A Different Taste in Music
Renting as a newly graduated young semi-professional was supposed to be interesting, Samara thought to herself. Or, at least, that’s what she’d told herself to justify signing the lease. It had only been a week, but she was already having a few reservations.
On the plus side, right out of graduation, she’d managed to find a job in the big city. Regular hours, nice people, and promise of a longer term contract if things went well. Emphasis, she hoped, on the ‘went well’. Compared to many of her classmates, she could have been in a far worse situation. Staying at home, long term, had never really felt like an option. She could already feel her Mum trying to set her up with boys, after a long university career of never bringing one home. One awkward kiss in freshers had left a bad taste in her mouth—in this case, both figuratively, and literally, enough to put her of vodka for an entire semester.
The downside was, of course, moving to the big city. Having a job was nice, but the pay didn’t quite stretch to living alone. She didn’t know anyone else there, with most of her coursemates with jobs like hers having gone to the bigger big city, aka London. That left her browsing room after room online, doing the occasional video call with someone she hoped wasn’t a murderer. In the end, pressure of a looming start date giving her the kick, she signed the contract on a houseshare with a young eastern European couple, in their late-20’s. The woman, Jenna, had been friendly enough over Zoom, her bedroom-to-be looked lovely, and her partner (Luka, assuming she had caught it right) had told a joke from off-screen. Plus, it was cheap.
Moving in had been simple enough. Bring her clothes, bring a few decorations, and bring earplugs. She’d been to uni, and knew she didn’t want to be woken up by people in neighbouring rooms getting too friendly. Nonetheless, the first week had been remarkably quiet. Jenna and Luka would eat in the lounge, and watch foreign TV before she got home, which gave her a chance to cook in peace. It wasn’t that they weren’t friendly—they said goodbye to her when she headed out in the morning—but it looked to be a harmony of two households under one roof, which had suited Samara perfectly during the working week. She was too exhausted to socialise with her housemates after socialising with her workmates all day.
But now, it was the weekend, and as Samara walked downstairs to make a cup of tea, she realised it wasn’t just the three of them there. From the lounge, Samara could hear loud music she didn’t recognise, and a hum of a few voices. She was a little surprised—the tune was bubblegum sweet, with chirpy Polish (?) vocals layered over the top, caked in obvious autotune. She hadn’t pegged the couple for that. In all honesty, she expected them to be listening to some kind of orchestral symphony, or maybe some smooth jazz, from the vibes they gave off. But who was she to judge? She still enjoyed the occasional guilty pleasure from her childhood, Year 3000 lived on her cheese playlist, maybe this was the European equivalent? Plus, she had to admit, the beat was good. Not bad bass, either, even if it was dulled by the closed door.
She was facing the window, cleaning her one mug, when she heard the door open, and the music intensified. Someone walked into the kitchen behind her, and she said a polite “Heya”. She figured it wouldn’t be rude to ask them how long they were planning on having this party—she could easily make herself scarce for the afternoon if they were planning on lots of guests and noise, but hopefully it wouldn’t go on too late, she wasn’t an undergrad anymore, etc etc.
Before she could phrase any of that, the other person beat her to speaking. She didn’t recognise them. While not Luka or Jenna, they had a similar accent, although she sounded half-asleep. “Ooooh, you’re pretty.”
This made Samara stop for a second, putting her mug down on the side. She turned, slowly, wondering what kind of person would open with that as a greeting, outside of a mid-tier club at 2:30am. She expected to see someone, potentially high, rifling through the cupboards for snacks to satiate the munchies.
What she got was a tall woman, naked, her blonde hair framing a plump figure, eyeing her up, cupping her breasts lazily. “And such a cute face!” she followed up.
Samara’s words caught in her throat. She tried to force them up and out, but that part of her brain kept getting sidetracked by the music. Now she could hear the bass, the treble, that syrupy sweet voice more clearly, her brain was having trouble asking why this woman was wandering round her kitchen naked. The thought got stuck on every musical snag it could find.
Instead, she turned back round quickly, blush filling her dark cheeks, intently washing her mug again. Normality would work as a coping strategy. That lasted for about five seconds, before she heard steps coming closer, and the woman’s breath on her neck.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” asked the stranger, inches from her ear, as Samara gulped. “I won’t be mad if you say no. You haven’t seen my best feature yet.” Her voice was breathy, porno-like in how much of a parody it was of a natural way to speak, and Samara felt her hands snake round to her hips. She felt her heart pounding in her chest—what the FUCK was this? Physical contact cut through to her brain, she opened her mouth to let loose a volley of swears, when -
“Katya!”
Jenna’s voice pierced through the noise, and both women in the kitchen turned to see her sanding in the doorway, wearing a loose robe. Samara noticed her hair and makeup were immaculate, even as she glared at them. Katya stepped away, and the pair exchanged words in a language Samara didn’t speak. She didn’t have to, though, to get the feeling Jenna was a bit annoyed with her 22-year old rentee getting felt up inappropriately. After a sentence or 5, Katya walked back out, but not before turning and winking at Samara.
She stood there in shock, surprise, and confusion, even as Jenna walked up, shaking her head and sighing. “How are you?” she asked, comfortingly, smiling to put her at ease. “Sorry about Katya, she likes to unwind at the weekend. You understand, don’t you?” Compared to her more soft, rounded friend, Jenna was slim, almost pointy in shape. Regal, Samara had thought upon first seeing her.
Realising there was a question hanging, Samara nodded her head slowly. She didn’t want to offend the older woman, really. She’d only been there a week. And, really, it was 2022—was there anything wrong with hanging out naked at a friend’s? Friend with benefits, perhaps? Open relationships were getting more and more popular. “I guess?”
Jenna nodded sagely, brushing a lock of blonde hair behind an ear. “You’re welcome to join us, if you want. In fact, I’d appreciate it. It’s very relaxing, I promise.” Another disarming smile, as Samara got a strange feeling in her gut. It almost felt like she was being probed, tested. Was Jenna trying to gauge if she’d freak out? Move out this quickly? For some reason, though, she was finding it hard to get angry over it. Confused, yes, but anger just wasn’t on the emotional menu. It was impossible with that music playing in the background. Was it the same song, or a different one? She couldn’t tell.
“I’m sorry,” she managed after seconds of effort, giving her own cautious smile back. “I think I’ll pass. You do you, of course! It’s just not my thing! Also tell Katya I’m not mad, just maybe give her a little lesson in not feeling up strangers? For the sake of whoever moves in next?” The words came out in a mumbled stream, but Jenna didn’t seem to mind, keeping her perfect composure. Samara thought she’d might be called uptight, a prude even, but the other woman was once again too kind.
“Of course, dear. Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be unwinding for the rest of the day.” And with that, Jenna left as smoothly as she’d entered, leaving Samara alone in the kitchen. She heard another door close, and the room went quiet. She stood there, not saying anything for a moment, still blushing, trying to process it. Housemates were probably having some kind of sauna session in the lounge. She’d almost been groped. The kettle hadn’t even finished boiling, she’d probably have to buy a new one. She let out a long, deep sigh, wondering what to tell her friends, as she made her drink, and headed back upstairs. Without even noticing, she was still humming the tune from the song Jenna and Katya were playing.
[Guys, I think I might have gotten in over my head with these new housemates lmao]—Samara S, 14:01
After sending the message to the old undergrad chat, Samara spun in her chair, trying to decide what to do. She hummed a couple of lines of song, then repeated it, then again, before consciously realising. It was the same piece of music from before. She frowned, loading up Youtube. If she was going to have a song stuck in her head, she at last wanted to know what it was.
Half an hour later, and she was no closer. It turned out finding a song which you knew no intlligible lyrics to, in a language you didn’t speak, without any clue of the artist, was near impossible. She’d listened to too many junk songs, nothing at all like her usual calm piano pieces, and none of them were quite right. Nothing as artificial, as sugary sweet for her brain.
She let out another big sigh, lolling backwards. She couldn’t hear it from her room, thankfully. Didn’t need any more help burrowing into her mind. She figured she’d ask Jenna the artist later, give herself some cred for knowing a niche foreign act who was probably going to be on Eurovision in a year or two.
There came a knock at the door. Without Samara’s permission, Jenna swung it open, as Samara in turn spun in her chair to face her. “Hello dear. I just wanted to continue our discussion from downstairs. You’re not busy, are you?”
Samara shrugged, trying to get ahead of where she thought the conversation was leading. “I’m not upset or anything, don’t worry. Not gonna go around telling everyone I live with freaks, or perverts. I’m open-minded, I promise!”
Jenna chuckled, a small soft sound, shaking her head. “I’m glad. Not that it matters. You see, I was hoping you’d take me up on my invitation. It would be such a nice bonding experience.” She stared at Samara intently, enough for her to feel the discomfort.
“Uhh, like I said—”
“You wouldn’t be comfortable? Oh, don’t worry, I know a fix for that. It’s very easy.” The same smile as ever on her face, she slipped her phone out of her dressing gown’s pocket, loading something up. “I wondered why it didn’t affect you properly earlier, but of course you wouldn’t have understood it. You got a watered down, half-garbled version of it.”
Samara felt her blood run a little cold, as her gut told her now would be a good time to consider leaving. Even if Jenna was blocking the door. “Why what didn’t affect me?”
“The music, of course.” Jenna took a step closer, and the door swung shut behind her. Samara cursed the fire regulations that had it built that way. Jenna was still smiling. “It’s a special genre, designed to get into your head, and… how do you say it? Loosen you up. Katya was listening to one of the mellower ones, but I think for you, since we have to get you up to speed...”
“For me?” Samara asked, almost on automatic, as she struggled to process it. Had she just casually admitted that she’d brainwashed her friend with music? Was that even possible? Or was Jenna just really, really into roleplay?
“For you, yes! It would be such a shame to leave you out, and there’s such a good English version. Once you understand the lyrics, trust me dear, you’ll… well, understand. You’ll relax. Or maybe not. This one isn’t exactly relaxing. More… how do you say… slutty?”
And with that, she hit play.
Samara wasn’t sure what to expect. She was in a state of grand confusion for the second time in one day, wondering how her housemate had turned out to be this bonkers. First of all, claiming her friend had only tried to feel her up because of a magic piece of music. Second of all, threatening to do it to her. Third of all, coming in her room without permission. She was pretty sure that last one violated her right as a renter. It was adding up to a bad experience for the weekend. The train of thought was heading towards writing a very angry twitter thread to vent, but that was knocked from the tracks as she heard the music.
The initial instrumental was very similar to what had been playing earlier, and it scratched the same part of her brain the first earworm had taken up residence in. A couple more saxophones, maybe, but a catchy song. It demanded to be listened to. Then the lyrics started.
Simultaneously, Samara’s eyes went wide as Jenna’s smile deepened. She always loved watching someone’s first exposure. She’d discovered these demo tapes on some decrepit website far off the beaten track months ago, and listening to the first album demo-track at the top of the page had been the eye-opener a younger, much duller, more-single version of herself needed. Most importantly, it gave her somewhat of an immunity to the other tracks. And second, it gave her a compulsion to show them to other people. A manageable one, yes, but god it was hot to watch them listen.
For Samara, the first burst of lyrics slammed in through her ears, and pulsed in her mental landscape. They were just as vocal-fryed as the foreign version, but now she understood the arousal in the singer. The autotune contained just the right harmonics at just the right level, perfectly measured to reshape her brain. And the words described just what it was being shaped into.
Good good girls with their pretty pretty facesGood good girls with their pointless romance chasesBad bad girls show their titties off in publicBad bad girls, go on spread your legs and show it!
Samara felt herself obeying, spreading her legs apart as she felt a shameful heat building up. No, said new thoughts, speaking in a giggly, high-pitched version of her own inner voice. Not shameful at all. She could be a good girl, and a bad girl, and either way, what was wrong with being hot like this? As the chorus said…
Good girls, bad girls, you’re all in heatFeel yourself lose control to the beatShake your titties, shake your booty, shake your bodyDon’t think about it, baby, you’re gonna get naughty!
She moaned, lewder than she’d ever moaned before, as she writhed. She didn’t want to dance, this wasn’t a dancing song, unless you were dancing in a seedy club and could press up against the nearest hot, sweaty body. This was a song that got you wet. She closed her eyes, as the last sane part of her, deep inside, stopped her shoving her hand down her panties.
Jenna took a step forwards, turning up the volume. This was her favourite part. Samara wasn’t exactly an innocent nun, she reckoned, but managing to last the first chorus of Abum 5, Track 7—“Get Naughty” without going to town on herself was impressive restraint. Probably either inexperienced, or repressed, she figured. Then again, she’d never used “Get Naughty” as an introductory track before.
For Katya, her oldest friend outside Poland, and her first taste of corrupting others, she’d gone with Album 2, Track 4—“Horny Daze”, an ode to spending all day in a blissful, lusty haze. From that, she’d realised that a person’s first song had a knock-on effect. While there were transformative songs that could change your life, much like any album, there was also filler. Songs without any message, few vocals, maybe a few moans and grunts, would keep the effects of other songs going, or put someone into this default state. And under that, Katya became a soft, low-effort slut, content to give a slow sloppy blowjob or be eaten out for far too long. It also seemed to affect her body, on a longer scale. She’d become rounder, softer, and in the nicest possible way for Jenna to say, more pleasant to look at.
She’d put together something much more exciting for Luca. There were a few songs devoted to fixing up men, and after a few dates, and when she had him back at her room, she’d put on her favourite for him—Album 5, Track 8, “Big Loads”. She’d always had a thing for cum, even before discovering the albums, and this promised to make him hot, horny, and ready to fill her up. Add in his body sprouting a 10 inch dick after a few repeated listens, and she had her man. Didn’t hurt that he was also a real softy before she got to him. Someone she would honestly spend her life with. That was something to be thankful for too, she figured. While mental changes were hidden under the surface after an hour or so of listening to regular music, as the mind reasserted, the physical ones seemed permanent.
She looked at Samara, sprawled out on her chair, knuckles clenched and pale on the handrest, breathing fast. Verse 2 had kicked in while she was distracted:
Good good girls hiding cum stained pantiesGood good girls, always telling lies to DaddyBad bad girls, making all the others jealousBad bad girls, never turn down a fuck, yes!
The poor woman’s heart was thumping, her pussy pulsing, as her body and thoughts turned against her. She tried to remember, but the autotune reflected the thoughts back, 100x as perverted. The time she had stayed after class to ask the cute PhD for advice on an essay? She was now remembering how she hadn’t worn panties, how she’d bent over for him, and how she’d sucked him off under the table. She’d been so embarassed! She was a good girl! A good girl, with a wild side underneath!
Jenna stepped closer, leaning in, as Samara let out a wordless whine of a moan, the noise of a human brain undergoing a heap of sexual corruption at once. She kissed along her neck, hand snaking up to cup her breast from the side. “So, Samara… no, Sammy… I never asked. Any partners? Do you like men? Women? Both, neither?”
Sammy didn’t answer, but she didn’t pull away. Jenna took the chance to unbutton her shirt, and sneak her hand under the folds of fabric, tracing the woman’s toned stomach. “I’m sure you’ve plenty of time to experiment, my love.” Her other hand went to Sammy’s, guiding it between her legs. She didn’t have the will to resist, not as the bridge echoed around her head, an ode to prim and proper girls going wild. The pairs fingers’ intertwined, teasing the edges of her damp folds, before Sammy took the initiative. She slipped in one finger, groaning (just like the time she’d jilled herself in a particularly hot lecture, her new memories said), as she fell into Jenna’s arms. As the long outro trailed off, the singer’s voice hitting one last high note, Sammy’s world changed forever as she hit her first orgasmic scream, in perfect harmony.
Late in the afternoon, Sammy was splayed out on a sofa, getting eaten out by Katya. The girl licked lazily, as she rubbed herself with a buzzing little vibe, but that was fine. A relaxed fuck never hurt anyone. She looked over at her new partner-in-sluttery, Jenna, as she gave her boyfriend a perfect handjob. He oozed cum from a glistening tip, around her perfectly painted nails, and when he came, he spurted all over her tits. Jenna, Sammy considered, did have very nice tits. Katya’s were larger, but Jenna’s were perfectly shaped, and just the right size to grope.
In the background, Album 1, Track 9—“TITTIES TITTIES TITTIES” played.
Jenna walked over, beaming, so Sammy could clean her up with her tongue. She sucked on a nipple, bit it a little, then sucked some more, all worth it to hear Jenna’s delightfully mature squeaks. “I’m very glad you invited me,” Sammy admitted, as she swivelled round, pulling Jenna into her lap. Katya was perturbed for just a moment, before she got to eating out Jenna instead. Luca took this chance to get in behind her, his cock still rock-hard despite dumping what could have been a pint on his girlfriend’s chest, and thrust into her tight hole. If the woman even noticed, she didn’t make any new sound, only continuing her soft moans from before. “And it’s lovely to meet your friends.”
Jenna smiled, cupping her face. “Oh, my love, the pleasure is all mine. But, now that you mention it… maybe next weekend, you could introduce me to yours? I’ve got the perfect idea.”
[ YOU HAVE 1 NEW MESSAGE FROM SAMARA S]
Hey girl! My housemate sent me a link to this new album she’s been listening to, it’s super cool! Thought you might like to listen!
Play attachment? (BrainwashMe.mp3)