The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

You don’t crap where you eat, goes the saying. Wise words, if somewhat crude. Yet that’s just what I’m about to do, and pretty much with a shrug and a smile.

I’m between sets at an abs machine in the gym of J___ University. That’s my local gym. Not that I’m a student at J___ or staff or in any way have anything to do with the school. It’s just a supremely convenient gym to patronize: just three blocks down the road from my office, reasonable rates for what they call “community users”, and a wonderful supply of prime young coed bodies on display— eighteen to twenty-five year old fit, toned, and scantily-dressed girls. Talk about motivation.

Looking around, I see young nubile women, buying into this society’s view that to be pretty means to be slim and firm all over. Not that I really mind, of course. Male privilege, I think it’s called. Sometimes that bothers me, but not today. I drink in the sights, and can’t help but think that some of these girls are purposely on display. See and be seen, every gym’s motto. Except maybe for that handful of regulars that show up day in day out, good weather or bad, holiday or not, and get on with their routine without talking to anyone—hell, without noticing anyone—there but for the grace of getting their arms bulging or their heart pumping.

I remember reading last year in one of the university papers last year this student’s rant about my gym. In acerbic prose, she complained about all of these girls, and I quote, pimping themselves up in the locker room, makeup and everything. She was incensed after catching a girl adjust her thong to ensure it was visible over her track pants in a blatant attempt to lure unsuspecting and innocent boys, a praying mantis on the prowl for a mate and a snack. Innocent, my ass! Most gyms are, for better or for worse, meat markets. See and be seen. At least, one can still push a workout through all this nature channel mating behavior.

My name is Kurt Bauer, and I hit the gym four times a week, early in the morning. I’ve always found it to give a superb start to the day, working out body kinks before getting to the business of investing money and advising others on how to invest money. The world of international finance may sound attractive, even glamorous, but its day to day humdrum is just as boring as any other job. Unlike others, I’m not obsessive about finance, so while I am not a millionaire I make up for it with some amount of free time.

I have been out of town for much of the last few months, and decided that this week I should stay put and try to catch up everything that needed catching up on. And reclaim a semblance of workout schedule in a gym I knew and enjoyed and not some hotel gym equipped with a BowFlex and a treadmill.

And thus it came to pass that, a couple of day ago, I spotted this girl for the first time—medium height, light blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, sporting the tight and toned body of a distance runner. She was straddling one of the StairMaster machines that line the way to the weights room, and like kids to an ice cream truck my eyes were drawn to her legs, exposed to great advantage by a pair of running shorts that bared much of her thighs, straining with her efforts. I wasn’t the only one that had noticed either, if the many young men and not few women who sneaked a glance up the toned body as they passed by were any indication.

Admiring her curves, I idly wondered what her long legs might feel like wrapped around my head as I ate her out, or how the firm ass that anyone could discern through her shorts would feel like in my hands as she rode me to climax like a deviant cowgirl on a mad bull. I flushed that idea out of my head presto; it’s never a good idea to entertain such distractions while lifting a couple hundred pounds over one’s chest.

And it was not just the risk of debilitating injury that slowed me down. As a general rule, I try not to pick up women near where I live or work. With my idiosyncratic ability, it tends to complicate matters more than anything else. You see, I am what I like to call a mind chameleon. I can get some people to see me as some other people for a short period of time. In fact, let’s not mince words here—through some cosmic snafu, I can get girls to see me as whomever gets their motor running at the moment, if you see what I mean. So yes, I’m a freak, but a sexually satisfied freak.

Unfortunately, some kind of negative feedback seems to occur when a girl sees me after we have shared a, shall we say, experience with me. The details vary. Sometimes she will suddenly realize what happened—that some sort of impersonation took place—sometimes she will harbor an instant dislike to me without knowing why, and sometimes she will instead take a fancy to me, again without knowing why. Regardless, it is a problem, and I therefore tend to indulge only when I’m traveling. Once in a while, though, a girl will test my resolve. Today is such a day.

I’m between sets at the abs machine, and as I catch my breath, my eyes wander over to the row of elliptical machines and StairMasters. There among the breast-bouncing cuties happily climbing stairs that lead nowhere is my blonde angel with the tight runner’s body. Her breasts are not bouncy; they are either nonexistent or she’s wearing one of those sport bras that rival corsets of old. Considering that she does not seem to have a single ounce of unnecessary fat on her body, my money’s on the former.

I must have been staring because I suddenly realize that she is looking right at me. I give her my best sorry-for-staring-but-wow smile, and she returns a small smile of her own before turning her attention back to her machine. She may have a magazine splayed out in front of her, but I doubt it; she seems too serious for that.

I finish my workout in the next thirty minutes, cycling through arms and back exercises. I keep sneaking glances at blondie as I move around the gym. She is near perfect, as if drawn by a seriously horny artist, and I even love the way her ponytail bobs up and down as she powers through the StairMaster’s routine.

I finish my workout as I usually do, with a three-miles run on the interior track of the gym. Few people are running and the track, an engineering tour de force suspended over the squash courts below, is quiet. Through glass windows the row of elliptical machines and StairMasters is visible, and on every go-round the track I glimpse blondie’s little rear energetically pumping up and down. I wonder if she’s wearing a thong.

I sigh, not necessarily easy when out of breath, and make a concerted effort to quit my gawking. Yes, she is attractive. Yes, I wouldn’t mind discovering what those toned legs of hers would feel like wrapped around my waist. Yes, I wonder how deep she could swallow me. The usual questions. But I have rules for a reason, and I’ll be damned if I break them today. I put my head down, jack up the volume on my iPod, and focus on lap ten of twenty-five.

Damnation lies on an exercise mat in a corner of the track by lap thirteen. Elevated platforms fill the rounded corners of the track where people often stretch or do floor exercises, perhaps because those spots afford them more privacy than the large floor mats in the central part of the gym. Whatever the reason, my blonde angel, who evidently finished her routine, is currently stretched out on her back on a mat by the corner in which I am heading, and I have a long stretch with nothing to do but look right at her and take in the awesomeness that is her body.

I then get treated to a dozen laps of my own personal peep show, seeing as I am the only one on the track by that point. And what a show it is. Ever noticed how floor exercises, when done right, bear an astonishing resemblance to stripper routines?

I am reminded of that observation as I watch blondie stretch a taut body before me every time I take the last straight line of the track. She starts with simple stretches, lying on her back, legs extended, arms reaching up above her head.

By my next lap, she has shifted to her side, and she is lifting a leg up, extended straight, in a sort of scissor move. I get to take in the perfect line of her leg, and note how her skin is nearly golden.

Same move on my next lap, with the other leg this time, and facing away from me. My eyes are rather unwittingly glued to her shorts, which get pulled over her ass as her leg lifts, calling attention to its indubitable tightness. I can’t believe I’m the only one around seeing this.

On my next lap, she has moved on to glute exercises, on her back with legs folded at right angle, knees up, feet flat on the ground, as she slowly lifts her hips, rotating her pelvis, keeping her knees together and her upper back on the mat. Given where my mind has been for the past half-hour, the movement is almost obscene. She looks as if she was reaching up to a lover, offering herself to his thrusts, urging him to take her faster, deeper, stronger. I try and fail to not look at where her shorts are stretched between her legs, imagining how her pussy lips look, how wet she gets when turned on.

The next lap brings her coup de grace. She is on her hands and knees, back straight, head down, and gives me plenty of time to admire her ass and how it leads into her upper thighs—her shorts almost let her cheeks peek out. Too bad. She then lifts a leg away from her body, keeping it folded at right angle, like a puppy relieving herself against a wall.

By the time I make it around the track again, my blonde angel is up and picking up the mat she had brought with her. I take in her body as a whole yet again, and idly wonder whether she can feel my eyes roam up and down her legs. I suppose she does; I recall reading somewhere that girls are often perfectly aware of all those old creepy perverts hanging around gyms. At least I am not old.

When my eyes finally make their way up to her face, I realize she is looking at me. Caught again. I almost miss a step. She does not seem particularly bothered by my obvious attention; she gives me a little almost shy smile and steps off the corner platform, mat tucked under one arm, a towel in the other.

I only have a few seconds to make up my mind and throw all my sensible rules out the window. If not for that last look, I might have let her go, but that look held too much promise. Instead of rounding the track when I reach the platform she has just left, I step over it and keep on running, slowing down as I approach her. She’s heard me, and turns around, smiling and frowning at the same time.

“Hi,” I say, out of breath, and trying very hard not to sound too much the fool. Touchy, since I have no real clue what to say next.

“Hi?” she says. Nice voice. Lower than I would have guessed.

“My name’s Kurt. Sorry to catch you like this, but I’ve been seeing you around for a bit now, and figured I’d introduce myself before you start thinking I’m nuts or something.”

She’s still smiling, a good sign. “Hi Kurt, I’m Sam... Samantha. Yeah, I’ve seen you around too. Your routine seems... intense.”

“Oh, you know, gotta keep the old body up and running. And your routine is nothing to sneer at. You must have some of the most toned legs in this gym.”

She blushes at that. Nice. Especially since my drivel, which would be ridiculed by the Neil Strausses of the world, is probably going to lead me nowhere very fast. Fuck, I must really like this girl. I’m usually not so shitty at this.

“Thanks, so... you don’t look like a student here. You a prof, or—”

“No, no, I’m actually in finance. Got an office down the road. This gym’s just the most convenient for me, plus it’s pretty nice. What about you, student?”

She nods. “Senior in law school. Not as fancy as finance, I know.”

“You kiddin’ me? Finance is some of the most boring stuff around.” And I’m not even exaggerating, sadly. “But it pays the bills, and I get to travel. And it does have its good moments. What kind of lawyer are you setting out to be?”

“I don’t know about being a lawyer yet. I’m thinking about going into copyright law, the whole digital rights debate. It’s been on my mind ever since the whole thing with the student sued by the music industry last fall.”

Yes, a year ago, a student around here was sued by the RIAA for file sharing. That caused quite a stir, and the debates around campus were so vociferous that even I had heard about them. That was the opening I was waiting for.

“Digital rights—you know, I have clients that are looking to invest in digital media, but they are skittish for... well, for several reasons. And I admit that I don’t know much about what’s going on in that area. Perhaps I could pick your brain about it one of these days? Call it a working lunch.”

“I don’t know.” she hesitates.

“Very low key, nothing fancy, just a quiet lunch and many questions. We can even talk about a consultancy fee. How about lunch tomorrow, at the Panera around the corner?” Near the university, and as unassuming a place to have lunch that I could think of.

She makes a decision, on the spot, and I can tell that it’s not good for me. “Look, you’re nice, and who knows, this digital rights thing of yours might even be true, but I have a boyfriend, and he might take me going to lunch with an admittedly cute finance guy the wrong way. So I’m going to pass on the invite, and I hope you won’t be too mad.”

Damn. Well, it was a stretch anyways. “Okay, I understand. No foul. Look, if you do decide to look into investments for digital media, please do get in touch. Bauer Consulting, just google it.”

She nods and smiles, and my heart skips a beat. Fuck, she’s beautiful.

“Well, I’ll see you around.” She heads down the row of StairMasters towards the stairs to the locker rooms. In the next four seconds, an amazing amount of processing goes on between my ears. My eyes shift down to Sam’s ass, the way her shorts hug it tight, the way her legs just emerge from those shorts, tanned, strong, long legs with a skin promising silky softness. A voice in the back of my head points out that she has a boyfriend—something I can use—and another more insistent voice points out that she has the most delightful body I have seen in a long while, and she cannot be more than twenty years old, and do I remember how fantastic twenty-year old girls can be?

“Hey, Sam!”

She stops to look at me. I catch her eye, holding her gaze without faltering until I feel a familiar tension build up behind my eyes that eventually spreads to my whole body. I tremble slightly, and then something just snaps and a warm wave floods through me. Like an orgasm, I think, not for the first time.

Sam blinks a few times, then looks at me as though she is seeing me for the first time. Her face splits into a smile, and almost run towards me, arms extended.

“Luke, what are you doing here? I thought you hated the gym.”

Go with the flow, Kurt, you know the drill by now. She thinks you’re Luke, presumably her boyfriend. “Well, figured I’d give it another shot, considering how much you like it.”

“That’s so sweet!”

“Plus I get to look at you in this outfit. You’re breathtaking, babe.”

Sam blushes. “Thanks. It’s too bad I’m just finished my routine. I can stick around while you finish, then we can hang out. I’ve got nothing till one. We should be able to snatch a table at the student center.”

Time to start taking chances, old boy. I step closer to Sam, and ever so slowly trail my fingers up her arm. She shivers at the touch, but does not pull away.

“Hanging out at the student center is not quite what I had in mind.” I lean in closer, whispering in her ear. “Unless they’ve got beds in there that I don’t know about.”

Sam blushes further and tries to say something, but all that comes out is an incoherent stammer. I take advantage of her confusion to give her a quick kiss by the ear, lingering a second, feeling the soft skin, still salty from her workout.

I can feel her shiver, although we are hardly touching. “Luke, not here... People can see.” Ah, so either Luke is a secret fling, or my blonde angel is uncomfortable with PDA. I suspect the latter, but the approach is the same in both cases. I spy a column, out of the way to our right.

“Come here.”

I reach to the column, pulling Sam by the hand. She follows after a surreptitious look around. No one is paying attention to us, aside from the odd male casting a lingering look in Sam’s direction, probably not even registering me.

I circle around the column into a small recess by the wall, where we are effectively cut off from view.

Sam’s back is against the wall, and she looks at me with big blue eyes waiting for my next move, suddenly and I think uncharacteristically passive, although the slight quivering of her lips tells me all I really need to know. My ability at work, bless it.

Sam closes her eyes as I lean over to kiss her; her lips are soft, warm, hungry. It does not take long for her tongue to seek mine, for her hand to reach behind my neck and pull me closer, for her body as a whole to press against mine, skin to skin, thigh to thigh, crotch to crotch. Any passiveness on her part is now gone, as I feel her hands roam my back, go down to grab my ass, come back up my chest. She moans in my mouth.

I can’t believe the contrast between her skin, warm, smooth, soft to the touch, and her body, tight, hard, strong. My own hands waste no time to find her ass, a reflection of her own gestures. I feel her weight shift through the thin gym shorts, and my right hand sneaks down to caress the back of her thigh. She obliges by lifting her leg off the floor.

As we get drawn deeper into the kiss, hidden away in our corner, Sam gets hotter and hotter; her hands are more active, the leg I am holding up is rubbing against my side, she is pushing against me, moving her hips, thrusting her groin with the music, seeking contact, moaning.

She pulls out of the kiss, abruptly, then traps my head in her hands, looking at me. She’s shaking.

“I want you.”

Perfect, I think. I just smile, and Sam stops me before I can say anything.

“I know I said I wasn’t ready yet, that I still wanted to wait, that I was still afraid, but no more. God, I’m so horny right now, I could jump you right here and now.”

Wait, what? Not ready, waiting? Good Lord, are you trying to tell me that I’ve run into the only virgin left on this campus? That makes me pause. Virgins are no favorite of mine; they are a lot of work. Those religions promising to send you off to Valhalla and its buffet of virgins? Not for this boy.

Sam must have felt me pull back. “I know this comes as a surprise, but I kindda hoped you’d be happy.” She’s looking at me with large hopeful eyes. Their blue is a pale one, and contrasts with her golden skin. I have no idea how such a combination of tones could come to be, but there it is, shining off a beautiful girl half-standing half-leaning against me, warm, loving, and ready to fuck.

She does not feel like a virgin. I can’t explain it, just some sense you pick up over the years. I have been with many in the past, when I was honing my skill, and they all share certain traits, certain ways of acting and reacting to things sexual, a mix of desire and apprehension, tinged with trepidation or eerie calm, and Sam has none of these. That alone peaks my curiosity. Well, that, and Sam’s hand that has just disappeared between our intertwined bodies and started to massage my cock through my shorts. Sam has a naughty smile on her face, a kitten happy to have found a toy to play with.

Reluctantly, I grab her hand to keep her from causing a mess I might have a hard time explaining. This is neither the place nor the time.

“Sam, Sam, please, okay, okay, you win!” Her look is all surprised innocence.

“Listen, not here, not now. Don’t you want our first time to be special?”

Her pout is adorable, but she nods.

“Then, tonight, how about I stop at your place, and we can do this right?”

She frowns while she thinks, and soon breaks into a smile. “Ronnie is off to a play tonight, we should have the apartment to ourselves.”

I kiss her neck, eliciting a moan.

“Wonderful. Eight o’clock, then? I’ll call you before I show up, to make sure everything is okay. My cell phone’s shot though. Can you remind me of your phone number?”

Touchy. As her boyfriend, I should know how to contact her. The cell phone trick has always been useful to get around that problem. Who under thirty remembers phone numbers anymore? Thankfully, when I use my ability, girls tend to not be as suspicious as they might otherwise be, a useful side-effect.

Sam obligingly gives me her phone number. A few more kisses, caresses, and moans before we finally break apart and get on with our day.

She has just started to resume her walk to the locker room when I call her name once more and stop her. I get closer, and whisper in her ear. “Tonight, would you do me a favor? Dress sexy? For me?”

A naughty smile is her only answer.

I watch her go, eyes fixated to her ass, until she disappears through the door of the women’s locker room.

The rest of my day goes on as usual: meetings, lunch with a client, conference calls. I try to schedule my affairs so that I only need to be in the office a few days a week. The rest, I can do comfortably from home.

I can’t help but have part of my mind returning to Sam, looking forward to our date later this evening. I wonder how she’s spending the day. I wonder if she’s spent some time with her Luke (which I naturally picture in my head as a Mark Hamill look-alike, a somewhat disturbing visual) and whether she’s mentioned tonight’s date. If so, then poor Luke must be a very confused boy right now. Perhaps I should have asked her not to say anything, to treat it as a game.

The nagging worry that Skywalker might show up at our little rendezvous tonight increases over the course of the afternoon. I wish there was a way I could ensure that he won’t show up, but I don’t know anything but his first name. Damn. And calling Sam about it would make matters worse.

At seven, after a spot of dinner, I call Sam. This is the decisive juncture. My ability is organic, fluctuating, affecting different people in different and unpredictable ways. I’ve gotten used to it since the ability first manifested itself when I was a teenager, and I have learned what pretty consistently works. But here I am kicking things into less predictable territory.

I’m nervous. The effect of my ability reliably lasts a couple of hours, and the likelihood of it fading increases with every passing hour after that. The longest I have ever seen it last is twelve hours. Of course, I can always prolong the effect by using my ability again, but that option is not available to me right now, as I haven’t seen Sam since the gym this morning, almost ten hours ago, and I have no idea where she lives. A rookie mistake. I can only hope that when she picks up the phone, she is still under my influence.

Sam picks up after the third ring. I allow myself a sigh of relief when she recognizes my voice as Luke’s, and points out in answer to a comment about having missed her all day that we could see each other now. I conclude she must not have seen her boyfriend today. One less problem to deal with. She gives me her address when I ask and tells me in rather colorful terms how much she is looking forward to holding me in an hour and “take her like the little girlfriend in heat she is.” I like that plan.

Forty-five minutes later, freshly showered and casually dressed, I knock on the door of her apartment. The building is nice, clean, and unexpectedly quiet for being on the outskirts of the student ghetto. We’re probably in grad students land. Good, last thing I want right now is the pounding of the bass from some undergrad frat party. Or the police. The police still makes me nervous, even though I haven’t had to deal with them in years.

Sam’s voice comes out muted from inside the apartment, telling me to come in, the door is unlocked. The apartment is dark, with a few flickers of candlelight about, casting a warm eerie glow. Sam’s voice again, this time from down the hall: “Make yourself comfortable, baby, I’ll be right there.”

I take off my jacket, sit on the couch, and assess the surroundings. Typical student digs, perhaps with a touch more style than usual. Someone with taste and an eye for decoration has set this room up. I can’t judge the colors in the candlelight, but I bet they match. The living room is spacious, and I like the thick carpet underfoot. Kitchen in one direction, and in the other a hallway that I presume leads down to the bedrooms.

There’s a bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table. I pour the wine, smell it. Merlot, the default choice for many people. Not my favorite, but I appreciate the effort. I take a sip, focusing on the sting of the red wine on my tongue, trying hard to avoid thinking about what’s coming. Part of the fun, I realized a long time ago, lies in not knowing what was going to happen. Anticipation can be intoxicating.

“Hi, baby.”

Sam’s voice. I was lost in thought, and didn’t hear her come in. She’s standing at the hallway entrance to the living room. She’s not moving, and that’s just as well because it gives me sufficient time to drink her in, like the tallest glass of water after a scorching walk in the desert.

She is not wearing much, and what she is wearing plays with the light from the candles in magical ways. A short negligee is my best guess, something satiny, held up by two thin straps over her shoulders, and reaching down to the top of her thighs. She is not wearing anything else I can see. Her legs are exposed in all their glory, long and smooth and delectable. It’s funny, she probably showed as much skin this morning at the gym, but the way the negligee is molded on her body is positively obscene. I can easily make out the outline of her breasts, and the mind fills in the blank of her waist, following her hips down to her thighs and the treasure that lies between them.

She looks at me look at her. “I hope you like. I did not have much time today to find something suitable.”

“You look wonderful.”

“Thank you. Is that glass for me?” She pulls off the nonchalance much better than I right now.

I hand her the wine-filled glass as she strolls across the room. “Her majesty’s glass.” My eyes are glued to her legs as she gets closer, walking silently over the carpeted floor. The quietness and fluidity of her stride is nearly feline.

Sam reaches for the glass. “Thank you, kind sir.” She sips, maintaining eye contact. My eyes have made it back to her face.

She is smiling. She puts her glass down, heads to the shelves by the wall, and after fiddling with the sound system some soft nondescript mood music comes out of hidden speakers. I recognize the melody, it’s been playing on the radio lately, but for the life of me cannot put a name to the singer. Not that that’s anything new. I stopped paying attention to commercial music after Freddie Mercury died. But hey, tonight, if Sam’s happy, I’m happy.

And she seems happy. The song has a slow but snappy beat, and Sam’s getting into it. She still has her back to me, leaning against the shelves. I drink my wine, just looking at her. The view is beautiful. The negligee is cut low in the back, and I can see her backside move through the thin material. Sam’s swaying her hips in time with the music, matching the rhythm. It is altogether hypnotic.

Sam pushes herself off the shelves, and starts dancing, a slow, sensual swinging to the music, arms raised, eyes closed. She moves like a dancer, and I idly wonder whether she takes classes. I’ll have to ask her later. Sam’s hands are roaming as she dances, traveling down her perfect runner’s body, following the contour of her hips, skimming over her thighs. Playfully, she lifts one side of her negligee, revealing her upper leg straight up to her hip, and I don’t see any indication that she is wearing anything under the silk.

She gestures me to come up and join her. I smile, shake my head, and hold my ground. I hate dancing. Unfazed, she bumps and grinds her way to me across the living room, before holding out her hand to me, a wicked smile on her lips. I stare at the offered hand for a beat or two before sighing and joining her. She puts her arms around my neck, hands loosely together behind me, and sways slowly, a foot away from me, eyes closed.

She smells fresh and clean and delicious. My hands are on her hips. The negligee definitely is silk, and thin silk at that. It intensifies the feel of her skin. I will my hands to move up from her hips to below her shoulders and then up her arms, which she obligingly lifts. I get closer as my hands reach hers high above her head, thrown back with eyes open and staring at me and lips parted. I lean over and kiss her lips. She melts into me, as she did in the gym earlier, except now it’s only us in the darkened candlelit apartment,and the night is still young.

The kiss is scorching. Sam’s body rubs against mine, and I feel all its details, her breasts against my chest, her stomach against mine, her groin pushing into my erection, her leg trapped between my legs. If this is how she feels when I’m still dressed, I worry about my reaction when I’ll be naked against her.

Sam interrupts those idle reflections by pushing me back down on the couch before straddling me and resuming our kiss. Her hands are on my face, and her hips are dancing wildly on my lap. She’s losing control, I can tell. She’s getting off, rubbing herself against me, against my cock through my jeans. I feel warmth and wetness seeping through, and am tempted to let go and lose control as well.

My hands are on her thighs feeling the intricate muscle work under a skin as silky as her negligee. With careful movements, I tug on her shoulder straps, and the garment, with a little help, drops down to reveal two perfect breasts that seem to rise up to meet me. She must have been wearing the most excruciating of sports bra this morning, because her breasts are not at all what I was led to believe.

I dive in, and grab a nipple between my lips, hands reaching up to squeeze her other breast. Sam’s breath catches, then she moans, pushing her chest out to give me greater access. I kiss and nibble and suck the offered globe like a starved man. She tastes like wild berries. I lean Sam back, straining her legs, and she has to hold on to me not to slide down to the floor.

We make out in that fashion on the couch for the better part of the following fifteen minutes. By that point her negligee is but a piece of fabric bunched around her waist. Sam has managed to take off my shirt, and took a few minutes away from kissing and caressing my chest to unzip my pants and massage my straining cock.

“I want you, bad. Now,” she says, when we pause after a particularly heated kiss. She’s back on my lap, rubbing her crotch against mine. I can feel her pussy leaking juice even through the material of my briefs. She takes a deep breath, seems to come to a decision, then leans over to whisper in my ear. “I want to feel your cock inside, stretching me out.”

She’s trying on the words out loud. Nice. I should be encouraging. I whispering back to her. “Funny, my cock also wants to be inside, stretching your little pussy out, whereas I want to make you scream.” I pull back, look her in the eyes, smile. “I think we can come to some sort of arrangement here.” She smiles back, an endearing mix of embarrassment and arousal etched on her face. I kiss her again.

“Where do you—” I start, but she doesn’t let me finish. She stands up and shimmies out of her negligee. It was not hiding anything , of course, bunched up as it was around her waist, but somehow seeing Sam completely naked without a stitch of clothing breaking her lines gets to me. She is beautiful. I mentioned the tight runner’s legs, long and smooth, right? And the flat stomach, and the gently curved hips? And the breasts, sitting perfectly proportioned high on her chest? Her shoulders, the shoulders of a model on which a designer would fantasize about hanging his latest fashion? She is simply breathtaking.

Sam kneels in front of me, reaches for my pants and briefs and pulls them off. My cock springs up to say hello. She strokes it softly. I close my eyes, taking in the sensations; they never get old. I probably let out a moan too, I’m not wholly sure.

She stops, and before I can jerk myself out of my reverie I feel first her hot breath on my cock, then her lips gently wrapping themselves around the head. She sucks me in, slowly, then out again. I open my eyes. Like a blonde curtain, her hair hides her face from me. She bobs her head up and down on my cock, slower than I usually like, but the rhythm feels right tonight, and her mouth is fantastic. I tell her so, can feel her smile.

Without warning, she lets me go and stands back up. “Hey, no! Please, don’t stop!” I complain. She laughs, as she straddles my lap once more, grabbing my cock and aiming it at the wet slit between her legs. “Well, if you’re a good boy, I’ll get back to it later. But now, I have other things on my mind. I want that big cock in me.” The head of my cock touches her pussy lips, and it takes a fair amount of self-control not to come right then and there. After the briefest pause, Sam sinks onto my rod, and down she goes swallowing me almost to the hilt, in one long swoop. She leans on me, and I can feel more than hear her moan against my shoulder.

“Fuck, this feels good, so full.” I wholeheartedly agree. Her pussy is like a tight warm glove around my cock, squeezing it with every spasm that runs through Sam. Her pussy is tighter than most I have recently sampled, not surprising if she’s a virgin. And I have to say that things went off much better than I had feared; deflowering is much more awkward in real life than on those fantasy stories one finds on the internet. There’s pain, parts that don’t fit right, sometimes a reinforced hymen. None of that tonight.

Sam is on my lap, having managed to take in my full length, and she is contently sighing as she moves her hips to and fro. She seems to enjoy the motion, if her regular “Mmmm... so good... feels so good...” are anything to go by. I take advantage of the soothing rhythm to run my hands over her body and nibble on her breasts, deliciously available at mouth level.

Sam straightens up, and almost completely pulls me out, remaining with only the tip of my cock nestled between her folds. She looks at me with a wicked smile. “I wanna fuck you.” Sure, knock yourself out. “I wanna fuck you hard.” From virgin to liking it rough in ten minutes. I didn’t know I was this good.

The thought perishes as she slams down on my cock. On the spot, I’m not sure whether to feel pain or pleasure. For Sam, it’s definitely pleasure. Her mouth hangs open but no sound comes out, only an abrupt exhaling as if she’s not expecting what she’s feeling. After a few seconds, she goes through it again: she pulls herself off me, leaving only the tip of my cock inside her, and then slams herself down. She settles into a grueling rhythm, repeatedly slamming herself down on my cock, and I fear that her stamina is no match for mine.

She mutterings under her breath, and it gets louder as she gets closer to orgasm. I strain to hear, happy for the distraction—her pumping up and down is about to make me burst, and this is too much fun to waste. Damn, I think, suddenly, protection! I don’t see parenting in my near future activities.

“Fuck... fuck... fuck...” is her litany, keeping tempo with her humping. “Fuck... big cock... want big cock... down in my dirty little pussy... so full... fill me... take me... ravage me... fuck... deeper... fuck...” All sotto voce, almost mumbled. A closet dirty talker, then. I need her to come before I let go. Stupid machismo. If she is indeed into dirty talk, then...

I lean towards her and whisper loud enough so she can hear despite the squeaky couch. “Come for me, my little sex angel. I want to feel you come all around my cock. Squeeze that tight cunt of yours right around my stiff cock.”

She shivers upon hearing my words, her breath shortens, her motion on my lap become jerkier, like an engine misfiring. She slams herself down on top of me a few more times, hard. And then she comes.

She’s a screamer, but she tries to contain it as best as she can, jamming her face in the crook of my neck, and biting down as tremors overwhelm her body. I hold on for dear life, trying to convince myself that the blinding pain in my neck is a tribute to a job well done.

Sam collapses against me, drained, a sheen of sweat on her skin, mumbling incoherently into my shoulder. Her breathing returns to normal, slowly. She feels good against me.

“Come on,” I say, gently rubbing her back. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”

Time to show off some of those gym moves. I just hope I don’t throw out something in my back. It’s a good thing Sam’s not much bigger than she is.

I push off the couch, standing up, lifting Sam, still hooked around my neck and with my dick embedded deep inside her. Lift with the legs, Kurt, not the back. Sam lets out a moan and mutters something indiscernible. I disengage, pulling her off my dick, and then she’s lying in my arms, a much easier position for me to carry her. She cuddles up against me like a child. I head for the hallway.

“Sam, bedroom?”

Without looking, she gestures to the far door. The hallway is dark, but I can still see enough from the candlelight in the living room. I navigate the door frame without ramming Sam’s head into it. I put her down on the bed, and she seems to come alive somewhat, because she pulls me in for a scorching kiss. Her body seeks mine, reaching up, and my cock responds. But there are things I need to do.

“I’ll be right back,” I whisper, when I get a chance to say a word.

“Hurry,” she says, eyes closed, still not wholly recovered.

I do. Step one, grabbing the pack of condoms from my pants in the living room. Step two, kill the candles. Visions of the apartment engulfed in flames dance in front of my eyes. I hurry back to the bedroom.

Sam’s come out of it. She has turned on a soft nightlight, and a bluish glow suffuses the room. She is watching me, head raised up on pillows, legs spread, a hand leisurely stroking a pussy still swollen from out foray on the couch.

“You look very nice,” I say, openly ogling. Sam blushes, but does not close her legs or take her hand away.

I join her on the bed and flutter a light kiss on the inside of her right thigh. She shivers, and moves her legs further apart. Lying fully down, resting on my elbows, I kiss up her thigh, inducing more shivers and a few moans as a reward. Her hand gets busier over her pussy, fingers having moved to caressing her clit directly. I can smell her arousal from where I am.

I have said it before, I will say it again, her skin is unbelievably soft. I assess this with my lips now instead of my fingers, which intensifies the feeling. When I reach the fold where her thigh runs into the silk surrounding her pussy, I jump to her left thigh and mirror my previous kiss trail. Sam moans in frustration at feeling me get away from where she wants to be kissed the most.

Before long, though, I am back at the hearth between her thighs, breathing in her scent, strong but sweet. She is using two fingers to rub one of her pussy lips towards the top of her slit. I blow gently, and when she feels it she pushes her hips up, no doubt to seek some sort of contact. I tease her by blowing on her pussy some more, then indulge in something I’ve been meaning to do ever since seeing her this morning: lifting myself up, I deposit a slow heavy kiss on her stomach, flat and taut and strong. I feel the toned muscles under her skin, and follow the hollows down her sides, basking in the taste of her skin, lightly salted after the sweat of our earlier exertions.

I return to her slit only to notice that her hand is nearly frantic now. If I let her be, she’s capable of coming again without me. I find that completely unacceptable. Time to test out my earlier theory.

“Sam,” I say, up on my elbows, face above her self-abusing hand, “stop.”

It takes a few seconds, but Sam eventually stops. Her eyes are open and looking right at me. I have her attention.

“Do me a favor, will you? Spread your pussy lips and hold them out. I want a taste.”

Small hesitation—I can detect a faint blush in the glow of the nightlight. So she clearly has no qualms lying naked before me with her legs spread, wanton, but words do have an effect on her.

“I want to offer yourself to me.”

A moan this time, and she moves her hands down to her crotch, and with two delicate fingers from each hand, she pulls apart her lips, revealing a wet, red, aroused slit ready to be entertained.

I proceed to thoroughly eat her out, starting with a few tentative caresses of my tongue alongside a fleshy lip, before moving on to her engorged clit. By the time ten minutes have elapsed, I am alternating between driving my tongue deep inside her as far as it will go, and sucking on her little love nub. She has come twice already, and is well on her way to a third orgasm.

It’s time I get to play as well. I kneel up on the bed to Sam’s cry of protest and reach for the pack of condoms. I fumble with one before managing to roll it onto my cock in one nice and smooth motion. If only it had been so easy fifteen years ago.

After her initial disappointment, Sam has picked up on what I was up to. Smart girl. She’s back to caressing herself, staring straight at my cock, transfixed. I like seeing that expression on her face. I am not especially long, cock-wise, but I am wide. Pleasurably girthy, if you will.

I lie down on top of Sam, who reaches down between us and with a small warm hand grips a cock delighted by the attention. Sam shifts her hips forward, and pitches up for me to impale her.

Except she never makes it. I move out of reach, still on top of her. Her eyes shoot open, brows furrowed, a questioning groan on her lips. I smirk, feeling naughty.

“No,” I say, “not yet. Before I do anything, you have to tell me what you want.”

Sam shoots me a look of incomprehension, and then gasps, avoiding my eyes. I love making her blush.

“Go on,” I continue, “If you want it inside, you’ll have to tell me.”

She hesitates, and very softly, whispers, “I want you inside me.”

“Come on, Sam, you can do better than that. Louder”

“I want your... dick inside.”

I lean over her, bring my mouth to her ear. “You want my dick, my cock deep inside you, don’t you? You want me to spread you out, open you up. You want me to take you, ravish you, fuck you until you can’t breathe anymore?”

Sam moans. I can feel her body sway under mine. “Yesss... Inside... Wanna feel you, wanna feel you inside.” I kiss the side of neck, run my tongue up to her earlobe. “Wanna feel your cock inside my little hungry pussy.” Her voice started low, but gains in intensity.

“Then what?” I ask. She has it in her, I know, she proved it earlier. Except she wasn’t quite herself then. Now I want more. I want Samantha to speak, not lust.

Sam takes a deep breath. “Then I want you to... plunge your cock deep inside me and fill me up.”

“And you want me to fuck you?”

She turns her head back towards me, the red of the blush purplish in the blur glow. Her eyes are sparkling.

“Then yes, I want you to fuck me. Is that what you want to hear, you bastard?” The smile flirting at the edges of her mouth belies the harshness of her words. “I want you to fuck me,” she stabs her hips up to punctuate her statement, to get me to react, “I want you to ram your cock in me and split me open. Is that want you want to hear?”

“Yes,” I say. “That’s exactly what I want to hear.” And then I kiss her hard on the lips, and as she responds to my kiss, as her tongue starts dueling with mine, I thrust into her, and she opens up like the most joyous of flowers on a warm spring day.

I inch my way into her, slowly, inexorably, until I can go no further, until I am embedded inside her as far as I can go. And then I stop. I keep on kissing her, but remain motionless on top of her, my groin flush against hers.

After a few seconds, Sam moans through the kiss, and the moan becomes more insistent as time passes. I’m just enjoying myself, wholly lost in the sweetness of Sam’s lips. I can feel her trying to move her hips and get some friction going, but I remain pushed against her, unyielding.

She breaks the kiss and pushes off to look at me. I return her stare, slapping what I hope is a sufficient smile on face. I just look at her, really look at her, trying to express how much I am into her, how much she makes my blood boil, how much I want to hear her scream as I pound her, all without saying a word, all without moving.

I don’t know if she gets it, but she just stares at me, mouth barely open, eyes wide, and I can see the lust in them grow. She strains to move against me, but as strong as she is, I am still just stronger. Not to mention in a better position.

“Luke,” she says, finally, “please fuck me.”

I smile. After pulling out, I pause, before driving my cock back in, all the way, with more power than the first time. Sam closes her eyes, savoring the sensation, gasping as I bottom out.

I stop again when I’m all in, enjoying the feel of her pussy grasping my cock, the sheer feel of having her around me.

“Fuck me,” says Sam. She’s looking at me again.

I pull out once more, and thrust into her.

“Fuck me.”

I pull out, and ram back in. Her pussy is still tight.

“Luke,” she says, grabbing my head in her hand, “take me, just take me, before I fucking KILL YOU!”

Who am I to argue with such a request? I pick up the pace, and Sam voices her appreciation. “Yes, come on, just take me, hard, you fucking bastard!”

We do not last a long time at that pace. Sam urges me on with increasingly explicit descriptions and demands, and I try to maintain a good regular beat, pulling out completely before driving into her, again and again. Sam has pulled her knees up by her chest to let me in deeper, and her breathing gets shorter and shorter. She’s had a few orgasms in the last few minutes, and I feel disgustingly proud.

“Sam, I’m gonna come soon.”

“Go on, come, I want to feel you inside—God, I wish I could feel you spurt into me—unless...” she looks devious, “unless you want to come on me instead? Like in the pornos? Would you like to come on me? On my stomach? On my boobs? On my face? Wouldn’t you like that, to see your jizz drip down my face?”

I don’t know about you, Luke, but I do enjoy coming on a pretty girl when she’s into it. But not tonight. I want to feel the warmth of her pussy as I come. Which is exactly what happens. I stiffen as I feel my balls about to explode, and then they do and raw fire courses through my cock. Sam feels it, and pulls me close, hugging me fiercely, rubbing her legs against my sides, squeezing me with her cunt.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it, come in me, come in me. Oooh...” she stiffens herself, and has a last orgasm, a quiet one, a final flicker on a long evening of passion.

We’re both spent, and we just lie down, collapsed in each other’s arms. I pull out of her so that the condom does not roll off when my cock deflates, but I shouldn’t have feared anything, as my cock is still hard. Still, I roll over on my back, and Sam puts her head on my chest, long hair spilled out all over me like a blonde fan.

“That was wonderful, Sam, that was... wow.”

“It was,” she says. “Thank you.”

“Oh, hey, you know, I didn’t do much.”

She raises herself up on an elbow, hooks her hair behind an ear, and the gesture makes her look younger than she is. She’s looking at me.

“You’ve been incredibly patient. I know it wasn’t easy to wait so long before... you know...”

“Before fucking like bunnies? Don’t be shy, you’ve said much more interesting things earlier.”

She blushes. That girl is going to burn up from the inside one day. “Yes, I have, haven’t I? I guess talking dirty turns me on more than I’d like to admit. Anyways! Your patience. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Ain’t that the truth. I feel like Cyrano’s Christian, plucking the ripe kiss from a Roxanne seduced by someone else. Not enough to feel guilty about it, mind you.

“And actually, for a first time, it went very well. I’ve heard horror stories about losing one’s virginity, so I was a bit worried.”

“I wasn’t a virgin.”

“Huh? Then... what... why?”

She sighs. “It’s a long story, and not especially interesting. To keep it short, it involved an uncle, some clueless parents, a scared little girl, and a lot of pain. It was only one time, one Christmas, a long time ago, but that was enough. I’ve been scared of intercourse ever since.”

“Sam, my God, I’m sorry... had I known...”

“Had you known, you probably would not have done what you did tonight. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but being with you tonight, I felt none of the fear that was plaguing me in the past. Just overwhelming lust, like nothing could get in the way. I don’t know how you did it, but it was like plunging through a thick fog and finally getting to the other side back in the warm sunshine.”

I could guess what had happened. My ability, which tends to arouse deep lust fed by powerful fantasies, must have overwhelmed her fear-induced block. Amazing. The thought of launching into a prosperous sexual-hangup therapist career crosses my mind, before being dismissed as a stupendously bad idea.

“I don’t know what I did either,” I say, “but I’m glad I did it.”

She grins. “Of course, now we have some catching up to do. Shall we go again?” She reaches down to grasp my cock, and I gasp.

“Wait... hold on. Still sensitive. Gimme a sec. I’ll be right back.” I get off the bed, and head for the bathroom down in the hall.

“Hurry back, there’s something I want to try.” I can hear the wickedness in her voice. Great, I created a monster, I think, not sorry for a second.

I take a quick leak in the frighteningly pink and fluffy bathroom, and then my life becomes real complicated real fast.

It starts with a key jiggling in the lock of the apartment door, and a deep-seated survival instinct makes me shut the light off in the bathroom and close the door but for a little sliver that leaves me enough of an opening to look out in the hallway. If I’m lucky, it’s the roommate home early from a failed date. I can deal with someone of the female persuasion. “Sam, baby, you here?”

A man’s voice. Baby. Fuck. Must be Luke. Or not. Either way, bad news. My ability doesn’t work so well with men. And here I am, trapped in the bathroom, naked but for a spent condom threatening to fall off my now limp dick.

“In the bedroom, silly. I’m still waiting for you,” shouts Sam.

“What do you mean, waiting?” I hear footsteps coming down the hall. A tall lanky boy, short blond hair, long leather jacket passes in front of the door I’m hiding behind. Hello Luke, pleased to meet you. Your girlfriend’s a delicious lover.

“What the...? Sam? What... Fuck... Wow!” Okay, so Luke is no English major. Then again, I can’t claim I wouldn’t react similarly if my girlfriend was waiting for me naked in bed, looking like Sam did.

“Hope you don’t mind,” I hear Sam from the bedroom, “but I’ve always wondered what it’d feel like to be taken from behind. It is so... nasty. Slutty. Can I be your slut tonight, Luke? Do you want to fuck your little slut from behind? I sweat I’ll make it good for you. Please?”

I’m sure you will, Sam, I’m sure you will. The visual of Sam on her hands and knees on the bed, tight little ass up in the air, perhaps swaying gently, waiting to be grabbed and penetrated gets my cock hard again. Great timing, pal.

I never hear Luke’s reply, and there may never have been one. All I hear is sounds of someone disrobing, and I take it that he is doing the smart thing of shutting up and fucking the hot number on the bed. Fucking lucky bastard.

And indeed, I eventually hear Sam’s sharp intake of breath and heartfelt “Fuck yeah, push that cock in me, fuck yeah, fuck me!” followed by the unmistakable sounds of flesh hitting flesh. Off they go.

I wait perhaps five minutes, then chance a look out the door towards the bedroom. Luke has his back to me, standing at the foot of the bed, and is hammering into Sam, who’s indeed on all four on the bed, head down into a pillow, giving a running commentary of the thorough fucking she is receiving.

They are distracted enough that they never notice me sneak out of the bathroom. Trying to be as quiet as possible, although given the racket that those kids are making, I probably shouldn’t have worried, I quickly get dressed in the living room, and negotiate the apartment door without bumping into a fragile vase or something.

The last thing I hear before I close the door and head back home is Sam’s first doggy-style orgasm. The thought that it is the first of many makes me smile. You’re welcome, Sam. Good luck to you.