The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I thought the move would be good for us.

Obviously, right? Like, no one deliberately goes into a major life decision thinking it’s a terrible idea. “Oh yes, this will be no good for anyone. Let’s do it!”

In this case, I had specifically thought it would be good for us. For me and my girlfriend. As a couple.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Gabrielle is a genius. It’s as simple as that. We’re both programmers, but she absolutely leaves me in the dust. Like, I’m pretty good at what I do, but there’s just no comparison.

We first met working at this little start-up. It made software for accountants to exchange data with other accountants.

Well, no. That would be too exciting. We actually helped maintain the tools that the company used to make software for accountants to exchange data with other accountants. Thrilling stuff, right?

Such boring work should never have attracted anyone as interesting as Gabrielle. I was attracted to her the moment we met…not that I was unique in that regard.

That’s the real problem, in my opinion. When you look at my girlfriend, your first thought isn’t “genius”. It’s more likely to be “holy crap, how does she not fall over?”

Top-heavy is putting it lightly. No matter what she wears, no matter how hard she tries to hide—and believe me, she tries—it’s impossible not to notice Gabrielle’s chest. She’s probably the bustiest person you’ll ever see outside a porn film.

Hell, she may be the bustiest person I’ve seen including porn.

Texas, for all its many strengths, isn’t exactly the most progressive state. And if you’ve ever worked in IT, you’ll know that it’s a male-dominated field. So working IT in Texas?

Yeah, my girlfriend was in for a rough time.

Pretty much from the first day she joined the team, Gabrielle was harassed by our coworkers. Nothing worth reporting, at first—a lot of stares, winks, raised eyebrows.

But the longer she worked there, the more people would push things. One guy called her TII; he claimed it was cos she was like a human calculator, but it was an open secret around the office that it stood for “Tits Indisputably Included”.

He was an idiot. They were all idiots, honestly.

Gabrielle had—well, has, it’s not like that’s changed—a really firm sense of right and wrong. I dunno if it came from her upbringing, or if she was just built like that, but she couldn’t stand unfairness or injustice or anything like that.

She’d done it all ‘right’, y’know? She’d studied, earned her degree, graduated valedictorian, and then worked hard to become the best at what she did. And she’d never stopped learning; her idea of bedside reading was a thick tome about the best way to structure a database, or an article on her phone about the latest version of the code we used at work.

Gabrielle was by far the brightest on the team, but no matter what she did, everyone just treated her like a walking pair of tits.

It really pissed me off, honestly. I was always raised to be respectful of women. And not just in the “tip your hat when they enter a room” kind of way—my parents were both left-wing (by El Paso standards, anyways) and so I’d grown up understanding that women weren’t objects, they were people.

But as much as it bothered me, I have to admit—it kind of worked in my favor. Like, if we’d met in a bar (ignoring the unlikelihood of either of us being in a bar in the first place) I doubt she would’ve even given me a second look.

But compared to the guys we worked with, I was a knight in shining armor. I stood up for her on multiple occasions, calling out the pigs we worked with. And it’s not like it didn’t come with a cost, either; I was pretty unpopular for a long while afterwards.

And I never made a move. I wanted to, of course. Every inch of me wanted to. Gabrielle was one of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen. She was smart, fun, and we had the exact same sense of humor. But after seeing the way everyone else at work treated her, there was no way I was going to risk making her feel even more uncomfortable.

So yeah, I was completely blindsided when she asked me out. It’d be like spotting a celebrity at the mall, and having them run up for your autograph. Sort of surreal and very flattering, but it pretty much makes no sense.

I felt like I’d won the jackpot. Especially when that first date ended with the two of us making out in her car. And when our third date ended with her inviting me up for “coffee”? I didn’t just feel like I’d won the jackpot—I knew I had.

When Gabrielle first stripped in front of me, I basically had to bend down and pick my jaw up from the floor. I wasn’t exaggerating when I say that she did everything possible to hide her tits. I’d known they were big, but as she undid her bra and showed them to me in their full glory…

Hot. Damn.

I should probably describe her to you properly. Gabrielle is about my height—5′10″—but weighs far less than I do. I’m a little pudgy, and my girlfriend is a gym nut. When her tits first came in, she’d been teased at school for being chubby (turns out idiot teenagers don’t really understand how biology works) and ever since then, she’s been kind of obsessed with staying fit.

Her boobs are an F-cup. When she’d told me that, I thought she was kidding—I hadn’t even realized bras went above DD. She has a great ass, too (thank you, yoga) and unlike her breasts, she had no compunctions about showing that off. Whenever we went out, she’d do everything she could to hide her tits, but happily wear skin-tight pants, skirts, tight-fitting dresses…anything she could to show off her perfect bubble butt.

I think part of the reason she likes showing it off is that it’s really sensitive. Another piece of knowledge I hadn’t possessed before we started dating; I had no idea that some women could, like, almost cum just from having their butt fondled.

And god, the noises she made when I slowly slipped my cock between her cheeks…

Gabrielle’s hair is long and brown. When we’d first met it had been around her shoulders, but she’d grown it out over the years. I honestly couldn’t tell you if I liked it better long or short.

I thought she was perfect either way.

I’d worked hard to avoid screwing up the relationship, and for reasons I’ll never understand, she didn’t get sick of me. We moved in together within a year, and while neither of us wanted to get married (possibly a side-effect of growing up in Texas; you see all your friends getting hitched as teenagers and the whole thing loses its lustre) we agreed that we wanted to be together forever.

I love her like I’ve never loved anyone else. Her brain, her sense of humor, her personality. The whole package.

And that’s before even getting to the sex. Oh my god, the sex. I’d never dated someone so incredibly orgasmic. I already mentioned how sensitive her ass was, but you could touch her almost anywhere and get the same reaction.

Not her tits, weirdly enough. The first few times we fucked, all I wanted to do was grope and suck and nibble on her tits. She let me, in a sort of bemused way, but it was obvious that it didn’t do anything for her. It was clearly more for me than for her, you know?

God, those boobs. If she’d decided one night to use them to smother me to death, I would’ve died happy.

But everywhere else—her ass, her thighs, her butt, her neck…even her stomach!—everywhere I touched Gabrielle, she’d respond with a purr, a steamy look in her eyes, and soon we’d be rolling around in the bed. Or the car. Or on the floor. Or, once or twice, the supply closet at work after hours.

In every other relationship I’ve been in, I was the one with the higher sex drive, but Gabrielle matched me beat-for-beat. Even three years in, it was rare for either of us to make a move and not have it immediately reciprocated. Sometimes I’d groggily open my eyes in the middle of the night to find her riding me, half-asleep.

And when she’d shyly confessed that being awoken by the feeling of my dick inside her was a huge turn-on? I don’t think either of us got a full night’s sleep for the next two weeks.

Each and every morning, I still felt like I’d won the jackpot. No one turned me on like Gabrielle—every time she stripped in front of me, or wailed orgasmically as she rode me, or gaspingly begged me to pull her hair while I fucked her from behind, it made my entire body tingle.

No relationship is perfect, but this was pretty damn close.

Except for one thing:

Work.

There aren’t a whole lot of IT opportunities in El Paso, especially not at Gabrielle’s level. She’d regularly go looking, but was never able to find anything. So for three long years, she had to put up with the idiotic comments, the stupid nicknames at our shared workspace. She had to listen to her coworkers begging me to show them one of the nude photos they thought I had on my phone.

(One of them even tried to hack my device once. Gabrielle sort of had that effect on people.)

I said all the right things, I commiserated when my girlfriend was upset. I comforted her and told her it would get better…but it never did. No matter how hard she worked, no matter how many endless times she proved herself as the most valuable member of the team, it never seemed to change. It was just a really shitty situation, y’know?

And then I went ahead and made everything ten times worse. I did something really, really dumb.

I accepted a promotion.

I didn’t even think about it, at the time. God, I still cringe at the thought. I didn’t even question it. I mean, why wouldn’t I take more pay and more interesting work? It honestly never occurred to me that Gabrielle would be anything but supportive.

A part of me even thought she’d be excited. Like, if she was dating the team leader, maybe she’d be harassed a little less.

Dumb, dumb, dumb. I see that now. I don’t think I could possibly have handled the situation any worse.

When I told her that night, we had the biggest fight we’d ever had. Don’t get me wrong; we’d fought before. But only about little stuff. She didn’t get along with my brother, I hated the way she left dishes around the house, and both of us were convinced that the other one snored.

(I know for a fact that I don’t, but Gabrielle? Sometimes I swear you’d think a jetplane had made its way into our bed.)

We were pretty good at fighting, if that makes sense. We never took things personally, we avoided jabbing each other’s weaknesses, and our arguments never escalated to the point of shouting. It was always ‘us against the problem’; and we sandwiched our criticism and used ‘I feel’ language and all the other stuff you’re meant to do.

But not after my promotion.

Neither of us was being fair…but, of course, we both felt like we were being the very personification of reason. I was mad at her for not being excited for me, and Gabrielle was pissed off that I hadn’t turned the position down and told our boss that he should offer it to her instead.

Look, I’m a card-carrying feminist, but I don’t think anyone is that feminist. Or if they are, there’s something wrong with them. It’d be like winning the lottery and donating it all to a homeless person.

Well, okay, it’s not exactly like that. But you know what I mean.

I later realized I’d told myself the promotion was solid proof that I was just as good at our job as my girlfriend; an insecurity I didn’t even realize I had. Gabrielle, meanwhile, had fixated on the ‘fair’ thing to do, and not even considered what she was asking.

Normally after we fight, the make-up sex is phenomenal. I mean, all sex with Gabrielle was phenomenal, but there was a raw energy to make-up sex that…I dunno, brought it to a whole other level.

But after I accepted the promotion, things were different. We didn’t have our make-up sex the next day. Or the next, or the next. From the moment we’d moved in together, I don’t think we’d ever gone three days without fucking—even if one of us was out of town, we’d jump on the phone and get each other off remotely.

When it got to Friday and we still hadn’t made up, that was what made me realize that this really was different. How much I’d hurt her.

We basically spent that entire weekend talking. And talking, and talking, and talking, and talking.

Like I said, we were really good at having these long, difficult conversations. Which was good, because this was the longest and most difficult conversation we’d ever had.

Until then, I hadn’t understood how unhappy Gabrielle was, not really. Like, she’d been at the job for more than three years. I guess I’d just assumed she’d gotten used to it. I knew the dumb comments bugged her, but I’d never really understood how completely alone she’d felt.

In my girlfriend’s eyes, I’d been the only person who got it, her only ally against the schmucks we worked with. So seeing her get ignored for a promotion she deserved would have been bad enough…but taking it for myself?

She told me it was the biggest betrayal she’d ever experienced. And this was coming from a woman who’d had nudes leaked on the internet by an ex. (She’d managed to take them all down pretty quickly, thank god.)

Yeah. And I’d expected her to be happy for me.

Over that weekend, we laughed, we cried, we bonded. We created a sort of nest on the living-room floor, and left it only to get our delivery orders or use the bathroom. We even had some make-up sex in the middle of it. Sort of a ‘time out’ from the intense conversations.

And after two full days of talking, we had a plan.

As much as we loved Texas, as much as we’d miss our families and our friends…we decided it was time for a change.

It was time to go somewhere else, somewhere that Gabrielle would be properly appreciated. Somewhere they might be able to truly see her for the brilliant programmer she was.

I thought the move would be good for us. We both did.

I had no way of knowing that it would change our lives forever.

“It’s not fair,” Gabrielle groused, slumping back on the couch. “I thought this place would be different.”

“I know, honey,” I said comfortingly. “So did I.”

Maybe we’d been a little naïve.

Sure, there’s more money in Silicon Valley, but to balance it out…everything is that much more expensive.

Our first impressions had been pretty positive. Gabrielle had gotten a job within two days of getting into the city, so we’d thought that y’know…maybe this place really was a meritocracy. Her talent had been recognized straight away—that was exactly what we were looking for, right?

Her new job was with a company called Vision. It wasn’t a dinky little start-up like our old workplace; Vision was a multinational corporation who seemed to have their fingers in everything. Gabrielle was hired to work on this new app for executives, a sort of combination of Doordash and Tinder.

Wait, that sounds weird. I don’t mean that it delivered sex to your house. It was for business professionals who needed talented people at short notice: consultants, accountants, hairdressers.

Yeah: hairdressers. That was one of the first things Gabrielle had told me about it, and it had really stuck in my head. The idea of an executive needing an emergency haircut, right this instant was sort of funny to me, but apparently it was a legit thing. Not an uncommon one, either.

My girlfriend loved the work. Like, she loooooved the work. That was part of why she’d been so frustrated and so desperate to get promoted; she’d mastered everything she had to do at our old job within about thirty-four seconds. But here she was actually challenged, doing more than just helping someone help accountants push numbers over to other accountants.

The pay was pretty generous, too. Like I said, I think they really recognized her talents.

But basically from day one, the workplace was more of the same.

Worse, even.

I’d been surprised to learn that she was the only woman in the team, figuring there would be more of a balance out here. As soon as she walked into the room, she could feel pretty much every set of eyes on her chest.

By the end of her first week, the nicknames had started. ‘Darl’, ’Toots’, ’Babe’, ’Sweetheart’. We’d gone shopping on the weekend, using a big chunk of her first paycheck to buy some clothes that were even bulkier than her normal wear.

It didn’t help. As soon as she entered on Monday morning, the room filled with wolf-whistles. Later that day, she turned around from the presentation she was giving to find someone pretending to spank her.

In El Paso, the guys had at least been subtle about it. They’d been sexist assholes, but not in a way that they could get caught. They’d always made sure to behave while the boss was around, and avoided anything that would leave a paper trail.

It was the end of Gabrielle’s second week when it happened. Someone forwarded her an email that had been going around the office.

Her nudes.

She thought she’d managed to completely scrub them from the internet—she’d issued DMCA notices, threatened lawsuits, and most reputable porn-sharing sites are pretty good about helping women take down unauthorized pics.

But apparently they still existed out there in some form. Maybe one of her coworkers had downloaded it after the initial leak, and recognized her, or had access to some kind of…I dunno, face-searching software.

It didn’t really matter how they’d done it, the result was the same. Less than two weeks after starting a new job in a new city, they’d managed to distribute naked pictures of her throughout the entire office. And Silicon Valley isn’t a big place. This would undoubtedly follow her for the rest of her career.

It was outrageous. Just, flat-out harassment. Abuse, basically.

My girlfriend took it straight to the HR office. I’d figured a company the size of Vision, it wouldn’t be a problem to get it resolved…but while the rep had been sympathetic, she’d told Gabrielle that there was nothing they could do.

I couldn’t believe it when she told me. I’d expected to hear that the entire team was being fired, or that my girlfriend would get a hefty payout if she signed a piece of paper promising not to sue.

Nope. Nothing. Nada. Squat.

The HR rep said that without knowing who’d originally started sending the picture around, the company couldn’t punish anyone—not even the person who’d forwarded it to her. “They probably just wanted to make sure you knew what was going around.”

When my girlfriend had returned to her desk, she was almost crying, and the guys in the surrounding cubicles were just standing there and leering at her, probably delighted to discover exactly how much of a bust their coworker was hiding under her unflattering outfit.

Gabrielle had blinked back her tears and shot them a glare. My girlfriend can be truly terrifying when she wants to be, but it hadn’t made a difference. They just kept on staring at her lecherously, huge grins on their idiot faces.

I was so, so mad when she told me. I hadn’t even met any of Gabrielle’s new workmates, but I wanted to murder them. Each and every one of them.

Over the next few days, things somehow got worse. Someone changed the wallpaper on her work computer to the nudes, then the next day she found it in the middle of a slideshow she’d been working on. One slide, the app’s new UI. The next slide: her tits, filling the screen.

There was a company directory on the intranet, and Gabrielle’s photo was replaced with a zoomed in version of the illicit photo. It only showed her face and shoulders, but that was just enough to tell she was naked.

She reported each of these incidents to HR, and each time was basically met with a shrug.

As if bolstered by the total lack of consequences, her asshole workmates continued to escalate things. She came in one morning to discover a poster of the photo had been hung up in her cubicle, and when her business cards came in…sure enough, one of her leaked photos was printed on the back of each and every one.

But at the end of Gabrielle’s third week, she came home to tell me about the most brazen case of workplace harassment I’d ever heard of. She was giving her first presentation, when she’d noticed that everyone on her team—including her new boss—were all drinking from identical coffee mugs.

Coffee mugs with a naked image of my girlfriend printed on them.

I exploded. I told her that she needed to start recording everything—every instance of harassment, every conversation she had with HR. I said that this was a lawsuit that any lawyer in California would pay her to take on.

She nodded, but seemed completely defeated. Vision was a multi-billion dollar company, and even the most open-and-shut case (which this pretty clearly was) would take years to get through the legal system. What we were meant to do until then?

Despite being in Silicon Valley for almost a month, I hadn’t been able to find work. I’d hoped I’d hoped that my experience and recent promotion would be something I could leverage into a shiny new position, but every programmer and their dog was looking for work, and there just wasn’t much of it going around.

Gabrielle was covering the rent—barely—but if she left Vision, our savings would barely last us a month.

Whether we liked it or not, she was stuck there.

I could see that it was killing her. She’d come home from work completely exhausted, and we’d just veg out on the couch watching internet videos. Danny Gonzalez practically became our third housemate.

My days were spent trying to find leads, but there’s only so many hours in the day you can spend actively looking for jobs, so I was almost as exhausted as she was.

Wake up, misery, sleep, repeat. It was even starting to affect our sex life; neither of us was initiating any more, and (even more worryingly) neither of us seemed to care.

We’d been in town for just over two months when Gabrielle came home with an energy I hadn’t seen in her for a while.

“I’m not going to stand for this,” she announced. “It’s bullshit. It’s bullshit, and it’s completely unfair.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Do you know what that fucker Michael did today?“

Michael was one of the members of her team. I’d say he was one of the worst, but…well, they all seemed equally awful.

“What?”

“He slapped my ass. Like I was a secretary from the fifties!”

My eyes widened. “What!?”

“I know, right?”

“What did HR say?”

My girlfriend laughed mirthlessly. “They added it to the file. That file must be thick enough to reach Mars by now.”

“As long as they have a record of the incident,” I pressed. Between binging video essays, I’d been reading up on harassment law. If my girlfriend got fired, or I managed to get a job that could sustain us, I wanted to be prepared to take legal action.

In response, Gabrielle just handed me a pamphlet.

WOMEN IN TECH.

I looked at her questioningly.

“I totally forgot about it,” she said, a fire in her eyes that I hadn’t seen since we left Texas. “It was in my initiation package. It’s an advocacy group; they offer all kinds of stuff—networking mixers, 401K advice…”

“…workplace rights, sexual harassment seminars,” I continued, reading the pamphlet’s big, bright letters. “One-on-one consultancy, tailored advice.”

I looked up at her with a smile. “Hon, this sounds great.”

“Don’t call me hon,” she said reflexively, then closed her eyes. “Sorry. Instinct. I say that, like, twenty times a day.”

Reaching out and grabbing Gabrielle’s hand, I pulled her onto my lap. She put her arms around my neck. “You think they can help?”

“It’s worth a try,” she shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like things can get any worse. I’ll tell them what’s going on, and at the very least, they’ll be able to offer some advice.”

“Yeah—‘don’t be a woman in tech’,” I replied, and Gabrielle surprised me with a laugh. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard her laugh. Probably back in Texas.

“Well, hopefully something more useful than that.”

“This sounds great,” I said firmly.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I made an appointment today. I’m going to be talking to Flynn Parson at the end of this week.”

I flipped over the pamphlet. There was a photo of him on the back—he looked like he was in his forties. Dark hair, dark eyes. Handsome.

I immediately didn’t like him, a thought I tried to push out of my mind. Within just a few weeks of dating Gabrielle, I’d had to accept that she could have anyone she wanted…but she’d chosen me. It just wasn’t worth letting my mind go down jealous paths. That way madness lay.

All I could do was be the best me I could be, and trust that I was the one she’d come home to every night.

“He’s cute,” I said lightly. That was mostly how I dealt with the stupid thoughts—by expressing them, and allowing Gabrielle to reassure me.

“Eh,” she said, a knowing smile in her eyes. “I’d take you any day.”

“Any day?” I replied with a grin. She always knew exactly what I needed to hear.

“Uh huh,” she replied, leaning in for a kiss.

As we broke our dry spell that night, Flynn Parson’s photo lay on the floor, watching us make love on the couch.

Two things changed over the next few weeks.

Firstly, I got a job.

Don’t get too excited, it wasn’t exactly what I’d been hoping for.

I got a job…as a dog-walker.

Not the high-paying technical work I’d been hoping for, but I was happy just to get out of the house. I got to hang out with doggos, I got some sunshine, and I figured there was a chance I’d meet someone who could get me a job. Maybe Elon Musk would need someone to walk his dog, y’know?

I didn’t have Women in Tech mixers; I needed to seize my networking opportunities wherever I could get ‘em.

And I knew the exercise would be good for me. I’d been a little large even before we left Texas, but several months of sitting on the couch had started to show.

I got my first few gigs from the paper, but soon I actually signed up to the beta launch of the new Vision app. I didn’t qualify for any of the programmer slots (for those times when, you know, executives desperately needed someone with an in-depth knowledge of object-oriented programming) but hey, I could walk dogs with the best of them.

The other big change was Gabrielle’s.

Her Women in Tech one-on-one had gone great, from what she’d told me. She hadn’t actually gotten to meet Flynn Parson—he’d been called away at the last minute, and she’d instead had her appointment with his number two, Sylvia.

I’d been hoping that Women in Tech would convince Gabby that legal action was the best path forward (I’m not one to shy away from a fight…an attitude which has gotten me in trouble more than once), but the advice they’d given had been more sensible.

Sylvia had been sympathetic—exactly what my girlfriend needed, honestly, after the appalling response she’d gotten from the HR department—and shared some techniques to help her manage the guys in the office.

It had seemed a little half-assed to me, but Gabrielle had been pretty much gushing with enthusiasm when she came home. It had been so nice to see the return of my high-spirited girlfriend, I’d been careful not to say anything that would dampen her mood.

Instead, I was the very model of a supportive boyfriend. I’m not one who needs to learn the same lesson twice.

So I’d joined in with her excitement, and we made love again that night. Well, ’made love’ is outting it lightly. If I’m being honest, it was a little filthier than that. Since moving to California, I’d not taken my girlfriend’s rear.

I was very happy to rectify that, if you’ll pardon the pun.

The next month was the very opposite of our first month in the Golden State; instead of living a life glued to the couch, my days were spent out and about. Gabrielle was happy, and we were making love each and every night, like when we’d first started dating.

My dog-walking gig did not, alas, immediately get me a cushy programming job at Google, but I was enjoying the work. More than I expected, honestly. I managed to pick up a few more gigs from the app—execs whose regular dog-walkers had bailed, and they needed someone to come by at the last minute. I’d managed to turn a few of them into regular clients, and my days were spent alternating between walking dogs and staring at the app, hoping someone would need my services.

If I’d lived in Silicon Valley by myself, I wouldn’t have been making enough to eat, let alone pay rent… but between Gabrielle’s job and my meager earnings, we were getting by.

Gabrielle started regularly attending Women in Tech events—seminars, workshops, support groups—and was soaking it all up as much as I was soaking up the California rays. Every day I’d ask how work was going, and without fail her response was glowing.

The days of her workplace harassment, it seemed, were at an end.

She was always a little vague about exactly what the new techniques were. It took me a while to notice, actually, because whenever I asked, she’d get this look on her face and practically leap me.

It’s easy to forget that you just asked a question when your dick is disappearing down your busty girlfriend’s eager throat.

Like I said, Gabrielle’s sex drive had always matched my own…now, for the first time, it actually seemed to be exceeding it.

Not that I was complaining, of course.

Maybe I was dense, and I should have noticed something sooner. Or maybe there really wasn’t anything I could have noticed until I did…but my suspicions were first raised when I saw Gabrielle getting dressed for work, just over a month since her first meeting with Sylvia.

“What are you wearing?” I asked. Not accusatory, just…surprised.

In all the time we’d been dating (and even the month or two I’d known her before that), I’d never seen Gabrielle in a top that showed even a hint of cleavage. Not at work, not outside of work, not even in the bedroom.

She had no issue with being naked, mind you. We’d often spend entire weekends in the nude; always quite the treat.

But to my girlfriend, tits weren’t something to show off. She didn’t even own any revealing tops. Gabrielle had quite a collection of sexy lingerie, but even that was clearly designed to support her boobs, not flaunt them.

(There was no shortage of thongs in her wardrobe, mind you, or dolphin shorts. She even had some Daisy Dukes, and a short skirt or two. Like I said—Gabrielle loved her ass. Not half as much as I loved her tits, of course, but that was a pretty high bar to meet.)

So when I’d woken up to find my girlfriend squeezing herself into a V-neck shirt, I’d been more than a little surprised.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

I stared at her or a few seconds, but she didn’t seem to be playing dumb. She seriously didn’t understand why I was confused.

“That,” I replied, gesturing at her very nicely-displayed chest.

I quite often have morning wood when I woke up, but the sight of my girlfriend wearing—for the first time since we’d met—a shirt that provided a glorious sneak peak of her bountiful mounds…

Yeah, I was more than a little hard.

She looked down at her top, then at me like I was an idiot.

“Women in Tech should use every asset they have available,” she said. “There’s no use in hiding my tits. Everyone knows they’re there.”

Before I could reply to her bizarre, matter-of-fact statement, she’d grabbed her toast and was out the door.

As I roamed the parks that day, I couldn’t help but try to puzzle out what Gabrielle had meant. It was odd…her words had sounded so reasonable, like there was some innate truth to them. And when I actually tried to find the hole in her logic, I couldn’t.

It was like my mind just…slipped off it.

She was right. Being a woman in this industry was hard enough. It made total sense to use every asset they had available.

And it wasn’t like her tits were some secret—everyone knew they were there. She’d spent half her life desperately trying to stop people learning how busty she was, and it never worked.

So why try to hide them?

When my girlfriend got home that night, I noticed that she was showing even more cleavage than when she’d left that morning. Another button was undone.

You might not think that would make much of a difference, but when you’re as busty as Gabrielle, trust me: each and every button is working overtime.

As I stared at her cleavage, I was trying to work out why I felt like I should be annoyed by what I was seeing. Hadn’t I spent years trying to convince my girlfriend to dress more revealingly?

Her breasts were obvious, no matter what she did. So why not show them off?

I shook off the strange thoughts, and moved my eyes to my girlfriend’s face. She was smiling at my attention, and had that look in her eyes. I knew that it wouldn’t be long before she was naked, and I was naked, and I was inside her, and she was moaning, and I was…

“Hey,” she said with a coy smile. “I missed you today.”

I raised one eyebrow, returning her grin. “Just today?”

“Every day,” she shrugged. “I wish you could come work with me. I think you’d really like my team.”

I narrowed my eyes at her response, but—just like that morning—there wasn’t a hint of irony in her expression. She really seemed to think I’d get along with the fuckwits she worked with.

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, her eyes flicking down to my pants. When Gabby gets horny, she gets spacy. You can tell that my girlfriend is thinking about dick, purely because of how easily distracted she gets. It’s cute.

Cute, and one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

“I thought they were all jerks,” I pushed, and she shook her head…again, without even a trace of hesitation. “What about the harassment?”

“Oh, that hasn’t been a problem for months now,” she said, her eyes burning into the front of my pants with a laserlike focus. Sometimes dating Gabrielle felt like my teenage self had been granted a wish, and I was living it. I was trying to have a conversation with the hottest girl I’d ever met, and she was too distracted by my cock to properly engage.

“Why?” I asked. “Like, what changed?”

My girlfriend’s tongue slowly moved across her lips as she dropped to her knees in front of me. Two of her slender fingers carefully, lovingly lowered my fly, allowing her other hand to push my briefs to the side and access my hard cock.

“Gabby…” I groaned. My girlfriend’s big brown eyes stared up at me lustfully as she moved my erection into her mouth. Her tongue found my head, and she daintily tasted the pre-cum that was waiting there for her.

“Gabby!” I said insistently. “I’m serious. Answer the question.”

“What was the question?” she asked, her pupils dilated with desire.

“What made them stop you harassing you? What advice did Women in Tech give?”

“Oh, they didn’t stop harassing me,” she said, tilting her head to the side. Her hand was still slowly moving up and down my erection as she spoke.

“What??”

“No, they’re just as bad as ever. Worse, even.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. For the last month, my girlfriend had gushed about how all of her work problems had disappeared…now, she was admitting that nothing had actually changed.

“Then why…how…”

I lost my train of thought briefly as my girlfriend’s soft mouth enveloped my cock once more. It’s really quite difficult to have a conversation with someone who insists on giving you the best blowjob of your life.

“Gabrielle,” I groaned once more. “You…you said it wasn’t a problem.”

“It wasn’t,” she replied, reluctantly pulling my hardness out of her mouth again. “I mean, it isn’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Like I said—Sylvia told me how to deal with it. She’s really good at this kind of thing.”

“So what do you do?” I asked, and a broad smile appeared on my girlfriend’s face.

“Women in Tech should be team players,” she replied. “It’s important to keep the people you work with happy.”

As soon as the last word left her mouth, I could feel Gabrielle’s saliva lovingly coating the sides of my cock. I’ve had girlfriends who treated blowjobs as chores; as something done just for me, a favor that they get nothing out of.

Some women I’ve dated enjoyed giving head, of course. But Gabrielle adored it. It was as though every inch of her body got involved in the blowjob. Her hands and mouth did most of the work, of course, but as her head bobbed up and down on my rod, her ass wiggled in delight, and even her toes flexed with pleasure.

Meanwhile, my head was spinning at what my girlfriend had just told me.

Just like the advice she’d shared that morning, nothing about it felt…wrong. Like, yes—Women in Tech should be team players. Everyone on the team should be, really, but women were in a particularly vulnerable spot; if they didn’t win their team over, it was easy for them to be ostracized.

That was what had happened in El Paso, and there had been a risk of it happening here. Hell, Gabrielle had been passed over for a huge promotion because she’d been unable to win the rest of the team over.

It’s important to keep the people you work with happy.

I could definitely see why Sylvia had given this advice to my girlfriend, and it was easy to understand why she’d taken it. Women in Tech needed to be assets to the team. They had to use every asset they had available. They had to keep their team happy.

But that didn’t…surely that didn’t make it okay for…

Before I could collect my thoughts, a loud groan filled the room, and it took me a moment to realize I was the source. One of Gabrielle’s hands had reached up to cup my balls at the exact moment my cock hit the back of her throat. Her tongue was pressed flatly against the entire length of my penis, and she was repeatedly swallowing, a motion which caused ripples of pleasure to pass through my entire body.

Her mouth had become a wet, sucking hole, and her eyes stared up at me desperately, like she wanted nothing more than to please me.

“Oh, fuck,” I moaned, and my own orgasm caught me off guard. My dick began spasming, pumping a huge load of my hot seed into Gabrielle’s warm, willing mouth.

She swallowed it down eagerly, then stood to kiss me. Once upon a time I’d been the kind of guy who found it weird to kiss a girl with cum in her mouth, but…well, it Gabrielle, and it was my cum. I now found it far more hot than strange.

As we kissed, Gabrielle’s hand grabbed mine and moved it between her legs. She was wearing a tight pair of jeans, and I could feel her heat through the denim.

“You’re in a good mood,” I growled playfully, and she simply nodded enthusiastically in response.

My other hand rested on my girlfriend’s ass, and the shudder of arousal that passed through my body told me that it was just as sensitive as ever.

As I began to unbutton Gabrielle’s jeans, I remembered what we’d been talking about.

“Hang on,” I said, pausing as my hand reached the zipper. “So you’re telling me that Michael and Sean and Jessie…”

“Joshie,” she corrected.

“You’re telling me the guys on your team are still harassing you?”

Gabrielle bit her lip. I could tell that she didn’t want to be talking about this. I could tell she didn’t want to be doing anything except getting laid—I’d cum down her throat, but she hadn’t even been touched yet. My girlfriend was practically thrumming with excitement.

“No,” she said eventually. Had she paused because of how turned on she was, or had she needed to consider how best to answer the question?

“No?”

“No,” she repeated firmly. “I mean, I wouldn’t call it that.”

My eyebrows shot up.

“Well, what would you call it?”

“Just boys being boys,” she said simply. Her hand found mine, and tried to move my digits back between her legs, but I resisted.

“Hang on,” I said, trying to clear my head…which was much easier, now that I’d cum. “What exactly do they do?”

“Nothing really,” she said guilelessly. “Nothing that really bothers me.”

“Do they still call you names?”

Gabrielle shook her head firmly. “No.”

“Like ‘Toots’, or ‘Sweetheart’?”

“Oh, yes,” she said with a gentle laugh.

I normally loved her laugh, but the sound of it made me feel somehow empty.

“But those aren’t names, not really. Those are just nicknames.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “The kind of nickname you hate. It’s patronizing and sexist.”

My girlfriend shrugged. “Why make waves? Women in Tech should save their energy for serious issues.”

Gabrielle’s statement was so confident, it took me a moment to process what she’d actually said. By the time I’d gotten my head together, she’d unzipped her own fly, and maneuvered my hand back to her wetness.

And god was she wet.

“Yesss,” she groaned as my fingertips probed her pubic area. “Please…”

“What kind of serious issues?” I asked, and Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

“Real problems,” she said, trying desperately to position herself so that my fingers would enter her. “Stuff that really matters. Not just…names.”

I nodded. As much as I hated to admit it, what she was saying made total sense. Sure, she could spend all her time complaining to HR that…what, that they were using words she didn’t like?

So what if the guys called her dumb names? This wasn’t grade school—y’know, sticks and stones and all that.

“If there was a real problem…”

“I’d do something about it,” she said immediately. “You know I would. Now please, please. Stop talking and touch me.”

Sometimes we played games in the bedroom. Especially in situations like this, where I’d cum and she hadn’t. She’d get so cock-crazed, so lustful and hungry. When she was in this state, I probably could have convinced her to do anything; she would have agreed to post her own nudes to the company intranet if it meant that she could feel me inside her.

“You want me to touch you?” I teased.

“Yes! Please. Please, touch me.”

“I think I need to hear you beg,” I smiled, and Gabrielle’s eyes rolled back in her head.

“Please,” she panted. “Please, touch me. Please. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” she repeated insistently. “Anything you want. Just…just touch me. I’m begging you!”

My cock had thickened again, and I moved Gabrielle’s hand to it.

“Do you want to feel this inside you?”

She responded with a long, loud moan.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Fuck me,” she pleaded. “Oh god, please. Please fuck me.”

Grabbing Gabrielle’s hair, I roughly dragged her to the bedroom, then threw her onto the bed. A lot of the time our sex was light and playful (or relaxed and lazy), but sometimes, when we were both in the mood, a dominant streak would hit me and I’d find myself acting like a caveman, taking my woman however I liked.

She loved it.

“Strip,” I ordered. Within moments, my girlfriend was naked. “Take the position.”

Gabrielle immediately got on all fours, her knees apart, her head buried in the bed.

There were very few positions that we didn’t enjoy, but this one…yeah, it’s hard to explain. This one was special.

Not least of all because of the magnificent view it gave me of her ass.

“Beg me again,” I said with a growl. “And this time, I want you to mean it.”

“Pleeease,” she gasped into the bedsheets. “Oh god, I want it so bad. Please fuck me. I’ll do anything.”

“Maybe I will,” I said, leaning forward and whispering directly into her ear. “Maybe I won’t.”

The only response I got was a muffled grunt of frustration and arousal.

Firmly grasping my girlfriend’s hips, I moved my cock to her entrance. I could feel her entire body shaking with need, and I amused myself by rubbing the head of my penis up and down her pussy-lips a few times, coating it with her juices.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” I declared, and Gabrielle’s entire body tensed at my words.

Slowly, firmly, I pushed my erection forward, my eyes fluttering at the exquisite sensation of my girlfriend’s engorged lips spreading to allow me access.

“Fuuuuuuuuck,” she shuddered as my cock entered her, inch by inch.

Just like her mouth had earlier, it felt like Gabby’s pussy was trying to suck me in, like she couldn’t wait another moment to feel me inside her.

As my pubic hair mingled with her, I felt a spasm go through her entire body—sometimes she’d get so turned on that her body would just twitch, like a shockwave travelling backwards through time from her orgasm.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” I repeated, and my girlfriend nodded desperately in response to my words.

I pulled my cock out, then slammed it back in. Like I said, Gabrielle and I enjoy all kinds of sex. Sleepy sex, playful sex, lazy sex…and hard, raw, urgent sex.

When she’s in the right mood, there’s nothing my girlfriend likes more than for me to fuck her hard, to treat her like a sex doll. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew that her mouth was open wide, silently screaming in ecstacy.

I completely lost myself for the next few minutes. Despite having just cum, an animalistic lust came over my body, and I fucked Gabrielle as hard as I could, using her hair and hips as handles.

Her orgasm triggered my own, as I felt her soaked canal become even more slippery. For the second time that afternoon I came without warning, pumping my seed deep into my girlfriend.

When I was done, we were both breathing heavily. I collapsed beside her, and she cuddled up to me, resting her head on my chest.

“Wow,” she said with a smile, one hand tracing patterns in my chest hair. “So…that was fun.”

“Uh huh,” I panted. Despite all my walking, I was still pretty out of shape, and my head was spinning at the exertion of what we’d just done. “Fun.”

We lay there in silence for a few minutes, and my worried thoughts from earlier returned. Sure, Gabrielle had done a pretty good job of explaining why she was acting differently—she was just using the assets she had, and being a team player.

But something inside me was still nervous.

“You’re sure everything is okay at work now?”

“I’m sure,” she said without hesitation. “I told you—there’s absolutely no problems.“

“Okay,” I said, not sure exactly how reassured I was by her words. “Just…I dunno, be careful, okay?”

“Of what, silly?” she asked.

She was so relaxed about the situation, I did feel silly for having such a big reaction. If she wasn’t worried, why should I be? After all, she was just saving her energy for serious issues.

But something about my girlfriend’s behavior just wasn’t sitting right with me, so I rolled over and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“Promise me you won’t…”

I trailed off. I’d launched into the thought with such confidence, but hadn’t worked out exactly where I was going with it.

“What?” she asked earnestly.

“Promise me you won’t…lose yourself.”

She tilted her head to the side, confused.

Gabrielle and I have always been really good at communicating. It’s why we fight well—we check in with each other, verbally and non-verbally. And even though I the fears lurking in my gut were unable to come out in a coherent manner, she could tell that they were there. And that they were real.

“I won’t lose myself,” she promised. “It’s just a job. I’ll always be your Gabby.”

And dear god do I wish that had turned out to be true.