yana like she was poured into it, but on me it was more girly and cute.

Looking at her sitting there on the floor, her fingers dipping into her pussy as she just watched me dress, I could tell she was a little stunned, but almost as dazed by lust as by the shock of what had just transpired. She eyed the door, calculating if she’d have enough time to get herself off before someone else needed to get in here.

“I don’t think you’re going to make it, sweetie,” I said, tying the halter top behind my neck. “Soon as I’m dressed, I’m marching out of here. If I were you, I’d put on my dress—I think it’s going to be a little tight up top for you, but you’ll probably like that slutty look-and get out to the bar. We’re heading to the club with Matt and Rose soon.”

I couldn’t believe what a haughty little bitch I was being with her. I’m not usually like that at all. At least I don’t think I am. But I sure let it out that night. Maybe it was like I said and it was all about how she’d been teasing me all night and what Paul had told me about her, but right now, she didn’t look like a tease or a manipulator at all. She just looked like she was . . . hypnotized or something.

As I touched up my make-up in the big mirror over the sink, I added, in a kind of off-hand way that made it sound even more catty than it probably was, “Come to think of it, you might want to wash up a little first. I bet you really smell like sex.”

As soon as I walked into the bar, Paul looked up and smiled at me. He paid me a few compliments on my new outfit, asked if Yana was almost ready, and I told him she probably was . . . and that she might have something to say to him. He said, “Yeah, I bet she might. Let me go talk to her right now. Order whatever you want. Just be careful, Matt’s warming up for his shift at the Lizard and he’s got a heavy hand.”

PAUL

When Kim came back into the restaurant bar wearing the outfit Yana had described for herself that night, I knew I was in business. In fact, I needed to get back there as soon as possible, before the initial phase of the Q’injo effect wore off. If the warm glow on Kim’s cheeks was any indicator, Yana was already bound to her, even if Kim didn’t have a clue what was going on. I needed to make sure she was just as hooked on me.

I didn’t even bother to knock at the locker room door. I just walked in and saw Yana stepping out of the shower with the towel still in her hand.

“Don’t even bother putting that on,” I said, locking the door behind me. “I think you owe me an apology.” Since I didn’t want to waste any time, I was unzipping my pants as I crossed the small room. Yana was already on her knees, the towel pooled beside her when I got there, her mouth-and her mind-warm, wet, open and receptive.