The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Julie and Rebecca, deep in conversation about the cultural anthropology lecture they’d both just sat through, didn’t notice the carload of frat boys approaching from ahead in a blue Mustang GT, driving just to their left on the campus main street. Dr. Hammet had droned on about folkways and the fear of difference, of Otherness, in African cultures, specifically dwelling on Kramer’s concept of mimesis, which—although admittedly an old idea—certainly offered a few intriguing (if not to say cryptic) analytical approaches to the quandary of emerging and latent-emerging sub-Saharan pan-Bantu linguo-cultural hegemonies.

It seemed that Dr. Hammet, a fervent—

“Hey red, what color’s your bush?”

Julie spun instantly around, flabbergasted, caught her foot on an upturned piece of broken concrete, and fell flat on her hands and knees. By that time the blue Mustang had driven too far down the street for anyone to hear what else, what other vile comments, may have emerged from the interior of that despicable vehicle of masculine debauchery and drunkenness.

Rebecca quickly extended her hand to help lift an embarrassed Julie from the sidewalk. The knees of her jeans were scuffed by the concrete, and her hand bled from cutting themselves against the sharp edge of the broken sidewalk.

“Dammit,” Julie half-shouted. “These jeans are new.”

“Well, Julie. If you’re going to break your neck to look at any boy who calls out to you, these things are going to happen. I didn’t know you were so hard-up for a quickie,” Rebecca teased.

“It’s not funny.”

She meant it.

She’d been so clumsy lately, seemingly so easily distracted too. Not to mention horny. She told herself to calm down, to not let her body tell her mind what to do, but still. She was so horny lately. So horny.

And clumsy.

A clumsy, horny freshman.

But still.

Rebecca knew she took her religious beliefs seriously.

She knew Julie didn’t do “quickies”, didn’t do one-night stands, and could almost, almost still claim to be a virgin.

“Still. How long has it been for you, girl? You never have anybody over, and I never see you spend the night somewhere else.”

“Ha-ha.”

But Julie’s words hid no humor.

Not since high school. Not since Lee.

Rebecca dove deeper in.

“You know I’ve said I can leave the room for a night if you need to bring home an, um, gentleman caller.”

Julie didn’t say anything, but she silently prayed her roommate would shut the freak up.

“It might relax you, keep you from snapping an ankle looking at the random frat guy in a muscle car.”

“Oh, dang it, Rebecca. Can’t you just drop it? Besides, I’m not like you, I’m not.”

Julie didn’t have to finish the sentence for Rebecca to hear the words.

Such a whore.

“Unless, maybe. You want to try something else.”

Rebecca pinched Julie’s butt and winked at her.

“Oh god. Rebecca. Just drop all that. I told you. Definitely not interested in that.”

Julie never could tell if Rebecca teased or not. She’d seen her with guy friends, hanging on guys, she knew she’d spent the night regularly with someone on her roster, but still.

Something about the way Rebecca teased her.

Was she? Would she? Was she curious?

It didn’t matter, though. Did it?

Because Julie definitely wasn’t curious.

So, Rebecca dropped it. For the moment.

At the Union

At the Union, they met up with some of the Rebecca’s friends. Julie felt a little stand-offish, not knowing anyone in the group except by sight from the times she’d seen them with her dorm mate. But they seemed very friendly, and Julie learned their names when she sat down, scooting her chair closer to Rebecca’s to avoid being so close Luanne.

Not that any bad vibes came from the girl, it’s just that. The only free seat at the round table when Becca sat down was that one, and it had been rammed up against the stranger’s chair.

Luanne laughed when she saw Julie scooting her chair away from her.

“I don’t bite,” she laughed.

“Oh, I know,” Julie excused herself, although she knew no such thing. “It’s just that.”

Luanne leaned over to poke Julie in the ribs.

“I’m just goofing with you.”

Tricia, Juana, and Shartrell rounded out the small group, and soon the table fell into a continuous stream of gossip, chit-chat, griping, and joking. Julie dived right in, and soon she found herself blurbing on about, well, anything. Anything at all.

Tricia, with Rebecca the other white girl of the quartet, wore her dirty blond hair in a chin-length bob with a blunt fringe just below her eyebrows. She wore pink overalls over a pale blue tee shirt; she cuffed the bottom of her legs, showing the ankle above cute pink checkered sneakers. Tricia was dainty morsel, about the same size as Rebecca, with the flattest chest of the group, tiny A-cups which bothered her at times, but her small size allowed her to enjoy going out without ever wearing a bra. Her hard nipples usually poked through whatever tee or blouse she pulled over her top before going out.

Tricia got a kick out of that.

Juana boasted the fullest figure of the four, proudly showing off a round full ass with a tapering waist rising to lift a bosom every bit the counterpart of the Latina’s robust bottom. Her dark hair fell in exuberant rolling waves from the part running the center of her head, and her lips smiled in full, exotic cushions of sensual delight. The only liberal artist in a crowd of business and economics majors, she double majored in English and Spanish, planning to get her master’s degree in comparative literatures of northern and central America.

Her matter-of-fact style of a black tee shirt and faded jeans over black lace-up boots seemed a little too boyish for Julie’s tastes, but Juana laughed and smiled at the newcomer, soon putting Rebecca’s dorm mate at ease with her ready, easy-going demeanor.

Her skin gleamed lush and deep, a golden brown not quite as dark as Shartrell.

Shartrell. Tall and athletic, she carried herself a little more aloof than the rest of Rebecca’s gregarious gang, but she grinned pleasantly at Julia, and her warm dark eyes twinkled with humor and affection, and Julie, looking at her, recognized something of a kindred spirit.

Julie could not know it, but Shartrell never wore the same hair style twice. Or even the same her color.

Today Shartrell’s hair hung in long tight braids, outlining a keen, angular face, and she wore a bright red blouse, undone halfway to her bellybutton, showing off the dark purple lace of her bra supporting the dark cleavage of her milk chocolate breasts, less full than Juana’s but well-formed and firm.

When she stood, her round ass rivaled Juana’s, but Shartrell’s body was taller and more muscular. She wore tight dark blue jeans and red four-inch straps. The polished the nails of her toes and fingers with different colors of yellow, pink, blue, red, orange, and green.

Multiple rings and studs of many colors glittered along the edges of Shartrell’s ears, and long golden chains hung from the woman’s dark and lovely neck, falling to land in the valley between her purple-encased breasts.

A small and thin golden ring hung from the side of Shartrell’s nose.

Bright pink lipstick shined on her thick and fleshy lips, and glittery pink eyeshadow set off her dark eyes, outlined by long and sweeping lashes, heavily mascara’d.

For the briefest second, Julie wondered what it would be like to kiss them, those heavy pink lips.

If she were a man, she meant.

What it would be like to kiss them as a man.

Then she pushed the idea aside.

“Are you going to the reading tonight, Julie?”

The unexpected question broke Julie’s haphazard train of thought.

“I’m sorry. What reading?”

She groaned inwardly, and her heart sank.

She didn’t want to seem like a philistine or troglodyte, but the one time she attended a poetry reading bored her to the point of sleep.

She greeted the idea of attending another one with something less than enthusiasm.

“I’m going to be giving a card reading tonight. You know, Tarot.”

Julie’s heart sank even further.

Tarot.

It smelled of a thing forbidden by Sunday school and proscribed by scripture.

“I don’t know,” she said, looking towards Rebecca. “Um. I’m not sure.”

“Becca’s going,” Tricia said.

Julie threw a quizzical look at her roommate.

“Becca’s my witch name,” her roommate confessed.

Julie didn’t know how to respond. So, she didn’t.

It kept happening, though, her falling down suddenly.

Guys, boys, jerks, whatever. Calling out to Julie as she walked, cat-calling her, whistling, shouting things at her, flustering her, making her spin around. She twisted her ankle once, nothing major, but she limped for days. Rebecca stared at her, bit her lip, and finally she shouted.

“Jesus, Julie. You need to get laid. You can’t just keep going on like this, getting all bothered every time a man talks to you.”

Rebecca stopped walking and grabbed Julie’s elbow.

“Besides. Why go without when you can have me? All you have to do is ask, Julie. I can make you feel so good. We share the same room, dammit. Nothing could be easier.”

“Oh, Rebecca. Please.”

It bothered Julie, that level of pleading, that level of insistence. Rebecca had never gone that far before.

To openly suggest sex with her.

“Maybe,” Julie said quietly, continuing their walk. “Maybe we should see if we can change rooms.”

Rebecca hurriedly walked away from her dorm mate without saying a word.

A week later towards evening, Julie walked into her empty dorm room, saw a long package on her bed with a note on it saying, “I won’t be in tonight. Lock the door.”

She didn’t need to be told that.

Julie locked the door as a matter of habit, but she checked the knob again anyway. It never hurt to make sure.

She saw a white candle standing on the top of a shared chest of drawers and shelf built partially into the wall opposite their two beds.

The candle was narrowish, maybe an inch or an inch and a half in diameter and tallish, maybe seven or eight inches tall. Maybe taller. Julie wasn’t about to measure it, but it didn’t look to be quite a foot tall. Lighted. Which annoyed Julie.

Becca knew better than that.

I mean, talk about a fire hazard.

But Julie let the matter drop.

She was here now.

She’d let it continue to burn.

It cast such a lovely light in the wavering dusk of her bedroom.

The scent was lovely, charming.

It smelled like something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but the scent of it sent an invigorating thrill through her body.

She hadn’t masturbated for days. Not since being teased by Becca.

She’d been so annoyed with her roommate, she decided to gain control over herself, absolute control.

It’s how she dealt with anything that irritated her.

She exercised control over herself.

No sweets, no sugar.

Just fresh fruit and green vegetables and no fried food.

No playing with her area down there.

Only now, coming to her room, putting the world outside where it belonged, did she realize just how horny she was.

And the white-blue flame of the white candle wavered and flickered and grew brighter, the aroma poured out of its wick, and the room’s air hung heavy with its sensual aroma.

Julie breathed deeply.

Down there quickened as moisture gathered. Her heartbeat sped up.

Julie removed her glasses, large round plastic frames with chrome accents, pale green frames with pink highlights, and set them on her Bible, which lay on the corner of the desk near the head of her bed.

She bent slightly to pick up the box, which was laid next to her pillow, gift wrapped with a bow and ribbon.

The tag hanging from the bow said, “Dear Julie, I’m sorry. Peace offering?”

Julie smiled, and her mood softened, her annoyance with Becca’s forgetfulness with the white candle all but forgotten.

“Of course, Becca,” she whispered. “Of course.”

Julie removed the bow and carefully slipped the ribbon off the oblong box. The she lifted the top to see pink tissue. Setting the box on the bed and sitting down next to it, she unwrapped the pink tissue to reveal an oblong object in gleaming purple. It took her a second to figure out what she was looking at, then she covered her mouth and looked away, hunching her shoulders as if ducking something thrown at her.

She wanted to be mad at her roommate, but her natural humor saw the joke in it, and she laughed aloud, a little giggle mixed with annoyance.

As if.

She looked at the interior of the package and saw a small bottle next to the purple dildo. Julie lifted the bottle from the package and in doing so her thumb grazed the surface of the sex toy. She ignored the zap of static electricity and read the label on the bottle.

Lesbian Life: Lubricant for You and Her

Juie read the label to discover the lubricant boasted a water-based substance for sensitive skin. “You can squirt it directly on your favorite sex toy or pour it on your hot pussy. Or on her hot pussy. Perfectly safe to swallow.”

A small rectangular card, like a business card, lay atop the dildo.

Julie picked it up and read Rebecca’s neat handwriting.

“Fair warning, Julie. If you touch the dildo, you’ll be a dyke forever.”

Julie snickered.

Oh my god. You’re really laying it on a little thick, aren’t you? A little too thick.

Julie placed the card on the bed next to the package and saw a thumb drive where the lubricant bottle had been laid.

The white candle burned, and its flame grew taller, brighter, the aroma now rose from its wick as a reddish pink smoke, filling the room, drenching the air in erotic sensuality. Lust. Desire.

The needs of a woman.

Looking around the room, Julie spied her Bible, and she picked it up, opened the top desk drawer and slipped it inside, closing the drawer.

Immediately she felt lighter, less oppressed, hungrier.

Excited.

Her heart raced.

She picked up the thumb drive and set it beside the card, leaving only the purple dildo, nestled in its lush pink tissue. Julie bit her lip. Should she?

Oh, she wasn’t worried about Becca’s warning.

That girl might claim to dabble in spell casting, but that was the sort of thing Becca said. You just had to go along with it. Or ignore it. And Julie usually (always) ignored it.

Still, now that she had a chance to really look at the thing, she found herself wondering, wanting and hesitating to pick it up.

For one thing, it was huge. At least two feet long, Julie thought.

Shaped like a huge cock.

Then she looked closer.

Oh my god.

Shaped like two huge cocks, one dick tip at each end.

Julie never used sex toys. She’d never used a vibrator much less a cock-shaped dildo, much much less one with two ends.

She didn’t look at porn.

That seemed too much like something men liked. Hard, brutal, quick, and completely without sensuality. The few times she looked it just felt. Gross. Yucky. And stupid. Really, really stupid.

She played with herself; she touched herself.

She liked to run her hands through fuzzy lips of her vagina, because she shaved only to trim a triangle for swim wear, preferring one-pieces to bikinis.

Still.

What if it did?

What if touching the dildo turned her into a lesbian?

The aroma of the candle deepened, and Julie breathed deeply through her nostrils, trying to identify the smell that seemed so familiar and strange.

A small shiver ran through her, charged with the delectable trepidation of something dangerous and even forbidden.

Forbidden?

So many girls were queer nowadays.

So many girls liked to taste. It.

Their areas down there.

Their vaginas.

Vulvas.

Pussies.

Julie sat up erect, shaking her head.

I gotta stop this, she thought. I need to go for a walk, clear my thoughts, go to the library. I need to go to the library to study. My psychology test is coming up.

Julie stood up quickly, but instead of gathering her things to leave, she went to fetch her laptop from the shared desk built-in to the wall between the two beds. Bringing the laptop back her bed, she sat down, opened her computer and waited for the screen to come on. Then she plugged in the thumb drive.

A folder displayed with a Read Me text file and a Lesbian Life Welcome video.

Stop it! Stop it! Stop it, Jessica! What the hell are you doing? This is so wrong!

But something even stronger than the voice in her head urged her on, urged her to keep going. She couldn’t understand why she wanted to look, she didn’t even think she did want to look. She just knew that for some reason, she had to.

She just had to.

She took a deep breath and clicked the video file.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, she thought. But she did it all the same.

She reached into the oblong box and pulled the purple dildo from its nest of pink tissue.

The moment her hand touched the sex toy, a wave of something surged through her, a feel, a sensual feeling like nothing she’d ever felt before. At once electric and, um, watery. Milky, maybe. An indescribable sensation of liquid heat, of molten pleasure washing over her mind, drowning her in aqueous fire.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, she thought.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, her mind screamed in ecstasy.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she shrieked, stifling her yell by leaning over to bite her pillow.

“Oh god, oh fuck, oh god. Oh fuck.”

Spasms rocked her body, and when they finally diminished and when the flood of pleasure finally ebbed, Julie sat up, one hand still clutching the purple dildo and looked at the screen of her laptop.

The video, paused at the menu display, showed two women, nude and glistening with oil or sweat, holding a purple double-headed cock between them, caught, until the video started, in the act of each one kissing, tongues extended, the upper tip of the violet sex toy.

Julie shuddered at the sight.

“Oh god,” she said aloud, “I’m so…turned on…I can’t…I don’t want to stop.“

It was true; her pussy tingled and sizzled, saturating her crotch with her warm juices.

The touched her area, her down there, her pussy, and shuddered at the quick pleasure shooting into her brain.

“I’m so wet.”

Still holding the dildo, she clicked the video to start.

“So turned on.”

Whoever edited the video cut out any extraneous scenes, leaving the video to start with the two women kneeling on a bed, with long, lustrous brown hair, with just enough makeup to show off well in the movie.

Julie groaned, watching the two girls kiss up and down the length of the pink dildo they held between them. So much like the dildo she held in her hand.

But Julie was alone.

She didn’t have a lover to share her purple cock with.

Julie swallowed, stood up, kicked off her tennis shoes, and unsnapped the top button of her fly to unzip her white jeans, pushing them down to her feet before stepping out of them.

“Oh god. Oh god,” Julie mumbled, as if in a daze. “I need this bad. I need to cum so bad.”

One of the girls offered the tip of the cock to her lover’s mouth, and the lover’s mouth opened, swallowed the tip, and the lover wrapped her lips tight around the cock as the girl pushed the pink dildo further and deeper inside her mouth.

Julie scrambled onto the bed, rolled onto her back, turning her head to keep watching the sluts on her laptop.

That’s what they were.

Sluts.

Whores.

Part of Julie’s mind still reeled, rocked by the new sensations, the new thoughts exploding in her brain.

Let it go! Let go of it! Put it down! Put it down, Julie for god’s sake!

She needed to put the sex toy down.

She needed to get dressed and get out of there, get out of that room, turn that damned video off and go study, read her Bible, something, but the video still played.

Wet, plopping sounds and the murmurs and cries of women in the first stages of pleasure filled the tiny dorm room.

Julie brought the dildo to her face, and she opened her mouth.

Then she glimpsed words running along the length of the purple dildo, pink letters that shimmered as if reflecting light, and Julie held up the dildo to inspect it more closely.

The squinted to read the words, and then she gasped.

For dyke whores and lesbian sluts.

Yes!

Her mind shouted in agreement, but another part of her mind, dwindling, choked out a panicked No!

No! Stop it! Put it down, put it down, Julie.

But Julie didn’t listen to that voice; Julie could not listen to that voice.

Lesbian slut. Just like the dykes in the video.

Dyke whores.

Julie groaned in a rising desire, watching as the dildo pushed deeper and deeper into the slut’s mouth, plunging in and out, in and out.

“I want to be a slut,” Julie told her empty bedroom. “I need to be a lesbian slut.”

She raised her hips of the bed and scrambled out of her plain white panties. The gusset stuck to her pussy as she pulled on it, caught by her sticky pubic hair and by the hot ooze pouring like slow magma from the volcano raging deep in her cunt. Still staring at the video, she bent her legs, bringing her knees to her chest.

Oh god.

Her eyes swept over the forms of the two young women playing in front of her, greedy to swallow images of their breasts, their tits, the curves of their hips and the round sweeps of their asses, the wet joint between their thighs, one pussy shaved, one trimmed in a neat landing strip leading to the gorgeous crevice of her pussy, so beautiful, labia so extended and love box so open. So fucking hot.

Their round and sexy shoulders.

The red and juicy lips of their mouths.

The softness of their chins, and round apples of their cheeks and temples.

Oh my god.

Julie reached for the bottle of lubricant, and removing the top with her teeth, she tipped the bottle and squeezed a copious stream of pinkish clear lubricant onto her dildo, her dildo, until the liquid ran over the bulbous tip, soaking her already saturated twat.

It felt cold and hot at the same time and so much better, so much hotter, than when a guy friend would spew his come over her gaping pussy, pulling out to spill his cock slobber on her belly and cunt. So much hotter the cock cum. She’d never swallow a cock again, she never fuck a man again.

Somehow she knew this, but the thought of a pussy covered in semen made her pitch her pussy against the tip of her purple phallus.

Could she lick it, though?

Could she lick a guy’s cum off of another woman’s pussy?

Girls had to be in threesomes sometimes, and she’d have to do that.

Lick some rando’s cum off Rebecca’s hot snatch.

She wouldn’t fuck a man, but she could do that.

She could lick his cum from her lover’s pussy, if told to do so.

Oh god, she wanted to lick a pussy!

She wanted pussy so bad now, just thinking about it, just the thought of it drove her into anguish of ecstasy and thrill.

Lesbian.

Dyke.

Girl love.

Girls who love girls who love girls.

The girls were kissing now, slowly, passionately, sensually, and the wet sounds carried across the small room, and reverberated across Julie’s smooth and naked body.

She could kiss a girl like that, Julie could. She could kiss Rebecca like that.

Meanwhile, at Luanne’s house, the quintet of witches lay on the floor, perfectly nude, forming a pentagram of female bodies lying end to end, mouth to cunt. In the midst of the writhing pentagram burned a red candle. The chanting had long ago ceased.

Now only the cries of women in ecstasy filled the darkened room.

Now only heavy breathing and loud, wet sounds of lips kissing and sucking on wet labia filled the house.

There had been so many orgasms already.

And there were still so many orgasms left to go.

Julie raised her head, saw the blurry reflection of herself lying naked on her bed, her knees bent and raised to her breasts, and she was desperate to see herself clearly, she reached for her glasses. Putting them on she shivered at her clear reflection in the act of fucking herself.

With her strawberry blond hair waving wildly and tangled around her face, her the big round frames of her thick glasses, her purple cock sliding between her legs, sliding through the furry reddish blond mass of hair covering her snatch, and the dark recess of her asshole as she lifted her hips to buck against the caressing phallus, Julie presented a stunning vision of female arousal, and she felt suddenly depraved, unrestrained.

Her glasses made her look so.

Academic, intelligent, concealed.

Feminist.

Lesbian.

That was the word, and when she thought it, she said it aloud.

“Lesbian. My glasses make me look like a lesbian.”

She continued sliding her purple dildo with its two cock tips between the lips of her wet cunt, gleaming with secretion and lubricant. She looked so wet, so hot, so ready to be fucked by the first woman who came along.

The white candle burned, and Julie’s arousal reached a sizzling and scorching peak. Her cock glistened with lubricant searing into her skin, filling her with intense heat. She ran the length of her purple dick between her cunt lips, usually so demure, usually concealed within her fat outer lips, a bare line, a crease hinting at the richness of the wet and steaming pool within, a chamber of magma, a fountain of burning waters boiling with lust.

“Yeah baby,” Julie seemed to hear a voice say, coming from somewhere from within the room, somewhere from within the dancing flame of the white candle burning in the center of the dresser top on the far side of the dorm room, and the voice sounded like Becca.

“Spread your fat lips with that long cock. When we’re done with you, your cunt lips will be hanging out from her pussy like post-it notes from the pages of your study bible.”

Julie groaned, smearing the length of her cock with the slime from her pussy mixed with the intoxicating lubricant. She needed to taste it, to taste her pussy on her fingers, to taste her pussy on her cock, her purple dildo, so long, so meant for fucking other women with.

She slipped a hand from the phallus to touch her wet cleft. Her lips were so engorged now, so swollen, and she used two fingers to spread her fat outer lips, and the two inner wings of her vagina emerged, half-ready for flight. Her hand moved quickly over her twat, sliding over the valley between her thigh and hole, so aching to be stuffed.

Julie trembled and shuddered, feeling her fingers stroke the outside of her pussy, her heat gathered, and body jolted with each new charge of electric heat flowing from her center, her juicy wet center, so warm, so hot, so scalding, and when she touched her clit hiding under its hood, she stifled a scream, stuffing her mouth by turning her face into her upper arm.

“Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. I want to cum, I need to cum so bad.”

But something told her to take her time, something compelled her to take her time, to keep the orgasm at bay, to hold the flood of her desire and pleasure behind the frail dike of her restraint.

“It’s called edging, baby, and we’re going to teach it to you, teach you to keep your orgasm away until you can’t take it anymore, until you’re ready, so ready, to be a lesbian, to be a queer girl dyke with us.”

It was Becca’s voice and more than Becca’s voice, and there were groans and murmurs of a hot complaint in the words coming from the center of the flame of the white candle.

She shivered in obedience, hearing the voice and heeding her instruction. Heeding her, heeding Becca.

And that felt so good to do.

To listen to Becca. And to do what she said.

Julie plunged her a finger into her hot little pussy, then she shoved another finger inside, shoving a third finger despite the discomfort into her hot and heaving hole.

So wet now. She was so wet, and she pulled her fingers from her overflowing cunt to bring them to her mouth, where she sucked off her juices mixed with lubricant, bewitched by the flavor and the hot sensations burning into her mouth.

She stared at her strange reflection in the mirror, a woman on the verge of losing all restraint, spread wide on her bed, her mouth wet and glistening from her own juices.

She looked like a whore, and she knew it.

A cheap lesbian whore for the taking.

A hot slut ready to be thoroughly fucked.

She grabbed the bottle of lubricant, held one bulbous end of the double cock to her waiting and opened mouth, and smeared both her oral hole and the cock tip with a copious sheen of lubricant.

She engulfed the cock tip with her hot mouth, saliva drooled from her lips; suddenly the image of Becca standing in front her with a huge dildo protruding from her hips filled her mind, and Julie saw herself kneeling in front of her mistress, sucking her cock with a devotion bordering on madness.

The lubricant spilled inside of her mouth, bringing to her mind her old boyfriends, gone now forever, and how their precum would glaze the inside of her slutty mouth before exploding, exploding, exploding to flood her throat, her mouth, and to spew all over her dirty, cock-sucking whore face.

Before she turned back, repenting, returning to the church of her parents to be a good girl again.

Not a whore.

The lubricant set her mouth on fire, enflaming the girl with desire, with need, with an unquenchable lust.

But she was a whore again. She’d be a whore forever now.

“But I’m a dyke now; I don’t suck men. I just lick pussy.”

Her declaration in the empty room seemed to awaken the white candle; it’s flame sizzled and flared up, billowing clouds of red desire rose from its long, cylindrical shape.

Julie continued to shamelessly devour the huge cock in her mouth, and her eyes, dilated, soon rolled back, and she groaned and groaned and groaned. The noises of lesbians having sex on the laptop brought her back to a kind of dazed self-awareness.

She glanced at the computer screen, and the position of the two lovers had changed.

Now they both lay on the bed, leaning on one elbow, facing each other and spreading their beautiful thighs wide while positioning each tip of their pink dildo just inside the swollen lips of their pussies. One girl squirted lubricant over the cock, lathering the well of her cunt, then doing the same for her partner, her lover.

“Oh, yeah baby,” the other lover cooed, “that feels so good. Come on, baby. Fuck me. Yeah, fuck me while I fuck you.”

Julie couldn’t take it any longer, she had to plunge the purple cock into her, she had to feel the magic of this wonderful long shaft.

The white candle was almost burned down to a mere pool of liquid wax, but red smoke still rose from the lingering wick.

As soon as the bulbous tip of the enchanted dildo touched her scalding and engorged cunt lips, Julie came despite the warning of the voices, a small orgasm that swept through her, and she closed her eyes momentarily to the pleasure rocking her body. When the last tremors faded, she spread her legs to her reflection in the mirror, saw her cunt lips extended, ragged and swollen, waiting for the full length of the bewitched lesbian cock in her hands.

Suddenly the image of Becca kneeling between her thighs, wearing a cock much like that one at her hips, a long thick cock to fuck her stupid with, leapt into her mind’s eye, and nothing in the world could make her want to chase that image away.

So hot.

So fucking hot.

Becca’s going to fuck me like the cheap whore I am.

She sank the dildo’s tip between her lips, ground her hips at her reflection, and urged the long tool deeper and deeper inside her swollen pussy.

She heard cheers and laughter, the echoes of cheers and joyful laughter sounding just outside the edges of her hearing, and she heard Becca’s voice among that laughter.

“You’re so hot, Julie. I always knew you were hot, but just look at you. Just look at you.”

Julie lost track of time pounding herself with the purple cock.

She could feel another orgasm rising within her, and her eyes leapt from the laptop video to her reflection, drinking in every inch she could of the female bodies meeting her gaze. She needed it. She needed them.

She remembered Becca’s friends at the student union.

I wonder.

I wonder if they.

I wonder if I’ll get a chance to fuck them?

Then something weird happened, something that should have terrified the young woman. Her bed moved and screeched, as if several bodies were joining her, but she could see no one.

“Hush,” a voice whispered in her ear, invisible, unbodied lips brushing her lobes as several pairs of hands caressed her body, her tits, her arms, her legs and thighs, her cunt, caressed the outer lips of her cunt as she rammed the dildo deeper and deeper into the core of her being.

“It’s okay. We’re with you now. Your sisters. Your sisterhood. You can love us now.”

The voice belonged to Becca.

Another voice spoke.

“And you can taste us.”

The bed moved, and Julie felt someone move over her face, and she felt something warm above her mouth, and she smelled something pungent and good above her nose.

“You can eat me,” a voice said. It seemed familiar, one of the girls she met a the union. “Right now.”

With that the warmth covered Julie’s mouth as she somehow, somehow tasted her first pussy, a rich, intoxicating flavor, a rich, overwhelming sensation, an emotion, a mood, a delicacy. She stuck her tongue out and inside, tasting the slippery skin, the wet flesh, that weird hot flesh of a woman, wonderful and indescribable, tart, tangy, sweet, of the earth and something below the earth. The taste of magic. The taste of witchcraft.

Of blood: metallic and healthy.

It melted over her tongue, and it melted her mind.

Julie gazed stupefied at her reflection; she was alone in her bed.

“Close your eyes and see,” the voice above her said tenderly.

Julie closed her eyes, and for a second she saw nothing but the confused shapelessness behind closed lids, but then she saw her, straddling her face, the black woman from the union.

Shartrell.

The athletic girl smiled at her, grinding her pussy into Julie’s face.

“Do you like it, honey? Do you like the way I taste? Do you like licking my pussy, bae? Suck on my clit, girl. Go higher. Yeah, there. Oh god, yeah. There. Pull on it with your lips and suck on it. Ow. Not with your teeth. Yeah, oh god. There. Just like that. Oh fuck. Of fuck. Get your tongue in my cunt, you fucking whore. Now.”

Shartwell’s body was strong and powerful and tight. Taut. Hard. Smooth.

To her amazement, when Julie reached up to glide her hands across Shartwell’s smooth black skin, she could feel it, its warmth and soft solidity. Her hands rose to cradle Shartwell’s tits, the size of small cantaloupes.

“Hm, baby,” the black girl said. “Pinch my nipples, sugar. I love that.”

Nothing remained of the world.

Julie’s mind dissipated into the mists of pure moment.

She licked the cunt grinding into her mouth with a wild abandon, a sudden and permanent fervor for pussy, for the treasure between a woman’s legs.

She needed it now.

She needed the taste now, the wet heat, the fluids and juices running over her mouth, dripping inside her mouth.

Someone removed the dildo from her cunt.

Her hips jerked forward, aching for the object, desperate to be filled again. Her pussy gaped open in the absence of the cock.

“I’m going to eat you, Julie. I’ve waited so long for this. I’m going to stick my tongue up your dyke hole. And you’re going to love it, roomie. I’m going to make you cum so hard. So hard.”

Julie, her eyes still shut, saw Becca creeping between her legs.

She screamed into Shartrell’s fuckhole when Becca’s mouth and tongue touched her slit.

In her mind she could see it all, in her mind she could feel everything.

Her tongue sank deeper into the warm hole smashing against her face, and she choked when she felt Becca’s fingers slide into her asshole, one finger and then another finger, fucking her in her asshole knuckle deeper, Becca’s mouth on her hot cunt.

Julie raised her legs up, her knees bent, her asshole raised to give herself to Becca.

Meanwhile Tricia and Juana lay on their bellies on either side of her. Julie’s bed must have grown fantastic in size, and caressed her flesh, sucking her hard nipples into their devouring mouths.

Julie whimpered into the black athlete’s pussy, lust-addled and sex-drunk, she spread her thighs, then closed them stroking her heels over Becca’s bare back.

Then Shartrell came, and juices flowed over Julie’s face.

When Shartrell moved off her, Juana took her place.

“You can lick my asshole, Julie. I won’t mind.”

The encouragement to lick ass drove Julie to a frenzy, although never before had she even considered the possibility. It never even crossed her mind, but hearing Juana’s simple permission released a new flood of desire in the freshman, and she desperately flicked her tongue between the globes of Juana’s plump ass spread out for her tongue as she settled over the new lesbian’s face.

Lesbian.

Tricia fondled and pinched one nipple while she bit, sucked, and kissed the other.

The very word did something to her, gave her an identity she didn’t know she had or wanted, completed her, and seemed to offer her a destiny, a meaning, a purpose, a direction.

I’m a lesbian, she realized.

It’s what I am now.

Becca must have had three fingers in her asshole now, and Julie felt the pink dildo slide into her pussy. Then the fingers slipped from her grasping, gaping hole, and Julie whined into the Latina witch’s ass. Juana pitched and rolled her butt over Julie’s face, until she was grinding her pussy into the bewitched girl’s mouth, fucking her clit into Julie’s cunt-covered face.

Julie felt a new object slide into her asshole.

“I’m fucking you with both ends of the dildo,” Becca said. “You’re suck a dyke whore, I bet you never imagined ever feeling this good.”

Julie groaned and groaned, desperately, frantically wanting the cockheads to go deeper and deeper into her shuddering body.

And then she started cumming. And Juana started cumming, and she heard Shartrell cum, and she heard Becca cum.

Then Tricia moved over her face, and Julie’s mouth, sore and exhausted, sucked in Tricia’s tart and slippery lips.

The night went on and on, the four witches satisfied themselves again and again on Julie’s body, and Julie finally fell asleep, exhausted, her last vision falling on wavering forms of misty shadows dissipating in a haze, one by one.

The white candled burned down to a pool of wax, flickered, and died; a thin pinkish red trail of smoke rose from the dead candle.

The next morning Julie woke up to find herself lying naked above her sheets. She grabbed her glasses from night table and looked in the mirror. She looked like a well-fucked whore. Her pink dildo protruded lewdly from the wide and extended lips of her ravaged cunt, her thighs were spread as if aching for more lovers, and the bruises of heavy kissing covered her pale skin, especially around her heavy boobs, where she saw hickeys and bite marks.

The screen of her laptop was blank. She hit a few keys to wake it up, and she saw the same video, now stopped her ended, on the screen. Two women fucking each other on a shared dildo.

It looked so hot and wanton, and her pussy tingled just looking at the still image.

At that moment, someone inserted a key into the doorknob.

Julie turned to see Rebecca enter the dorm room.

She looked like she had had an interesting night too.

Then Julie remembered everything.

“What did you do to me,” Julie asked, scared, alarmed, relieved, excited, and devoted all at once.

“I couldn’t help it,” Rebecca replied, kissing her sweet, sweet lips. “I had to. I had to. You’re just so adorable. And we wanted you.”