The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mostly asleep, Kristin’s hand was still able to find the “snooze” button on her alarm clock and strike it repeatedly. At this point, six-thirty on a clear warm Monday morning, the only relationship she desired was the extremely fulfilling tryst between her head and her pillow. At last, muttering curses, she climbed out of bed and into her shower. She had a lot of work to do today.

Kristin wasn’t waking up early in order to go to work; that wasn’t the problem. The problem was, in fact, that she didn’t have a job. At twenty-five, with a Master’s degree in Economics and exactly no job experience under her belt, she needed a foothold. After several humiliating retail and food-service interviews which had seemed to focus on her legs more than her ability to sell lipstick or wait tables, she had struck gold. Potential gold. Dollars magazine was looking for a new financial reports columnist and it just so happened Kristin had been a devoted contributor to her faculty journal. In fact, by the time she reached grad school Kristin was associate editor of By The Numbers, and she’d pointed to this wealth of financial-journalism experience in her application. Dollars took the bait, and now she had to prepare herself for their lengthy interview process.

Her references were solid, her portfolio ready. She had rehearsed likely interview questions with her girlfriends for days. Now all Kristin needed to be ready for her first meeting with the Dollars interview board was a nice new outfit. She holstered her credit cards and headed for the mall.

The Taylor Street Mall was only six blocks from Kristin’s apartment, an enjoyable ten minutes in the warm July sun. Stepping into the air-conditioned atrium made her shiver, but Kristin took no notice. She was excited; it wasn’t every day she got to splurge and buy nice things for herself, especially after her last job had disappeared. It seemed like she hadn’t been in the local mall for months – half the stores were new. And so many were clothing stores, too. She wandered the halls for a while, scanning the storefronts.

After a half-hour of window shopping, Kristin saw something she liked. The outfit was a very smart close-fitting suit, black jacket and slacks with a dark green blouse that would go nicely with her dirty-blonde hair. Looking up as she passed over the threshold, she saw the store’s name set in bright pink neon letters: Altern-8 Fashions. Kristin sighed at the silly name but plunged eagerly into the maze of clothing.

Finding the suit displayed in the window took a long time. The racks that crowded the shop from wall to wall were arranged in no particular order; evening wear hung next to power suits, next to the kind of skimpy, frilly clothing Kristin had given up entirely after her first semester of college. She wasn’t terribly enthusiastic about asking for help, either. The single cash register was being manned by a disheveled twig of a middle-aged man whose hair hung down over his sunken eyes in limp strands. He looked like a pervert, and Kristin ducked behind a rack of discount dresses when she caught him eying her legs.

At last she found the suit. They had it in her size, and for a great price, too. Creepy proprietor or no creepy proprietor, she was going to buy it. She scanned the walls of the shop and found a line of fitting rooms; a set of narrow floor-to-ceiling doors that were currently all standing open. There were very few other customers in here aside from Kristin, which was a little odd for a new store carrying stylish fashions at a low price. Kristin chalked up the discrepancy to the difficulty of attracting that critical mass of customers to a local mall in a non-central suburban location and shut herself in one of the fitting rooms with her beloved new suit.

It was only after she’d locked the door behind her that she realized how dark and claustrophobic the fitting room was. Though the ceiling was the same comfortable mall height as the rest of the store, all four walls including the door reached all the way up, creating a narrow shaft with just enough room for Kristin, a stool, a hook for hanging clothes, and a full-length mirror. It was not a very well-lit shaft, either, the only illumination a dim fluorescent light high up in the ceiling. It flickered without giving off any really bright light. She held the suit up against her body and looked at herself in the mirror, wondering how she was supposed to make any objective decision in this dank little cubicle. She considered mentioning the poor lighting to the man at the register, but suspected that once she got close to him she would want nothing more than to leave the store as quickly as possible. She shuddered. Then, with one last glance at the deadbolt, she put him out of her mind and took off her clothes.

Stripped to her underwear, Kristin gave herself an appraising glance in the mirror. She nodded in approval. There was her dirty-blonde hair, streaked to enhance the natural highlights, and there was her figure in bra and panties. She sucked in her stomach and tightened her abdominals. Not bad for twenty-five, in her opinion. She suspected what flaws she did see might be the products of pure paranoia; that’s what other people told her, anyway. At last, Kristin chided herself for being vain. What would her mother say? She ought to just try on the outfit. It was just as she was set to look away that she noticed something strange about the mirror.

Kristin took a step towards it and leaned forward, reluctant to touch the looking glass for fear of smudging it with her fingers. There was definitely something there other than her mostly-naked body and the rest of the tiny cubicle. Something like bands of colour were moving subtly in the mirror, radiating out from the center and fading before they reached the edges of the glass. Squinting, it seemed she could make out a band of purple, then green, then purple again. She shook her head, wondering if the dim light was playing tricks on her eyes. There wasn’t anything in the cubicle to cause the reflection. She decided it must be a side-effect of the damned ceiling light and she sat back on the stool, reaching for her new suit.

But the mirror was awfully distracting. Sitting on the stool with her back against one wall of the fitting room, Kristin kept glancing at the mirror, trying to decide if she really saw something or not. She would take a glance, then look away, then stare intently at the glass for a few seconds, then look away. She would widen her eyes and blink frequently, then try it again. Every time she could make out bands of colour but she just couldn’t believe they were really there. It seemed like a sort of sound accompanied each band, like a very low bass sound that was felt more than heard. It thumped slightly in her head every time one of the bands of colour swept from the center of the mirror outwards.

The strangeness of this phenomenon kept Kristin glued to her stool for several minutes. At last she remembered her outfit and slipped into the snug pants and blouse, buttoning the jacket up to her breasts. The outfit certainly paid homage to her natural shape, and she turned around, sticking a hip out here, an arm out there, admiring how she looked. Hip businesswoman on the go, Kristin thought. She struck poses in the mirror, the bands of colour forgotten. The outfit was nearly perfect, and Kristin could already see herself walking confidently into the interview, portfolio under her arm, shaking hands and sitting down... She was ready to buy it. But something bothered her.

She was looking at her legs, she realized. The black slacks clung to her thighs just the right amount, and were loose around the calves, like most semi-formal pants. But there was something Kristin just wasn’t comfortable with. She knew she had nice legs, and they got her a lot of attention. Though she did not appreciate much of that attention, she still felt her legs ought to be shown off. Used to their full extent, you might say. She was preparing for a high-profile interview for a high-profile job, and she had always been taught to leverage every asset available to succeed in situations like that. So she needed to display her legs.

She needed a skirt.

Her old clothes slung over her arm, Kristin browsed the racks in her new suit, trying to find a skirt that would go with the outfit. Despite the store’s general lack of organization, it didn’t take long to find the perfect thing; a black cotton skirt, knee-length, a small slit at the back for mobility. But now Kristin thought of the plain dress shoes she intended to wear, and how they would look out of place at the ends of her naked legs, even with hose. A minute spent browsing the shoe racks, and Kristin turned back to the fitting room with a pair of low black heels in hand. She was one step from her old fitting room when she remembered the mirror, and bit her lip. She was in no great hurry to seal herself in that dimly-lit cubicle once more. She picked another fitting room several doors down, hoping it would be different. It might have a better light, at least.

It did not. If anything this room’s light flickered even more than the last one, causing the narrow shaft of a room to flip back and forth between dimness and outright gloom. The sensation of movement and colour in the mirror was proportionally stronger as Kristin slid off her slacks and put on the new skirt and shoes. She struck a few poses, showing off her legs, sitting on the stool and crossing them one leg on top, then the other. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, imagining sitting in the interview room, her pretty legs on display, totally self-assured, her portfolio and confident responses motivating smiles of approval. Kristin smiled and looked at her legs, with this scene in her head. She smiled and looked at her legs, imagining success. For a while she just sat, smiling, and looked at her legs.

The strange, subtle bands of colour in the mirror were still appearing, over and over. Purple, then green, then purple again. And the quiet, almost subliminal bass underscored each band. The colours were, in fact, forming a continuous loop, a spiral, an infinite pattern that would never change, never become less eye-catching, less compelling. Kristin sat and looked at the mirror, nodding slightly at each pulse of coloured light.

Kristin looked back and forth between the mirror and her legs and tried to remember what she was doing. She was trying on her new skirt and her new shoes. And they looked so good, she wanted to buy them. She wanted to buy them because... It took a moment to remember she wanted to wear them to her job interview. She so rarely bought skirts, or anything fancier than blue jeans and t-shirts, and she liked the way this looked so much. Kristin resisted the temptation to buy herself some less formal clothing, bar-wear, skirts and shoes an order of magnitude more suggestive than what she was wearing now, reminding herself of the dreadfully low figure in her savings account. Reluctantly, she changed back into her street clothes and paid for the new outfit; jacket, blouse, skirt, and shoes.

She was right about wanting to leave after being within arms’ reach of the lecherous cashier. He looked at her with those sunk-in eyes from beneath his unkempt bangs as he rang up her purchase, and she found herself walking out the door as quickly as possible without making obvious her need to escape. If she had seen the way his beady eyes followed her ass and trailed along her legs as she left, Kristin probably would have dropped both pretenses and her purchase, and just made a run for it.

The first interview went well. Kristin’s portfolio and obvious enthusiasm for economics impressed the interviewers, although they didn’t seem quite as interested in her fetching skirt and stockings as she had hoped. In retrospect, Kristin wasn’t sure why she had been so determined to sell her shapely legs as an incentive – that sort of fixation on her appearance was exactly what had turned her off from previous employers. She liked her new skirt, and she would keep it. But for her next interview, she needed a pair of pants.

Kristin felt a little strange about going into Altern-8 Fashions again. The fitting rooms were creepy, and she was a little confused by her impulsive skirt-and-shoes purchase. And then there was that proprietor. When she crept in under the cover of discount blouses, she was relieved to see he wasn’t manning the cash register today – in fact, he was nowhere in sight. Kristin relaxed, but only a little. The cashier today was a voluptuous blonde, whose belly-baring top and miniskirt Kristin certainly hadn’t expected among the racks of a semi-tasteful shop like this. The cashier gazed down at her with pretty but somewhat vacant blue eyes; down because she was half a head taller than Kristin on her towering heels.

As she closed herself in one of the dim fitting rooms – and she now rightly assumed that they were all cramped and dim – Kristin realized “slut” was the word she wanted to use to describe the cashier. It seemed nasty and a bit presumptuous, but Kristin just couldn’t account for a young woman working a job like that dressed the way she was outside of a fetish shop. If it weren’t for the price on the pair of comfy black slacks she’d brought with her into the fitting room, Kristin would probably refuse to set foot in the store again.

The deep pulsing bass tone began as soon as Kristin clicked the lock shut on the fitting-room door, and looking at the mirror she saw that the flickering colour distortions were still there as well. Kristin grumbled, reaffirming to herself that the whole thing must be a side effect of the abominably dim lighting, the persistent hum probably a poorly-insulated ventilation system. She changed while looking into the mirror, intent on ignoring the bothersome flickering and concentrating on her body.

The outfit looked great, but once again the pants were all wrong. There was just something missing from them, and Kristin pouted as she looked in the mirror, trying to figure out what it was. She realized she missed the sight of her partly-bare thighs beneath the hem of a skirt. She wanted to see the way the tight, clingy fabric gave way to her smooth skin. The contrast looked so good. After another few moments’ thought, she stepped out of the fitting room in her suit to browse for a new skirt. It didn’t take long to find the right one.

It was black, tight, and shorter than the first one. Kristin sat up on the stool and crossed her legs, turning herself to the side to admire them in profile. Her new skirt showed off a lot of leg when she stood up; now, sitting down, it was almost indecent. She turned the other way and recrossed her legs, looking intently into the fitting-room mirror. It was hard to see clearly in the dim light but Kristin liked the look of her long legs framed by her skirt and heels. The shoes didn’t really go with the image the skirt projected, though, and the blazer didn’t either. She removed both and considered herself again. Her top could be better, too. The green blouse was nice and everything, but she really wanted something fun, more eye-catching. More like the skirt.

Kristin emerged once more from the fitting room, still not finding any fellow shoppers in the store, and glanced at the cashier with a little less contempt than before. Her clothes were nice, after all, if far too skimpy. Kristin was fond of the pink top, for instance, though she wouldn’t dare get anything that low-cut. Instead, she found a pink baby-doll t-shirt. It looked a little small, but she did like the colour. Even as she was about to replace it and keep looking, a glossy black bit of leather caught her eye. Kristin shuffled to the shoe racks and held up the find: They were beautiful black sandals with delicate straps and three-inch heels, exactly what she had in mind. She hurried back to the fitting room.

The new shirt and shoes were a success. Finally she had something to go with the fantastic little skirt, as the new heels accentuated her legs much better than the first pair and the shirt clung tightly to her chest. She sat on the stool, back straight, hands in her lap, and grinned as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked perky and adorable. She didn’t see how any employer could turn her down.

Her employers turned her down. This was not entirely unreasonable. Kristin’s second interview with Dollars magazine took place in a much nicer office with a smaller group of people much higher up in the publication’s chain of command. The glowing report these executives had received from the first interviewers did not mesh with their impression of the young woman who appeared before them now. She let out a nervous giggle far too often, and paused awkwardly when asked a question. Further, she was wearing a pink baby-doll t-shirt and a rather inappropriate skirt. Her shoes were very nice, one of the female interviewers noted after Kristin left, but they were not really the sort of thing one wore around the office. More problematic was her apparent difficulty with communicating clearly and intelligently, which hardly made her an ideal candidate for a journalistic position.

At home, Kristin sobbed. She knew she had screwed up, and quite badly, too. Her interviewers had assured her they would let her know if she was chosen for the position – hardly a reassuring way to end an interview – and their demeanor had been ice-cold from the moment she’d walked into their tastefully wood-paneled office. Walked in, in her little skirt and sexy shoes. Breasts first, shoulders back, like she was selling them her body rather than her writing and people skills. Kristin fell back onto her bed and dumped her face in her hands. How could she have been so stupid? Wearing her new outfit to the interview had been awful judgment on her part, no matter how fond of it she was. And hadn’t she gone back to Altern-8 to get slacks to go with her suit? What had happened to that?

It had slipped her mind, Kristin told herself, along with how to act like a grown-up. Why had she been such an airhead during the interview? She normally didn’t have any problem maintaining her professional demeanor. Thinking back on it, she was pretty sure she’d giggled when one of the male executives had reluctantly shook her hand as she was leaving. She might have even fantasized a little, in the elevator afterwards, about him squeezing her butt on the way out, as though she should be flattered to be treated like a piece of meat. That was before the elevator reached the ground floor, stopped, and Kristin realized her stomach was still sinking. She had just absolutely sabotaged her only prospect.

When she was done being curled up on the bed, Kristin slipped off her skirt and t-shirt and threw them as hard as she could into the corner. They fluttered down to lie next to her nice new shoes. She wanted to severely damage the whole outfit, in fact, but just couldn’t bring herself to. She really liked it very much, although she would probably just wear it to the bar from now on, instead of to important job interviews. Kristin went to her bathroom and looked wearily at her reflection. She splashed some water on her face and squinted, feeling the onset of a headache.

Kristin poured herself a stiff drink, and then another. She was drinking too fast, and it wasn’t helping her headache improve at all. She coughed on the second drink and sputtered gin onto her chest. In her undressed state it made her shiver. That’s what she needed, a bra that reeked of alcohol. She brushed at the droplets, trying to wipe them off the fabric. This was not successful, but it did feel kind of good. Kristin sighed, closing her eyes and rubbing a little more forcefully. This wasn’t the sort of thing she did often but, God, she needed to comfort herself somehow. And it did feel good. Her nipples were standing up underneath her bra. And she was tingling. Kristin slipped a hand into her panties, keeping her eyes closed, until she decided to go to the bedroom.

She slipped her new shoes back on, and left her undergarments in a pile on top of the other new clothes. She sat on the bed and spread her legs wide, on tip-toe in her heels. She resumed her stroking, and this time kept her eyes open. She started to moan as she stared into the mirror.

And so, with no job, and on legs that felt like rubber from too much alcohol and self-stimulation, Kristin wandered around the local mall in her newest outfit until once again – with ten minutes until closing – she stood in front of Altern-8 Fashions. She stood in her nice heels under the pink neon sign. It flickered a couple of times as she looked at it – a familiar, comforting, subliminal flicker. Kristin sighed and walked into the store. With only a couple hundred dollars in the bank and her credit stretched to its limit, Kristin knew the last thing she should be doing was clothes-shopping. But she just wanted to look around. To browse, and momentarily forget the dire straits she was in. It was looking more and more like she would have to settle for some servile waitress job. That was not what she wanted, not at all. But what choice did she have?

She looked at the luscious blonde cashier standing dutifully at the register, her pretty face placid and blank. She looked down over the woman’s vast exposed cleavage to the counter, where she tapped an idle, manicured nail.

She looked down below the nails to the “Help Wanted” sign taped to the counter, and her heart leaped into her throat.

Looking through rack upon rack of clothes, Kristin’s head spun. She had approached the counter and its attendant bimbo, asking the blonde if the store was hiring. Slowly, as though coming out of a long dream, the cashier told her that yes, they were looking for a new girl, and would she like to see the manager? Kristin said that she would. The cashier had clicked off on her absurdly high heels, disappearing through a door marked “Employees Only”. She hadn’t asked Kristin for a resume or anything, had simply said she might have to wait a few minutes, and she should, like, totally try stuff on while she was waiting. Kristin speculated that this was, indeed, how the cashier probably spent her free time.

Now Kristin was shifting through an assortment of glitzy evening wear, checking her watch and looking back the way the cashier had gone, at the motionless door. She had been waiting at least ten minutes now and had half a mind to just leave. The mall outside was closed and darkened, though Altern-8 had yet to fasten its secure glass doors. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to work here, anyway. Granted, she loved the clothes – had already set aside another number she couldn’t wait to try on – but she was hardly enthusiastic about having just that airhead of a cashier to work with all day, not to mention the creepy, long-haired man who would presumably be her boss. She shuddered a little. If only she weren’t so desperate for a job! Kristin looked around the store, and considered that she had never even seen another customer within its walls.

Just then, perhaps drawn by the opportunity to be an ironic coincidence, a man walked into the store. So lost in thought was Kristin, and so quiet and subdued was the mall around her, that she almost let out a little shriek. Biting her lip, she backed into the nearby fitting room, leaving the door slightly ajar. She hoped the man wouldn’t notice the movement. She didn’t feel like awkwardly confronting him, only to explain that she didn’t work here, although she was thinking about applying for a job, and the cashier was in the back talking to the manager about it. What was he doing here, anyway? The mall was closed. And it was a women’s clothing store, after all. Was he a burglar? The man glanced around furtively, but he didn’t seem to notice Kristin watching from her hiding spot. She felt a thrill of fear as he entered the store proper and crossed to the cash register, beyond her line of vision.

Kristin heard a knock, then a door open, and close. Peeking out of the fitting room, she saw that the “Employees Only” door was still standing firmly shut. The store was empty. She turned back into the cubicle, and leaned heavily against the door with a sigh. Should she try knocking on the door? Should she just leave? She needed to think.

It was becoming hard to think, however, with the soft insistent thudding and that obnoxious flickering light. Kristin tilted her head back against the door, and realized she had, without thinking, brought an outfit with her into the cubicle. It had caught her eye on the rack outside – she had meant to try it on. The cashier had suggested that she bide her time trying on new clothes, after all. Maybe by the time she was done, someone would have emerged to call her in for an interview. She darkened, remembering her last interview, and how that had turned out. But this was a mere store-clerk job; there was no way she could mess that up. Putting those sour thoughts from her mind, Kristin quickly stripped and put on the new outfit.

It was quite flattering, she reflected, for such a skimpy getup. Looking herself over in the mirror, ignoring the faint flashing spiral, Kristin admired the snug pink miniskirt. It was tight and elastic enough that it slid to the tops of her thighs as soon as she separated her legs at all. She turned around, wiggling a little, admiring her curves – they were certainly very nice curves, and none were left to the imagination. She ran her hands over them, wide-eyed at how soft and sensitive they were. Was this really her body? Kristin had hardly even noticed.

She turned back around to face the mirror and thrust her chest forward with a giggle; her black halter was very revealing, nothing but strings from upper chest to nape and, as an added touch, it had the words “Bad Girl” printed in bright, puffy letters across her breasts. Kristin could hardly remember dressing like this even on her eighteenth birthday and it certainly hadn’t been her style up to now. But she just loved these clothes. Their stretchy material felt yummy as it clung to her, and they did their best to show off her body. She loved being shown off! Didn’t she? Kristin bit her lip. She was finding it hard to remember whether she liked having her body on display or not. She sat back on the stool, staring deeply into the mirror and trying to think about it.

It occurred to Kristin that she’d been staring at herself in the mirror for quite some time, and her hands had started stroking her breasts. She felt the light, teasing touches on her nipples right through her flimsy top – she had let her bra drop to the floor while changing, and had just never bothered to replace it – and they were making her hot. She felt her adorable little skirt slipping up her thighs as she spread her legs, eyes focused on her reflected exposure. She looked up at her face, saw her glassy eyes, her expression bemused by lust, and let her gaze focus on “Bad Girl” as she started touching herself in earnest.

Kristin opened her eyes at the high sharp moan she made when she came, and she shivered, remembering where she was. Her head felt like it was full of cotton, as though her recent hangover had faded to reveal a fresh state of intoxication. She sat up straight on the stool and posed, giggling, enthralled with how good she looked. As much as she liked the “Bad Girl” shirt, however, Kristin wished she had a little more pink.

A pink top would be perfect, along with some matching lip gloss, the kind with little glittery bits in it.

Maybe nail polish too.

She wiggled her toes. And maybe also toe polish. And wouldn’t it be perfect to have some nicer shoes? Ones that matched the whole colour scheme?

Kristin bit her lip again, trying to reason her way out of the colour problem. But her thoughts kept drifting back to how she looked. She looked hot. Very hot. And she felt herself getting hot, again. She was very close to doing something about it, when there was a knock at the door.

A high and carefree voice, the voice of the cashier, brought Kristin out of her reverie. Around the crackle of bubblegum the woman asked if Kristin was ready for her interview. Her heart started to pound. So they were going to give her a chance after all! She stood up, stunned for a moment by the thought of working in this very store, so close to all the wonderful sexy clothes her little heart could desire. It was almost pleasure overload. Kristin steadied herself, wanting to look professional, and tugged at her skirt in a hopeless attempt to get the hem halfway down her thighs. She opened the door.

There stood the cashier, much taller than Kristin in her platform shoes, blowing a pink bubble from between her pink lips. From up close her pronounced cleavage, heavy makeup, and shock of blonde ringlets looked a lot better to Kristin then they had before. She had quite forgotten her previous appraisal of “slut”; she realized now that this woman was dressed almost exactly the way she had imagined herself. Gussying up like that might be the best way to land this job.

The cashier was more than happy to show Kristin where she found her clothes. They were right in-store in a small rack towards the rear, beside the more exotic footwear. She looked Kristin over and plucked out a hanger on which was an outfit that made Kristin gasp.

It was a one-piece plastic dress that promised to cover as little flesh as possible. It was shiny under the bright fluorescent lights and almost the same shocking pink as the store’s own neon sign. It was abominably expensive, perhaps because of the ribbed bustier and complicated laces across the back, perhaps because of the little gold heart that hung as a charm on the included pink collar.

Kristin gawked at the glittery dangling heart and put a finger to her open lips. She needed the dress, needed it a very great deal, and here was the cashier thrusting it into her hands while she looked for shoes. The blonde produced a pair of open-toed platforms, pearl-coloured, identical to her impressive pair. Kristin took them, speechless, and let the other woman guide her into a fitting room, hardly daring to hope she could somehow leave the store with these delights in hand – she certainly didn’t have the money to afford them.

Her previous favorite outfit now seemed dull, and Kristin was more than happy to free herself of it as the cashier closed the fitting-room door, squeezing herself into the little booth behind Kristin. Together they got her into the dress, and the obliging cashier worked her way through the network of laces with a degree of skill Kristin wouldn’t have expected. She pulled the laces tight and secured them in a series of knots, making the dress into a corset.

Kristin could only stare, her hands useless at her sides. She could see nothing but her own reflection, transfixed by how perfect she looked. The sound and flickering light of the cramped cubicle was forgotten, and she didn’t even mind her blonde friend’s body crammed against hers in the booth’s tight confines. She simply gawked at herself – at the teensy skirt that covered her hardly at all, at the enhancing effects of the dress on her already impressive figure, at how absurdly high and enormous her breasts looked in the garment’s rigid grasp.

She was simply perfect.

The blonde cashier somehow lowered herself to her knees and held Kristin’s new shoes out for her to slip into. She obediently wiggled her feet into the platforms, feeling dizzy at the sudden addition of several inches to her height. Kristin never took her eyes from her reflection, even as she felt the cashier fasten the little straps around her ankles, even at the touch of her breasts on Kristin’s back as she managed to stand up again.

Kristin stood up straight on her heels, leaning slightly against her friend for support, and continued to look herself up and down, over and over. She was in awe.

When the cashier snapped the pink collar around her neck, Kristin’s eyes slid to the polished gold heart lying against her throat and she moaned.

Her legs felt weak. She leaned more heavily against the cashier for support. The blonde obligingly reached around and cupped Kristin’s breasts.

She massaged, gently.

Kristin breathed her thanks as she brought both her hands under the wisp of skirt. Her moans and breathing came faster and faster, but her eyes never left her favorite new outfit.

At last the fitting-room door opened and the two women stumbled out, giggling softly, tired. They could have been twins; their dress was almost identical, both were shiny with sweat and disheveled, blonde and blondish hair hanging in their faces.

Kristin gripped her friend’s arm for support as she took her first few steps in her new heels. They were much more awkward than any shoes she had worn before, and only by keeping her legs very close together and shuffling along could she walk any distance without stumbling. Whenever she did stumble she would grab the cashier for support, and they would both giggle.

Kristin felt giddy as they gradually maneuvered to the “Employees Only” door in the shadows behind the counter. She couldn’t believe she might actually get a job here. There were still so many outfits she couldn’t wait to try! She had definitely found her favorite, though, of that she was sure: Nothing could beat how she felt in the pink dress.

She looked to the side as they approached the door, and saw her profile in a mirror. She straightened. She loved how her body was utterly on display. She wobbled in her heels, and tightened up to steady herself, drawing her body to more perfect attention.

Her clothes even controlled how she moved.

She moaned. Then, blushed. Then giggled.

The blonde cashier opened the door and showed Kristin inside.

The “Employees Only” door clicked shut behind her as Kristin squinted to adjust to the room’s dim light. She was in a small office, the lanky proprietor leaning against his desk looking her over, the man she had seen entering the store after hours seated in a chair off to the side. He had on only a thin smile, raising his eyebrows but refusing to meet her eyes. He looked at her collar instead.

She giggled nervously.

The proprietor fixed Kristin with his sunken eyes. In the dim light, they twinkled knowingly as he asked her if she wanted the job. He didn’t even specify what job that was, and didn’t have to. Kristin, gushing, told him that she did, that she would do anything to work for him.

He pointed to the floor between them, and unzipped his trousers.

Kristin gulped, and giggled, and sank down to her knees. It wasn’t easy, in those heels.

The proprietor approached, and she reached up to help him out of his underwear. She stared, wide-eyed, holding his cock in her hands, her lips parted and ready. She knew exactly what to do.

Kristin closed her eyes as he filled her mouth, moaning through her sealed lips. She freed one hand to slip under her skirt again, even as she heard the other man rise and felt him behind her, his hands searching over her naked and tingling skin, seeking the best place to enter. She tried very hard not to bite down as he did.

Kristin felt herself shiver with orgasm, and she opened her eyes to look up at her new boss. He looked down on her as he thrust his hips, pleased. He patted her on the head. A deep happy warmth filled Kristin, stretching from her exposed breasts to her bare thighs. She knew the job was hers. She knew this interview was a success. She knew she would love her new position.