The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

She’s running late, so Lucy’s afraid she won’t make it to the physics library before Tiffany. She likes having time alone with the boys before Tiffany arrives. It gives her a chance to joke around and remind them (and herself) that she’s one of the guys, not some alien girl. It’s especially important at the beginning of the semester, since breaks seem to make the boys think (or hope) that she’s just like Tiffany.

Tiffany is, according to the boys, fucking hot, but it’s not something they say to her face. It wouldn’t be polite. Just like it wouldn’t be polite to tell the new professor, Dr. Isabel Truitt, she’s a walking wet dream. But it’s all right to say those things in front of Lucy, because she made damn sure she was their equal from Day One.

Well, almost their equal. None of the boys (with the possible exception of Brian) want to know she thinks Brian is fucking hot, or that she thinks the new art history professor is sex on two legs (again, with the possible exception of Brian). She can get away with saying Dr. Truitt is gorgeous. That’s safe...and true. Dr. Truitt looks like a siren of the silver screen—elegant, composed, confident, and coolly detached. If she was gay, or even bi, Dr. Truitt would be the object of her lust.

Luck is with Lucy. She beats Tiffany to the physics library and manages to get in five minutes of bullshitting before Tiffany saunters in with a tray of brownies. Lucy winces inwardly. She knows she should be friends with Tiffany—they’re the only two girls in the physics program, so they should stick together, but they have different tactics for dealing with being the only girls among a dozen boys.

Tiffany’s tactic is to flaunt her femininity. At first, Lucy admired her for it. She still doesn’t have the guts to constantly remind her classmates and her professors that she is indeed a girl and can indeed hold her own against the boys.

She still remembers the way everyone had admired her last spring when she was going for a summer internship at an engineering firm and had to wear her interview ensemble to class—a flouncy indigo skirt, crisp white blouse, black kitten heels, and tasteful make-up.

“Holy fuck, Lucy!” Brian had said. “You’re a girl!”

Tiffany had glared at her, because by that point, they were well into their rivalry, and Lucy’s outfit was along the lines of what Tiffany wore every day, so Lucy had definitely crossed a line.

Lucy had managed to laugh it off by saying to Brian, “Just for today. If I don’t get this internship—this paid internship—I’ll be mooching food off you next year.”

She had had a bit of sympathy for Tiffany after that. It faded, naturally. Tiffany can’t go a week without doing something to annoy Lucy, just as she can’t go a week without doing something to annoy Tiffany. Lucy knows their rivalry is just as much her fault as Tiffany’s, but it doesn’t make her any more forgiving of Tiffany’s annoyances.

Annoyances like bringing homemade brownies and cookies to their study sessions. It’s like she’s apologizing for being smart by being domestic. Or, Lucy thinks during her less charitable moments, it’s like Tiffany’s advertising her wifely qualities—look, boys, I’m smart, beautiful, and capable of preparing a killer pot-roast. Marry me!

“Hey, everyone! I have brownies. Fresh out of the oven!” Tiffany beams at the mad scramble for her brownies and meets Lucy’s eyes over the table. “So, Lucy, when are you going to bake brownies for everyone?”

“Yeah,” Brian says around a mouthful. “When are you going to bake brownies?”

“For your lazy ass? Never.”

“What if I come over and wash the dishes?”

“Licking the mixing bowl clean doesn’t count as washing.”

Tiffany takes the seat across from Brian. “It does at my house.”

“Yeah?” Brian swallows the last of his brownie. “Give me a call the next time you bake, then.”

When Brian reaches for another brownie, Tiffany gives Lucy a superior little smirk.

“So in other words,” Lucy says, “the time after that, you’ll be mixing dried Brian spit into your cookie dough. Yummy.”

Everyone pauses. There’s not quite a collective shudder, but Lucy doesn’t need one. Tiffany’s narrow-eyed glare is enough.

Brian snorts, breaking the moment. “Bet you’ll scarf down those cookies, Lucy.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please. If I wanted your spit, I’d give you a sloppy kiss.” She flips open her binder. “Now, can we please take a look at the E&M assignment?”

Tiffany purses her lips, but she opens her E&M textbook instead of trying to salvage a win. “What do you all think of Dr. Truitt?”

The boys all share a look, and Lucy can tell they’re trying not to laugh. Brian will be his usual idiot self and blurt out something like, “She’s hot!” unless she heads him off, so she says, “She’s going to be tough.” Hopefully tough like Anderson, the head of the department. Nobody gets through his mechanics class unscathed, but everyone emerges with a firm grasp of Newtonian dynamics.

“I think she’s going to be fabulous.”

There’s a challenge in Tiffany’s tone. Lucy almost rises to it, but then she recalls the way Dr. Truitt surveyed their class the first day, ignoring Brian’s crude wolf-whistle. She has to nod in agreement. Dr. Truitt is going to be fucking fabulous.

It’s hard to concentrate in electromagnetic theory. Lucy keeps...well, not quite daydreaming, but drifting. There’s something wrong with the environmental controls in the room, so instead of AC, they have heat. Midway through each class, Lucy’s jeans cling uncomfortably to her legs, and she goes through the rest of the day feeling sticky and dirty and all out-of-sorts.

Dr. Truitt’s mesmerizing voice doesn’t help her attention span, either. At least Lucy’s not the only one struggling to pay attention. Tiffany always seems to be in a trance. Part of what keeps Lucy from completely drifting off and fantasizing about frolicking on some tropical island in a cute little sundress is the savage pleasure of having one up on Tiffany. If it weren’t for her notes—neatly copied, color-coded, and tabbed every evening—Tiffany wouldn’t be passing the class. Lucy can tell Tiffany hates having to rely on her by the strained smile she flashes every time she asks to photocopy Lucy’s notes.

Lucy’s pleasure is somewhat dampened by the fact everyone else in the class copies her notes, too. She usually doesn’t mind letting people borrow them, but it’s a bit annoying that the boys are too busy staring at Dr. Truitt’s tits to pay attention.

She’d accuse Tiffany of the same crudeness, but Tiffany is always staring at Dr. Truitt like a eager puppy. She gets this hopeful look every time Dr. Truitt makes eye contact with her and then kind of deflates when the moment passes. Lucy can’t decide if it’s cute or sad.

Sad, she decides, and then she catches herself doing the same thing.

“Man, Lucy, I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Brian says at one of their study sessions in late October.

Lucy reaches past him for one of the chocolate chip cookies Tiffany baked. “Fail.” She catches Tiffany’s eye as she bites into the cookie.

The look Tiffany gives her is one of undiluted hate. Lucy smiles sweetly and flicks crumbs off her notes. “So I’m still having trouble with problem 3.34. I think I’m missing something simple.”

“Oh!” Tiffany’s expression is triumphant as she flips through her notebook. “I’ve got that one. Let’s work it through on the board.” She minces to the front of the room and starts writing the answer on the chalkboard.

Lucy catches Brian admiring the way Tiffany’s high heels emphasize the graceful curve of her calves. Or maybe he’s admiring the perky set of her ass. His eyes can’t quite decide where they want to settle, and Lucy can’t exactly blame then. Tiffany has nice legs and a very nice ass.

“See?” Tiffany circles the answer with a flourish and spins to face them with a dazzling smile.

Lucy blinks. Holy fuck, had she really just been admiring Tiffany’s ass? Maybe she’s been hanging out with the boys a little too much.

Thanksgiving break is a welcome relief. Lucy doesn’t go anywhere. Even if she could afford the gas money to drive back to Montana, she couldn’t afford the time. As usual, each her professors think they’re the only one assigning any sort of work over the holiday. Dr. Truitt’s take-home test alone is about thirty hours of work.

Lucy can’t bring herself to think of Dr. Truitt as an evil bitch, but the test is brutal. She’s glad she’s right about Dr. Truitt being tough like Professor Anderson, but that doesn’t mean she enjoys having her ass kicked. She wonders what Tiffany thinks of the test.

She frowns. She’s been thinking about Tiffany a lot lately, certainly more than she should be. It’s just that there’s something different about their rivalry. It’s like they’re fighting over everything.

Dr. Truitt has a habit of calling on her more than Tiffany. At least, Lucy thinks so. She hasn’t exactly been keeping a tally. But she has noticed how Tiffany gets that kicked puppy look every time Dr. Truitt overlooks her in class. She’s also noticed how she gets a hot bolt of pleasure every time Dr. Truitt calls on her instead of Tiffany.

She and Tiffany snipe at each other constantly now. Lucy knows it needs to stop. Whenever she and Tiffany are in the physics library together, everyone tenses up. Even Brian, who usually chooses to ignore the fact she and Tiffany hate each other, is nervous and short-tempered.

“What, did you sleep with her boyfriend?” he asks when he’s walking her home from the library Wednesday night. It’s snowing, and their progress is slow because it’s dark and there’s a layer of ice under the fresh snow.

“No.” Lucy’s grateful for the dark. It’s exactly the question she expected, but she feels the blush creep across her cheeks.

“She slept with yours?”

“No. There was no sleeping.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did either of you fuck the other’s boyfriend?”

She playsmacked him, then clutched his arm to keep her footing. “I understood you. There was no fucking, sucking, heavy petting, or other ‘get your hands off my man you skanky slut’ activity. We’re just...well, we’re like you and Kent.”

“No. Kent and I are civil.”

“Please. The two of you trash talk all the time.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what guys do.”

“And girls do what Tiffany and I do.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Their boots crunch in the snow, and Lucy thinks she just said the wrong thing. But it’s true...kind of. She blinks snowflakes from her lashes and wonders if she should bother explaining.

“You two are weird,” Brian says.

“It’s a Venus/Mars thing.”

“Right.” He gives her a long look when they reach her dorm. “Have a good Thanksgiving, Lucy.”

She smiles. “You, too.”

He waves, and Lucy stomps the snow off her boots and hurries up to her single to get started on her E&M test. It kicks her ass just as she knew it would, but when she finishes late Saturday night, she feels a heady rush of pride. She did damn good work.

In fact, she did so good, she should treat herself to pumpkin pie. No, she should treat the class to pumpkin pie! She giggles. Wouldn’t that piss off Tiffany? She could bake a pumpkin pie—and maybe an apple pie, too, because what’s more Happy Homemaker than apple pie?—and bring it to Monday’s study session. Oh, and she could wear a skirt and blouse, put on some makeup, and take some time with her hair to really show up Tiffany.

The idea is tempting. So tempting that Lucy digs out her indigo skirt and white blouse and hangs them over her desk chair. She comes to her senses about the pies after a few hours of sleep, but she doesn’t put the outfit away.

She’s too chicken to wear the skirt on Monday, though Lucy pretends her decision to wear a pair of black dress slacks is based on the fact it’s fucking cold outside. Pretends, because despite the cold, she leaves the top two buttons of her blouse undone so she’s displaying a tasteful (yet impressive) amount of cleavage.

Brian eyes said display of cleavage as she settles into her seat next to him a whole five minutes before the start of E&M. “When did you grow those?”

“During puberty.”

“And you’re just now showing them off?”

“Maybe I like it when people make eye contact with me.”

He looks embarrassed, but not embarrassed enough, Lucy notices, to keep his eyes off Dr. Truitt’s tits when she walks in.

Is it just her imagination, or is Dr. Truitt sneaking glances at her? Lucy shifts and rolls her shoulders back so her blouse gapes a bit wider. Dr. Truitt’s normal half-smile widens ever so slightly. It gives Lucy the same hot bolt of pleasure she gets when Dr. Truitt calls on her instead of Tiffany.

“Whore,” Tiffany mutters when Lucy passes her in the hall after class.

That attempted dig makes it worth all the ogling. Lucy smiles and practically skips through the rest of her day.

In the weeks leading up to finals, Lucy knows something is wrong. First, her concentration in E&M is shit. She barely manages to scrape together workable notes. It’s Tiffany’s fault.

No, that’s not right. Something’s wrong with Tiffany, too, and whatever it is, it’s not Tiffany’s fault.

There’s no way Tiffany would go for the schoolgirl slut look under normal circumstances. Her pleated plaid skirt barely covers her ass. Her white knee-highs and black Mary James only emphasize her parody of a skirt. The white blouse is a little better. It’s buttoned, at least, but the neck is cut too low to be decent, and the fabric is sheer enough to reveal that Tiffany is not immune to the cold.

But the worst part of the whole ensemble are the pigtails with little plastic kitties on the rubber bands. Okay, the kitties are cute, and their little red bows match Tiffany’s bra, but still. It’s not right.

Lucy thinks it’s Dr. Truitt’s fault. She doesn’t know how, why, or if she can prove it. It’s just a gut instinct.

She’s learned to trust her gut instincts, as unscientific as the practice is. She wonders if she should talk to Dr. Truitt. Her instincts tell her it’s a bad idea.

Her instincts tell her to talk to Tiffany. It’s not something Lucy wants to do, so her instincts have to nag her for a few days before she finally decides to follow Tiffany into the bathroom after E&M for a quick chat. It’s the only place she can think of where they can safely talk without too much danger of being overheard.

Dr. Truitt holds Lucy after class for a moment to compliment her perfect score on the last test. Lucy basks in the warmth of Dr. Truitt’s friendly smile, and the compliment kind of makes her feel like smooth caramel. She knows she has to be gazing at Dr. Truitt with the same slavish devotion as Tiffany, but she can’t help it. Dr. Truitt is so encouraging! And it feels so nice to hear how well she’s doing. So very nice.

By the time Lucy makes it to the bathroom, Tiffany’s in a stall. Just as Lucy is about to say, “I’d like to talk to you when you’re done,” Tiffany lets out a soft, low moan.

Lucy snaps her mouth shut. She had to have misheard. Tiffany lets out another low moan, proving her wrong. Lucy’s masturbated enough to know what the moans mean. She should leave, but horrified fascination holds Lucy in place. Does Tiffany know she’s not alone?

Now that she knows what Tiffany is doing, Lucy can her soft panting. She thinks she can also hear the rhythmic squish of Tiffany’s fingers, but that’s probably wishful thinking.

Lucy feels herself blush. In embarrassment, she tells herself, but the heat spreads until her pussy is wet and her are nipples deliciously tight. She runs her thumbs over them before she realizes what she’s doing.

Tiffany’s feet slide further apart. She gasps and lets loose a high, strangled cry. It’s somewhat muffled, so Lucy figures she’s gasping into her sleeve.

Lucy bites her lower lip to keep from groaning. She realizes she’s still fondling herself and forces her hands behind her back. What the fuck is she doing?

After a moment, Tiffany emerges from her stall holding a glistening red dildo. Her eyes are slightly unfocused, her cheeks pink with pleasure. Her blush deepens to a lovely shade of red when she sees Lucy standing in front of the sinks. Then she notices Lucy’s state, and her slow grin makes Lucy’s stomach lurch.

“You’re here to talk about Dr. Truitt.”

Lucy’s throat is dry. She can’t look away from the dildo, slick with Tiffany’s juices. She swallows, but it doesn’t do anything. Then Tiffany’s statement registers. Lucy nods.

Tiffany stalks towards her, brandishing the dildo like a weapon. Lucy still can’t look away from it. She’s not exactly repressed, but she doesn’t use toys to get herself off. She’s oddly fascinated that Tiffany does.

Tiffany’s smile widens. Lucy starts to say, “Dr. Truitt has done something to us,” but Tiffany traces Lucy’s lips with the dildo, and Lucy’s overwhelmed by the cold slickness and the musk and the feral expression on Tiffany’s face.

Tiffany backs Lucy up against the sink and presses against her. She trails the dildo down Lucy’s neck, then along the curve of her collarbone. Lucy’s panting—quick, short breaths that make her dizzy.

She tries to push Tiffany away, but her hands don’t cooperate. They’re more interested in Tiffany’s breasts. Lucy can’t really blame them. Tiffany’s breasts are divine.

So are Tiffany’s hands, both the one sliding the dildo between Lucy’s breasts and the one unfastening her pants. Lucy whimpers as her pants pool around her ankles. Her panties are soaked. She can smell herself now, desperate and sharp, and she’s horrified by the spike of pleasure Tiffany’s touch sends through her.

“I didn’t hate you before this year.” Tiffany looks surprising thoughtful as she strokes Lucy through her panties. Her eyes snap back into focus, and she smiles faintly. “But that’s not the same as liking you.”

“No,” Lucy says between pants.

“We were never going to be friends.” She releases Lucy and steps back, pulling the dildo out from between Lucy’s breasts slowly. She gives its head a quick swipe with her tongue. “I’ve fantasized about this. I keep daydreaming during class.”

Lucy shakes her head. Her pulse screams in her ears, and her nerves alternate between burning and freezing. Her instincts are arguing—run and hide; stay and fuck Tiffany senseless—and Lucy honestly doesn’t know which side she wants to win.

“I want you naked.”

Lucy finds herself stripping off the rest of her clothes. She stands naked before Tiffany, trembling slightly because of cold or fear or both. Tiffany’s gaze is hungry and out of place with here eerily flat tone.

Tiffany reaches out and scrapes her nails down one of Lucy’s breasts hard enough to leave a thin red line. She pinches the nipple until Lucy hisses.

“I hear Brian and the others talking,” Tiffany says. “They wouldn’t mind bending you over a table.”

“Or you.”

They share a smile.

Tiffany pinches her other nipple. “I’m going to bend you over the sink. I want you watching me in the mirror.”

“Someone—” Lucy clamps her mouth shut, She’s naked, and she’s just now worrying about someone coming in? A little late for protests.

“Someone could come in, yes.” Tiffany guides her into position, bending her over with a firm hand placed halfway up her spine. “But I think Dr. Truitt will arrange for our privacy.”

Lucy meets Tiffany’s eyes in the mirror. “How?”

Tiffany shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.” She slides the dildo along the crack of Lucy’s ass.

The dildo is cool and slides easily into Lucy’s pussy. She gasps at the sudden intrusion. She’s not a virgin, but it’s been so long. Her pussy knows exactly what to do, though, even if it is stretched too wide.

If anything, the almost-pain makes the pleasure better. Tiffany leans over her, reaching around with her free hand to pinch and twist Lucy’s nipples. Lucy arches back against Tiffany, enjoying the way Tiffany’s breasts press into her back.

“I’m going to make you into such a little slut,” Tiffany hisses in her ear.

“What, you’re tired of being the only one?”

“I’m not the one bent over the sink.”

“I’m not the one who,” Lucy gasps as Tiffany changes the angle of the dildo, “runs to the bathroom for relief after class.”

“No? What do you call this?”

Lucy snarls. It trails off into a ragged moan as Tiffany changes the angle yet again and gives her nipple a particularly rough twist.

“I’m going to love seeing how wide I can stretch your slut ass. I have better toys at home for it.”

“I bet you do. I bet you can’t—fuck!—go a night without them.”

“You’re not going to be able to, either.” Tiffany laughs. “Maybe I’ll invite our classmates over. Let them finally do all those things they talk about.”

A brief image of Brian and Kent taking her from both ends makes Lucy shudder and clench hard around the dildo. Yeah, that would be hot. Especially with the others watching, hard and ready for their turn.

“That’s if they’re man enough. I don’t think they are.”

The image switches to the physics professors taking her every possible way while Dr. Truitt looks on with Tiffany’s head buried between her legs. That image makes her come, and Lucy doesn’t care that she sounds like a needy little slut as her wails echo off the tiles.

Tiffany doesn’t give her time to recover. She forces Lucy to her knees and then shoves the dildo into her mouth. Lucy chokes until she finds the rhythm Tiffany wants.

She’s not sure how long she kneels there letting Tiffany fuck her throat like that. She tastes more bitter than she remembers, though she’s not in the habit of licking her fingers clean after having her fun. She’s also not in the habit of deep-throating and gags around a couple of deep thrusts.

Lucy gasps for breath when Tiffany finally withdraws the dildo. For a moment, the only sound is their ragged breathing. Then Lucy recovers enough to stand. She turns to face Tiffany, ready to...what? Deny her? She’s the one who followed Tiffany in here. She’s the one who’s naked. She’s the one who came to images of being used like a little slut.

She’s the one who lost, but this isn’t supposed to be what their rivalry is about.

The bathroom door swishes open. It’s Dr. Truitt. Lucy moves to cover herself, but her hands stop halfway to her breasts. “You’ve—”

Dr. Truitt waves a hand, and Lucy can’t complete her thought. “Yes.” Her smile is terrifying. “Your little rivalry made it so easy.”

So easy to what? Lucy struggles to finish the question.

Dr. Truitt’s smile is warm when she turns to Tiffany. “You’ve done a very good job, Tiffany. I’m very pleased.”

Tiffany beams at her. “Thank you, ma’am!”

Lucy glares at Tiffany. Showoff. Or traitor? She can’t decide.

“Now run along. I need to finish putting Lucy in her place.”

Traitor, Lucy decides.

Lucy stands with her hands bound behind her. Tiffany teases her with a crop, at times whipping her with quick, stinging strokes, at times trailing it lightly down her back, along her hips, and over her breasts, stomach, and thighs. Lucy’s breath comes in quick gasps. Tiffany slides the crop along the curve of Lucy’s breast and then toys with her nipple. Lucy steels herself for a strike, but it doesn’t come. She relaxes.

Dr. Truitt sits on the couch in front of them, sipping a glass of merlot. She smiles like she knows Lucy is struggling to keep thinking of her as Dr. Truitt instead of Mistress.

Tiffany, Lucy is sure, doesn’t even remember Dr. Truitt’s name. She always calls her “ma’am”, even at school.

Three quick strikes to her inner thigh make Lucy yelp. Her thighs are already slick with her own juices, and her arousal sharpens the pain to a pleasant edge. Lucy thinks she’d probably appreciate it no matter what, though she knows if she had a choice, Tiffany wouldn’t be wielding the crop. Brian, perhaps. She had liked him.

Tiffany steps back to admire her work, tapping the crop against her knee. The action serves to draw Lucy’s attention to the strap-on Tiffany wears with confidence. It’s red, naturally, like the thin lines criss-crossing over Lucy’s thighs and ass. The stinging is just beginning to fade into a burn, and Lucy has to fight her urge to squirm and make the heat tingle. Tiffany’s devoted similar attention to her breasts, striking with such precision that it almost looks like she’s wearing red fishnet.

“That’s enough with the crop, Tiffany,” Dr. Truitt says.

Tiffany turns to face her and bows. “Yes ma’am.” She steps back so she’s at Lucy’s side, their shoulders almost touching.

Dr. Truitt sets her wine down, but she doesn’t uncross her legs. She’s going to make them wait. Or rather, she’s going to make Tiffany wait. She devotes most of her attention to Tiffany outside of class. Lucy only has her favor inside the classroom.

Does the in-class attention make Tiffany jealous? She’s certainly envious of Tiffany when Dr. Truitt fucks her. It’s a lovely sight. Dr. Truitt is always elegant, even in nothing but a black corset, sheer stockings, and stiletto heels. Tiffany looks trashy in comparison, and the juxtaposition makes Lucy wet.

Ten minutes pass. Tiffany stands perfectly still, though Lucy can tell by her rapid breathing that she’s anxious. Lucy’s a little anxious herself. The sting of Tiffany’s handiwork fades into a pleasant burn. It only reminds Lucy how much she aches to be used. She wonders if Tiffany feels a similar ache, or if wearing her red cock changes her need. The one time Dr. Truitt had allowed Lucy to wear a cock, her outer lips had become incredibly sensitive, and she had almost—almost—been able feel the clench of Tiffany’s pussy around the dildo as if it were real.

“Kneel, Lucy.”

The order is a surprise, but Dr. Truitt’s hold on her is strong enough that shock can’t override obedience. She kneels gracefully and bows her head.

She hears Dr. Truitt rise and stalk the short distance to them. Lucy doesn’t dare look up, not until Dr. Truitt grabs her by the hair.

“You’ve been such a good little pet. So patient.”

Lucy hates her giddy flare of warmth, but she can’t stop it. Praise from Dr. Truitt is almost as intoxicating as her scent. Lucy can’t help but stare at her pussy, which is beautiful and wet and just begging to be licked. Hot need throbs through Lucy’s pussy in time to her pulse.

“Please,” Lucy begs. She licks her lips and tilts her head forward. “Please, ma’am.”

Dr. Truitt—Mistress—chuckles. She reaches out and strokes Tiffany’s cock. “You may take her from behind, Tiffany.”

“Oh, thank you, ma’am!” Tiffany hurries to obey.

The slow slide of the dildo between Lucy’s lips as Tiffany settles into position makes Lucy moan. Tiffany shifts, and then she enters Lucy. The sharp angle makes Lucy gasp, but like the stinging burn of the crop and Mistress’ firm grip on her hair, it’s good.

Mistress guides Lucy to her pussy. Lucy whimpers in relief. This is where she belongs. And for once, Mistress has chosen her over Tiffany.