The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Being President of the Meadowbrook Estates Homeowner Association hath its privileges. One of them being: I was able to mandate the installation of combination smoke and carbon monoxide detectors in all dwellings, paid for by the HOA. Since my fellow homeowners knew I was “some kind of scientist” they were perfectly happy to let me handle the technical details. There were a few rolled eyes when it was revealed that my own company, ControlTech Research, would be the supplier, but that sort of soft kickback was commonplace. (After all, it was when George Rivera was president of the HOA that his landscaping firm was first contracted to do our lawn maintenance, and to this day they do a damned good job.)

There was one tense moment for me when Luther DeWitt, our maintenance supervisor and the guy who would be overseeing the installations, questioned me about the unusual, custom-made detectors I had spec’d.

“These units have some gizmos in ’em I dunno what the hell they do,” he complained.

“Relax, Luther,” I told him. “Trust me, they’re state of the art. Just hardwire them to the AC power and you’re done.” And then I asked him how he was enjoying the salary increase I had pushed through for him. Luther happily said nothing more about the mysterious gizmos. I’m sure he assumed I was deliberately overspeccing so ControlTech could charge more for the equipment.

The detectors were installed in every living room, kitchen, and bedroom in every house in Meadowbrook Estates. They really were top-notch smoke and CO detectors, connected by Wi-Fi to the local fire department… but they were also a whole lot more, connected by a second dedicated and encrypted wireless signal to the master control console located in a hidden room in my basement.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking the smoke detectors had cameras in them and I was using them to spy on my poor neighbors like some kind of high-tech Peeping Tom. Wrong. Too dangerous. They did have fiber-optic microphones, so I could listen to my poor neighbors… not that they ever said much of anything worth listening to… but no, I couldn’t watch. After all, Luther and his team of installers might have recognized camera lenses, no matter how well-disguised, and if they had I would’ve ended up in jail.

Besides… any moron can install hidden cameras.

I bided my time, waiting for the right opportunity… and when it came knocking, a few weeks after installation, it was right in my own back yard. One morning in late June my next-door neighbor, Dan Sterling, took me aside and asked me to keep a neighborly eye on his wife Laurel and daughter Chloe while he was away on a week-long business retreat. I, of course, told Dan that I’d be happy to do so. He clapped me on the back and thanked me.

Talk about the fox guarding the hen house.

So… let me tell you about the hens in this particular house.

First, there was Laurel, Dan’s wife. I should start by explaining that Laurel Sterling didn’t much like me. No real reason, we never argued or anything. I guess I just rubbed her the wrong way. I think part of it was she distrusted me because I wasn’t married… y’know how married women hate single guys. And I once overheard her talking to Dan about me. She insisted that I was “conceited about being so darned handsome” …which was nice to hear… and then complained that she had more than once caught me openly ogling her body “like a lustful schoolboy.” Dan had laughed it all off as womanly paranoia, but to that second charge, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I must plead guilty. However, there were extenuating circumstances. Namely: Laurel Sterling was hot.

I know you’re wondering what I mean when I say she was hot, so okay, I’ll attempt to describe her… but please bear in mind, I’m “some kind of scientist,” not “some kind of poet.” She was thirty-eight years old, but she didn’t look it. Brunette. Sort of… exotic, I guess. Built like a brick… okay, wait this is lame. Hold on. All right… try this on for size. Imagine Angelina Jolie back in her prime Tomb Raider days, except significantly more voluptuous. Y’know, like, if she actually had those huge Lara Croft gazongas they tried so hard to suggest in the movies. I’m talking 1996 video game sized knockers, and a curvaceous bod to match, but with Angelina’s beautiful exotic eyes and lips and imperious bearing. That was Laurel Sterling. Physically, she was a goddess.

Personality-wise, not so much. Prim and proper and a bit of a cold fish. Okay, I’ll just say it: she was a bitch. Not unfriendly, exactly, but she always gave you the impression she didn’t approve. Of anything. Like I said, imperious. And she never dressed to show off that amazing body. I only knew she had such an amazing body because I could see their built-in swimming pool from my bedroom window… and to tell you the truth, even her swimsuits were on the conservative side. I always got the impression that Laurel was embarrassed to be so damned hot and would have preferred to be a plain, flat-chested, run-of-the-mill housewife like most of her friends. She wasn’t exactly repressed, but she was definitely a bit reserved and restrained and inhibited. Which was why she wasn’t amused by my schoolboy ogling.

The other chick in the hen house Dan had so foolishly asked me to guard was their daughter, Chloe. She pretty much ignored me, of course, because I was forty-two and therefore invisible to all teenage girls. But Chloe was certainly not invisible to me. She was, in essence, a late-adolescent version of her mother: boobs a little smaller, waist a little slenderer, hair a little lighter. Unlike her mom, Chloe wasn’t averse to dressing to show off her luscious bod. She wasn’t a slut or anything, just an ordinary teenage girl, but these days that’s close enough. Tight tank tops. Hip-hugging jeans. Miniskirts. An aversion to bras. A bared midriff more often than not. And when lounging around the pool, some deliciously skimpy bikinis. A very tasty morsel, Chloe Sterling.

Now I’ll be honest with you, I wasn’t exactly sure what Dan meant when he asked me to keep a neighborly eye on his wife and daughter. Did he expect me to keep them from harm? I mean, this was an affluent gated suburban community in 2019, they weren’t exactly helpless women-folk living alone on the prairie. Or did he expect me to spy on his wife and daughter and report any suspicious activities? Dan Sterling wasn’t exactly Brad Pitt; he was bound to be insecure about his ability to hold onto a knockout like Laurel. And like any father, he was bound to be worried about who was fucking his pretty teenage daughter. Or did he mean something else entirely?

The truth is, I’m pretty certain Dan himself wasn’t exactly sure what he meant when he asked me to keep a neighborly eye on his wife and daughter. It was the sort of thing a male neighbor asks his male neighbor, so he asked. And I was damned sure he didn’t mention it to Laurel; I can just imagine how well that would have gone over. Did I mention that she didn’t much like me?

But in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was he would be gone for a week.

The following Tuesday morning I watched from my living room as Dan packed his luggage in the back of their Grand Cherokee. A few minutes later they left, with Laurel driving. She returned ninety minutes later, alone. She had dropped him off at the airport.

The fox was now officially guarding the hen house.

This was going to be my first field test of the recently-installed custom smoke detectors, and even though this experiment was recreational rather than vocational I’m enough of a scientist that I wanted to document the results. And that meant I needed to establish a control state to use as a basis for comparison. So, about eleven-thirty that same morning, I walked next door and rang their doorbell.

A moment later Laurel answered. She was wearing a long-sleeved Minnesota Twins jersey and jeans. Not exactly Frederick’s of Hollywood fashion, but even that fundamentally shapeless outfit couldn’t hide her huge twins or her singular ass.

“Hi, Laurel,” I said with a friendly smile.

“Oh. Hello, Jim,” she replied with a smile that wasn’t unfriendly… exactly.

“Listen, you got fifteen minutes for some HOA business?”

Her imperious face softened ever so slightly, now that she knew I was there for a legitimate reason and wasn’t just looking for an excuse to ogle her tits. Everyone at Meadowbrook Estates knew they needed to take Homeowner Association business seriously.

“Oh. Of course. Is something wrong?” she asked, probably worried that their shrubbery was a half inch taller than the rules allowed or something equally heinous.

“No, no, just routine,” I assured her. “Won’t take a minute.”

“Oh, well… come on in.”

She led me into the living room… essentially a mirror image of my own, but more tastefully decorated… and invited me to sit.

“Umm… a cup of coffee?” she offered politely. I decided to test the waters.

“No thanks,” I responded cheerfully. “But I wouldn’t say no to a scotch and soda.”

Her brow furrowed, and she gave me a disapproving smirk.

“It’s a little early in the day, isn’t it?” she asked.

“You’re right, you’re right, sorry,” I said with a wave. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

She sat down across from me, crossing her legs, her boobs jiggling ever so slightly under the jersey. I made a point to not notice them.

“So… what’s this all about?” she asked, still polite but cool.

“No big deal,” I answered, pulling out my phone, “it’s just time for the annual homeowner survey.” Laurel blinked, confused.

“The what?”

“Ohhh, that’s right, you guys moved in last August, so you’ve never done it.”

“What is the… annual homeowner survey?” she asked.

“Like I said, no biggie,” I answered. “According to the bylaws the president is required to conduct a survey of all adult residents once a year. Y’know, try and get the pulse of Meadowbrook Estates. And it’s your chance to make suggestions, air grievances, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, I see,” Laurel said, nodding. “And you do it yourself, face-to-face, with all… what are there… sixty-five houses?”

“Sixty-eight. Well, my predecessors did it by email,” I confessed. “But I prefer the personal touch.”

“I see,” she repeated. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. That was the problem with Laurel Sterling, you never knew for sure what she was thinking. Imperious. And do I need to point out that this was all pure bullshit, that there was no such thing as an annual homeowner survey? Laurel wasn’t stupid. Was she suspicious? Did she think this was nothing but a lame excuse for me to ogle her tits like a lustful schoolboy?

I pressed onward.

“So…” I said, “it’s pretty simple, really. I just ask you three questions, I record your responses for the record, and we’re done. Okay?”

“Shouldn’t we wait until Dan gets back?” Laurel asked, an eyebrow arching.

“Oh, has he gone somewhere?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

“Yes, he’s at a business retreat. He’ll be gone for a week.”

“Ohhh, no. Oh dear. Well, I do need to interview him… but gosh, Laurel… I really can’t wait a week to get started on this. And anyway, I’m supposed to interview everyone individually, not as couples. How about we do you today and I’ll catch up with Dan when he returns, okay?”

She sighed, obviously a little annoyed, but acquiesced, probably out of fear. No one defied the Meadowbrook Estates Homeowner Association lightly.

“All right,” she said reluctantly.

“Great… okay…” I answered, and I tapped on my recorder app.

RECORDED AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION

June 24, 201911:36 AM

SUBJECT: Laurel Sterling

Is this thing…? Okay, so… this is my interview with Laurel Sterling, 153 Castlewood Drive. All set, Laurel?

Yes.

Okay. First question. Would you say your overall assessment of the Meadowbrook Estates Homeowner Association is positive or negative?

Positive, I guess.

Okay. Question two. Do you have any specific complaints about the HOA?

Well… yes, as a matter of fact. For one thing, I wish there were a much stricter noise ordinance. Sometimes our neighbors… not you, Jim… have loud parties and I’m not very fond of being woken up at two in the morning by a bunch of drunks laughing outside my house.

Okay. Anything else?

Well, speaking of parties, I’m not crazy about the fact that our HOA dues are used to fund those ridiculous mix-and-mingle things at the clubhouse every month. If people want to drink too much and… indulge their baser animal instincts… I suppose that’s their business, but I don’t see why my husband and I should have to pay for it.

Okay. Anything else?

Umm… oh, the trash pickup can be inconsistent. It’s supposed to be on Thursdays, but quite often they don’t get around to our street until Friday. That’s it, I guess. If I think of something else can I email you?

Oh, of course, of course. All right. Last question. Do you have any suggestions for how to make Meadowbrook Estates a nicer place to live?

Well… I don’t suppose it’s realistic… but I think a basic dress code would be a good idea. The way some of our neighbors dress… the women in particular… well… if people can’t dress decently and modestly on their own, perhaps it needs to be mandated. I know you could never enforce that, but… well… you asked.

I tapped the recorder app off.

“Okay, well… that’s it. Thanks,” I said. Laurel folded her arms… apparently unaware that it squeezed her tits up and together most beguilingly… and tilted her head.

“Does anything actually come of this survey?” she asked. “Does the HOA ever take any of these suggestions?”

“Well, if enough people mention a particular issue, we’ll put it on the discussion agenda for the monthly meeting,” I lied smoothly.

“And everyone will talk about it and nothing will get done,” she said sourly.

“Yeah, well… that’s a pretty good description of democracy,” I quipped. She actually smiled at that. A little. “So… is Chloe home? I can get her out of the way while I’m here.”

Laurel’s brow furrowed again.

“You interview the kids too?” she asked, mistrustful.

“No,” I assured her. “But… Chloe’s over eighteen, right?”

“Barely. She turned eighteen last month,” Laurel said. I knew that, of course, because I had enjoyed watching Chloe’s birthday pool party from my bedroom window. A dozen teenage girls cavorting in bikinis. I think there may have been some boys in attendance as well, drooling over the bikinis just as I was. “She’s still in high school, for heaven’s sake.”

“Well… legally, she’s an adult,” I explained. “The bylaws say I’m supposed to interview every adult resident.”

Laurel sighed, unfolded her arms… much to my disappointment… and stood.

“All right,” she said, not happy about it but resigned. She walked over to the staircase… which gave me a splendid view of her luscious ass, twitching with each step… and called upstairs. “Chloe, honey!”

“What?” Chloe’s voice answered.

“Come down here, please,” Laurel said using her mom voice. “Mr. Decker from next door needs to ask you some questions.”

There was an aggrieved teenage sigh, then some clumping footsteps, then Chloe Sterling came bouncing down the stairs. She was wearing a crop-top T-shirt displaying Ariana Grande’s face, or at least the top half of it; the shirt ended just below Chloe’s breasts. And from the way they were bobbling around and the pokies that distorted Ariana’s eyes, it was obvious the busty teen wasn’t wearing a bra. Below, a pair of denim cutoffs, low on her hips and high on her thighs. No shoes.

Laurel sighed with disapproval.

“Chloe,” she said tersely, “I have asked you not to wear outfits like that in public.”

“Well I didn’t know I was gonna BE in public, mother,” she responded equally tersely.

Laurel escorted her by the elbow over to where I was sitting, the teenager’s tits bouncing and jiggling all the way. I forced myself to ignore them.

“What’s going on?” she asked, sullen. I stood up.

“Hi Chloe,” I said with a friendly smile that softened her not at all, “I have this short survey I need to conduct for the HOA. Just three questions.”

She smirked.

“The HOA cares what I think?” she asked, incredulous.

“Now that you’re an adult, yup, we do,” I replied. She smiled at that, pleased to be recognized as an adult by someone.

“Okay. Sure. Shoot.”

RECORDED AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION

June 24, 201911:48 AM

SUBJECT: Chloe Sterling

Uhh… interview with Chloe Sterling, 153 Castlewood Drive. Chloe, would you say your overall assessment of the Meadowbrook Estates Homeowner Association is positive or negative?

Negative.

Okay. Do you have any specific complaints about the HOA?

Yeah. It’s a bunch of bourgeoise bullshit designed to oppress the economically disadvantaged.

Chloe! Language.

All right. And do you have any suggestions for how to make Meadowbrook Estates a nicer place to live?

Yeah. Burn it all to the fucking ground.

Chloe! Go to your room!

Fine. That’s where I was, remember?

I watched Chloe’s tight ass wriggle away, her cheeks peeking out from beneath the skimpy cutoffs. It was quite a sight.

“I’m so sorry, Jim,” Laurel was saying. “She’s been in one of her moods lately.”

“Nothing to apologize for, Laurel,” I assured her, putting away my phone.

“Did you get enough?”

“Yup. I have done my duty and now I’ll get out of your hair,” I said, moving toward the door. Laurel opened it for me. I paused and turned before exiting. “Listen… if I can be of any assistance while Dan’s away… don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Well thank you,” Laurel said, cool once again. “But we’ll be just fine.”

And I left.

I started the experiment that night.

I sat there in my secret basement control center listening to the microphone feeds from the Sterling residence. At eleven o’clock Laurel turned off the closing credits of “Dr. Zhivago” in the living room, cleaned her popcorn bowl, locked up the house, and headed upstairs to bed. Chloe was already in her bedroom, playing what sounded like Candy Crush on her phone. They exchanged perfunctory good nights, and both got ready for bed. Clothes rustling, teeth brushing, toilets flushing. By midnight they were both snoring softly.

Stage One: for the first time I remotely activated one of those mysterious gizmos that had puzzled Luther. The smoke detectors in both bedrooms began emitting ultra-low-frequency sound waves, specially calibrated to stimulate brainwave entrainment and keep both my subjects in a deep slumber until I allowed them to wake up.

Stage Two: another gizmo of my own devising introduced a special combination of inaudible frequencies that initiated direct transcranial magnetic stimulation… what we call TMS in the biz… to induce heightened suggestibility. Essentially, it was form of highly-focused hypnotism without all the “watch the watch” bullshit.

Stage Three: they were now suggestible, so I suggested things. Or rather, a recording of my voice suggested things, over and over again, hour after hour, all night long.

You like your neighbor Jim Decker.

Your neighbor Jim Decker is a good neighbor.

Your neighbor Jim Decker is a very handsome man and very sexy.

You would love to have sex with your manly neighbor Jim Decker.

Whatever your neighbor Jim Decker suggests is the right thing to do.

Jim’s ideas are always good ideas.

Jim Decker is a man, so of course he knows best.

You enjoy obeying Jim Decker’s suggestions.

Obeying Jim Decker’s suggestions makes you feel secure and happy.

You get the idea. The hidden speakers in the smoke detectors would play a few dozen variations on those basic themes repeatedly. I left the recording running and went upstairs to bed. Both units were set to cut off automatically at five in the morning, letting the subjects waken naturally, refreshed and renewed. And programmed, I hoped. Time would tell.

I got up about seven-thirty, made a quick cup of coffee, and hustled down to my basement console. From the sound of it, Laurel was up and showering, Chloe was still asleep. I decided to take advantage of that. I activated both gizmos in Chloe’s bedroom and made a live suggestion, confident that Laurel wouldn’t be able to hear my little broadcast across the hall in her bathroom with the shower running.

“When you wake up, Chloe,” I spoke softly into the desk mic in front of me, “you’ll want to get high. You’ll get your hidden stash and smoke and smoke until you’re so wasted you can barely walk.” I knew Chloe had a hidden stash; I had heard her on the phone a few nights earlier, bragging about it to her best friend Stacey. “Once you’re completely wasted, you will come downstairs wearing only your torn pair of Calvin Klein jeans and no top. You will be topless.”

I had no particular reason for that last suggestion, other than it was a look I happened to find particularly sexy. And of course, it was something she would never do under normal circumstances, so it would be a good test.

I repeated the whole thing a half dozen times, then turned off her unit.

Laurel finished showering a few minutes later and I listened to her getting dressed, wondering what she would be wearing. I wasn’t sure she even had any sexy clothes.

I waited until ten o’clock... I wanted to give Chloe plenty of time to get good and wasted, if the experiment had actually worked, that is… and then headed next door. Laurel answered the door wearing a dark blue floral sundress. Not too tight, of course, and buttoned all the way up. Even so, she looked ravishing, her tits stretching the fabric despite her best efforts to conceal them.

When she saw that it was me, her neighbor Jim Decker, she blinked several times, almost as if she were trying to remember who I was… but it wasn’t quite that, of course. She looked dazed and confused. I suspected she was trying to remember why she hadn’t liked me before and was having trouble coming up with a reason. Or perhaps she was trying to figure out why she did like me now and was having trouble coming up with a reason.

“Jim,” she said, smiling uncertainly, like someone who wanted to smile but wasn’t sure it was appropriate to smile.

“Hi, Laurel,” I said, treading carefully. “Sorry to bother you again, but I was hoping you could spare a few minutes.”

“Hmm?” she asked, a puzzled expression on her beautiful face. She blinked and shook her head. “Oh. Sure, umm… sure. C’mon in… Jim.” She stepped to one side, I entered, and she closed the door behind me.

“You okay, Laurel?” I asked. “You seem a bit… distracted.”

“No, I’m… I’m just…” She looked at me intently, her head tilting. “Are you… wearing your hair differently or… something?”

“Uhh, no. No.”

“Huh.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “I don’t know what it is, you just… seem… really different. Somehow.”

“Well… I’m just your neighbor Jim Decker,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

She blinked and smiled a little, hearing that now all-too-familiar phrase.

“I was your neighbor Jim Decker yesterday…”

She smiled a bit more, her brow smoothing.

“…and I’m your neighbor Jim Decker today.”

She chuckled sardonically.

“Okay, okay, no need to make fun,” she said… but with none of acid sharpness one would usually expect from bitchy Laurel Sterling. “I’m being silly, I admit it.” She shook her head, smiling, dumbfounded. “I don’t know what it is, you just seem… different.”

“Better or worse?” I asked, grinning.

“Oh, definitely better,” she said with a wry chuckle. She leaned in a bit and scrutinized my face, ostensibly to determine what was different about me… but she mostly I think she was just enjoying scrutinizing my face. “You look good, Jim Decker. You look really, really… good.”

“Well, we aim to please,” I joked. She laughed at herself, embarrassed, and squeezed my arm… which was more friendliness than she had shown me in all the ten months I had known her.

“I’m sorry, Jim, I’m being silly,” she apologized. But she was still staring at me. “I just feel… I don’t know… odd.”

“Oh, well, if you’re not feeling well I’ll come back later,” I offered, turning toward the front door, feigning an exit.

“No!” she insisted, grabbing my arm, stopping me. “No, please. Don’t go. I want you to stay.” She blinked at that, obviously surprised to realize that it was actually true. “I do. I want you to stay.”

“Okay. If you’re sure,” I said.

“Yes,” she said resolutely. Then she smiled. “And anyway, I feel fine. As a matter of fact… I feel great. Really great.”

“Well… that’s great,” I said. She laughed and shook her head, sighing and rolling her eyes at her own foolishness.

“God, just ignore me, Jim,” she said, “I’m being a nut. What can I do for you?”

“Well… the truth is… you got me thinking, Laurel.”

Her brows lifted and she smiled. “I did?”

“You sure did,” I confirmed. “As a matter of fact, you got me thinking so hard I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.”

“Oh dear.”

“How did you sleep last night, Laurel?” I asked her, trying to be nonchalant. She considered the question… and was once again surprised by the truth.

“Actually…” she said, smiling, “…I slept really well. Better than I have in years.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us did.”

She squeezed my arm again, her hand lingering a bit this time.

“Well what on earth did I say that had you thinking so hard that you couldn’t sleep, you poor thing?” she asked. She seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being… which was another first.

“It was that idea you had… for a dress code,” I told her.

She let go of my arm and took a step back, grinning, obviously both surprised and delighted.

“Oh! Really?” she asked, looking for all the world like a pupil who has unexpectedly pleased her favorite teacher. “You really liked that idea?”

“I think it’s fantastic,” I lied. “I can’t believe no one’s ever thought of it before.”

“Oh my goodness,” she said, still grinning, putting a hand to her chest. “My my.”

“Anyway, I was hoping we could sort of… I dunno… brainstorm together,” I suggested, doing my big bashful man routine, “maybe figure out some way to actually make it work.”

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed. “Oh my goodness.”

“But if you’re busy, I can always—”

“No no no no!” she cried, taking my arm and practically dragging me into the living room. “You come right on in here, Mr. James Decker.”

“Well… okay… if you’re sure it’s no bother.”

“Oh now, don’t be ridiculous,” Laurel said, escorting me over to the sofa, her arm snaked through mine. “It’s no bother at all. Sit down, sit down, sit down.”

We both sat, but this time Laurel sat right next to me on the sofa, close enough that her body touched mine… and I’m pretty sure that was not by accident. She draped her arm behind me on the sofa and smiled at me expectantly, now eager to hear whatever I had to say.

So as you have no doubt gathered, it was obvious by now that my nocturnal experiment had born some fruit. This was a different Laurel Sterling from any I had ever experienced. The question was: how different?

It was time for a little test.

“Say, Laurel, I have a suggestion,” I said, taking care to enunciate clearly. “I could really use a drink. How about you?”

She blinked, her smiled wavered a bit, and a far-off look came into her eyes.

“A drink?” she asked. She removed her arm from behind me and her brow furrowed in puzzlement, as if her unconscious mind was struggling to choose between two contradictory impulses. Which I suppose it was.

“Well, sure. Just a suggestion. You know, a cocktail to jump-start the day and lubricate our conversation,” I pressed. “I think it would be good idea, don’t you?”

I waited patiently, knowing this was an important test. If she balked at serving me a drink, like she had yesterday, it would mean my experiment had been… well, not a complete failure, perhaps, but certainly less than completely successful. She blinked a few times… then her friendly smile returned.

“Absolutely,” she agreed, standing, tits bobbing. “I apologize, Jim, I’m a terrible hostess, I should have offered you a drink when you first came in. What’s your pleasure?”

“Well… what’s your favorite drink?”

She bit her lower lip and blushed, embarrassed.

“Oh. Well. Actually. God, you’re gonna laugh at me,” she murmured, looking away, feeling insecure. Laurel Sterling feeling insecure. Amazing. I stood up beside her.

“Of course I won’t laugh at you,” I assured her. “Tell me.”

“Well… the truth is, I don’t have a favorite drink,” she explained with a shy smile. “I don’t really drink very much. Only when I need to… to be polite… like at weddings.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” I lied. Everyone in Meadowbrook Estates knew that Laurel Sterling didn’t drink… and that she didn’t much like people who did drink.

“And now you probably think I’m some kind of silly dumbbell,” she said, giving me a bashful sideways glance, clearly hoping that I thought no such thing. It was beginning to become clear that she was… well… smitten with me. She may have been thirty-eight years old, but she was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. So far the experiment was working better than I had dared hope.

“Not at all,” I said, taking her hands… to which she did not object, another milestone. “I think it’s endearing.”

She giggled. I swear to god. Giggled. I mean, I didn’t know Laurel Sterling knew how to giggle. And she squeezed my hands affectionately.

“Oh god, you are so sweet,” she said, gazing up at me with dewy eyes. She looked very much like she wanted to hug me but was fighting the urge. We stood there smiling at each other for a few moments and Laurel’s eyes started to sort of… smolder. I don’t know what she was picturing in her mind’s eye, but I don’t think it was G-rated.

“Well,” I finally said. “Tell you what. Why don’t I make us a couple of drinks, hm?”

Another hand squeeze.

“Oh, that would be great, Jim,” she gushed gratefully, reluctantly releasing my hands, “if you don’t mind, of course. After all, I really should be looking after you. I mean, I’m the woman, you’re the… man.” Her smile turned pensive. On the one hand she was wondering why she would make such a ludicrously sexist declaration, on the other hand she was somehow sure that it was true. I could practically see her thoughts written on her face. It did feel true. More than that, it felt… right.

“Oh, no, it’s my pleasure. Matter of fact, I think I know just the drink for a girl like you,” I said, walking to their little built-in bar. It was just like mine, though not as well-stocked since Dan was the only drinker in the house.

“What do you mean, a girl like me?” she asked coyly, obviously fishing for a compliment. She was actually twisting her fucking hair, I kid you not, like a lovesick adolescent. I found a bottle of Grey Goose and twisted it open.

“Oh, you know,” I answered. “Smart, caring, beautiful.” I filled two highball glasses to the rim with straight vodka.

“You really think those things about me, Jim?” Laurel asked softly, a catch in her voice. She placed one hand on her throat, as if she hardly dared believe it was true. Can you recall what it felt like when you discovered your crush was attracted to you? I’m pretty sure that’s what she was feeling.

“Laurel,” I said, added a few drops of grenadine to each glass, by way of camouflage, “I think you’re an absolutely amazing woman.”

She giggled again, giddy and bashful and delighted.

“You are such a sweet man,” she told me, genuinely appreciating the compliment.

“Well it’s true,” I said, capping the vodka and stirring the drinks. “I was just telling Dan the other day what a lucky man he is.”

“Dan?” she asked… then her grin faded a bit as she recalled that she was a married woman. “Oh. Dan. Of course.”

“Almost makes me sorry I’m not married,” I fibbed. Laurel tilted her head again and smiled… obviously much more interested in talking about me than her boring husband Dan.

“Tell me, Jim… how is it that a handsome, smart, funny, successful guy like you never got married, hmm?”

“Oh, just lucky I guess,” I joked, walking back over to her with the two stiff drinks.

“Ohhh, you,” she mocked scolded me with a giggle. “No, seriously. I’m sure you must have known a lot of women in your life. Dozens. Hundreds. A man like you. Smart, funny, handsome, and… well I’ll just say it… sexy.” She excused her uncharacteristic brazenness with a matter-of-fact shrug. “I mean, you know that. You know you’re sexy.” She had her hand to her throat now, gently massaging. She wasn’t looking at me, lost in her own thoughts. “I’m sure every woman who sees you wants to have sex with you. They must throw themselves at you, the brazen hussies, wanting you to… to pleasure them. And you… have your way with them, I’m sure.” Her eyes were closed now and her massaging hand was exploring beyond the confines of her throat. She wasn’t feeling herself up exactly… but it was more than idle kneading. “Yes, you have your way with them. You… all right, I’ll just say it… you fuck them, don’t you, Jim. Yes. We’re both adults, we can be honest. You fuck them like they’ve never been fucked before… over and over… hour after hour… until they lose track of how many times they… they come.” I’m not even sure she knew I was there at this point. “Yes, and then you fuck them some more because… because… they can’t get enough… because you’re so masterful, so good, such a… a manly man… so sexy… and all those women… they become your love slaves… they become mindless bimbo fuck toys who… who only live to please you.”

Okay. So… if you’re thinking I expected that little soliloquy, you’re mistaken. I did not. I expected… hoped, really… that Laurel Sterling would be nicer to me. Maybe even flirt with me a little, like many of her female neighbors did. I didn’t expect… that. Clearly I had somehow tapped into some deep-seated desires and secret fantasies. Probably so deep and so secret they were news to Laurel herself.

She stopped, eyes still closed, hand frozen, and sighed. Then she lowered her hand, opened her eyes, and smiled up at me. To my surprise she didn’t seem to be the least bit embarrassed by her impromptu erotic daydream. She just seemed… wistful.

“Or so I imagine.”

I did my best to look casual and sat back down beside her.

“I’ve known my fair share of women,” I admitted.

“But none of them were Miss Right?” she asked, staring at me intently. I turned, smiled, and looked deep into her green-hazel eyes.

“I think I’ve just been waiting for the right woman to come along,” I said softly, my gentle words laden with meaning. She swallowed, and a plaintive little squeak escaped her throat.

“I’m a happily married woman,” she said, almost whispering, and I don’t think she was talking to me. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and smiled earnestly. “You should get married, Jim. You would make some woman very happy.”

“I’ve made many women happy, Laurel,” I said, handing her one of the glasses.

“Oh god… I’m sure you have,” she breathed, staring deep into my eyes. Then she shook it off, smiling self-consciously, and looked down at the glass in her hand. She examined it, curious but not remotely suspicious. “It’s pretty. What is it?”

“It’s called a… Vodka Rose,” I said, making that up on the spot.

“A Vodka Rose,” she repeated with a smile. I lifted my glass.

“Well… what shall we drink to?” I asked. Laurel smiled and lifted hers.

“To good neighbors,” she suggested, eyebrows lifting, obviously suggesting there was more to being a good neighbor than just borrowing cups of sugar. How much more remained to seen.

“I’ll drink to that,” I agreed.

We both sipped at the straight vodka. Laurel swallowed, then coughed, gagging a bit. Grey Goose is smooth, but no straight vodka is all that smooth.

“Oh my,” she said, coughing again. “That’s really… <cough>… strong.”

“Actually, it’s not strong at all,” I corrected her. She blinked. The internal struggle was much briefer this time. She nodded, agreeing.

“No… you’re right, of course. It’s not strong, exactly…” she said. “It’s just a little… umm… <cough>… a little…”

“I think the problem is, you took too small of a sip,” I suggested. She blinked again, brow furrowing, confused. The old Laurel would have laughed derisively at that transparent attempt to get her loaded. The new Laurel wanted to believe me, but there was still residual doubt creating cognitive dissonance.

“Too… small a sip?” she asked. I worried that maybe I had pushed too far too soon… but I figured I was committed now. I went all-in.

“Yes. That’s right. With vodka you need to swallow a healthy mouthful,” I said, keeping my voice casual but unyielding. “So your system isn’t taken by surprise.”

“So my system isn’t… taken by… surprise,” she repeated, blinking, bemused by the internal battle being waged for her free will. She rose from the sofa… maybe the old Laurel was screaming at her to escape, or maybe to throw me the hell out… but she just stood there, uncertain. I stood up as well, but didn’t try to interfere. I was certain that I didn’t need to. I could see that the new, friendly, horny, smitten Laurel was winning, that the voice of the old, bitchy, prudish, mistrustful Laurel was being drowned out. “Yes… that… makes sense. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes. Absolutely. It does,” I said firmly, hoping to seal the deal.

Laurel blinked a few more times… then her infatuated smile returned.

“Ohhhh, of course,” she agreed. “I just took too small of a sip, that’s all.”

“It’s my fault,” I admitted earnestly, “I should have warned you about that.”

“Ohhhh, no, Jim, don’t be silly,” she assured me, reaching out and touching my chest. Her hand stayed there; she was in no hurry to remove it. “It’s my fault. I’m the dumbbell woman who doesn’t know how to drink, for heaven’s sake.”

“Well… shall we try it again?” I suggested.

“Yes!” Laurel agreed, lifting her glass, eager for a chance to redeem herself. “And this time I promise, Jim, I’ll drink a nice healthy swallow.”

“Great.”

“To good neighbors!” she said brightly, toasting again.

“To good neighbors,” I echoed, and this time I let her drink alone. She didn’t notice as she was too focused on correctly downing a mouthful of vodka like a good girl. It ended up being about a quarter of the glass. She coughed and gagged again, of course, but I stepped in quickly.

“Oh, that went down much easier that time,” I stated decisively. “Don’t you think?”

She smiled bravely and blinked, tears coming to her eyes.

“Mm-hmm,” she agreed, then she coughed a few times. “Yes. Definitely. I think it went down… <cough>… much easier… <cough>… that time.”

“Me too. But tell you what, why don’t we make sure, huh?” I suggested.

“Make sure?” Laurel asked, her voice a little rough.

“Yeah, you better take another gulp, just to be sure,” I proposed. She blinked.

“Another gulp?” she asked, looking very puzzled, like she was trying to remember something important. I was pretty sure what she was trying to remember was that she didn’t much like me and she didn’t much like drinking, so I pressed even harder.

“Yes, absolutely, I think that’s a good idea,” I stated. “In fact, you’re almost done with that drink, so why don’t you just knock it back and finish it off.”

“Oh.” She stared at her glass, which was still more than half full, trying to puzzle out what to do. I didn’t give her the chance.

“Yes. You should definitely drink down the rest of that drink,” I strenuously advised.

Laurel blinked a few more times… and then her furrowed brow smoothed, and her fond smile returned. She patted my chest with her hand.

“Yes, you know, I think that’s a really good idea, Jim,” she said. “I think I should just knock it back and finish it off. I mean, you tell me, you’re a man. That makes the most sense, don’t you think?”

“I do. I think that makes the most sense.”

“Okay. Here goes nothing.” She put the glass to her Angelina Jolie lips and guzzled down the remaining four ounces of straight vodka. I watched with amazement, trying not to grin. When she lowered the empty glass she gasped and coughed a few times… no surprise there; who the hell wouldn’t after chugging four ounces of straight vodka… but she paid it no mind. In fact, there was a proud smile on her face.

“You did it!” I said.

“I did… <cough>… did it!” she agreed happily.

“Yup, that’s the secret to drinking vodka,” I explained. “You gotta chug it.”

“Yeah, y’know, boys used to… <cough>… used to tell me that back before I met Dan,” she said thoughtfully, “but I always figured they were… <cough>… were just trying to get me drunk.”

“Well, they probably were,” I said with a rakish grin, “but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Laurel giggled… then a confused look came over her face and she blinked again. This time it wasn’t because she was struggling to obey my suggestions, but because all that vodka was assaulting her poor unsuspecting brain. She didn’t exactly stumble, but she stepped back, shifting her weight, wavering a bit.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Mmmmmmmm,” she said, closing her eyes and pressing her hand harder against my chest, using it to keep her balance. “I’m not sure.”

“Do you feel dizzy?” I asked, knowing that she did. She opened her eyes and smiled.

“No, don’t worry,” she said, not wanting to displease me again. “I don’t <HIC!>... oh gosh, excuse me… now I have the <HIC!>... hiccups. No, I don’t exactly feel dizzy… exactly. <HIC!>”

“Just a little muddled maybe?”

She blinked, considering.

“Hmmmm?” she asked. “Oh. No… no I feel… <HIC!>... I feel…” More blinking. “Hey Jim… are you <HIC!>... sure this isn’t… wasn’t… a small drink? I mean… <HIC!>... strong. A strong drink?”

“Not at all,” I answered firmly, enjoying the way her tits bounced every time she hiccuped. “It definitely wasn’t a strong drink, and I can prove it. Here.” I took her empty glass and handed her my nearly full glass. She looked down at it, puzzled. “You drink that down, the whole thing, and you’ll see that it’s not a strong drink. Also, it will get rid of those hiccups.”

“Drink down… the <HIC!>... the whole thing?” she asked. She was still uncertain, but between the vodka and my suggestions it was now like shooting fish in a barrel.

“Definitely,” I repeated. “You should absolutely, definitely drink that whole thing down. Then you’ll know for sure that it isn’t a strong drink.”

Her smile returned.

“That’s a <HIC!>... great idea, Jim,” she said. “Thanks!”

And she dutifully proceeded to knock back seven-plus ounces of vodka.

She was genuinely getting used to it now and she only coughed once, holding out the empty glass proudly and grinning. A little bit of vodka dribbled down her chin.

“Ta-daaaaah!” she sang, and then she giggled gleefully.

“Well done,” I said, taking the empty from her.

“Thank you, sir,” she said with a gracious nod. She held up a finger. “And you, Jim, were quite ripe. Right. It was not at all a small drink. Not at all. And it did get rid of my <HIC!>... hiccups.”

This time she did stumble but caught herself by grabbing my shirt.

“Whoahhhh.” She blinked, then looked up at me. “I’m not dizzy, right?”

“Nah, you’re not dizzy,” I assured her.

“I’m not… <HIC!>... dizzy,” she agreed, her eyes crossing dizzily.

“Well then,” I suggested, “how about another drink?”

“Why not!” she said, throwing out her arms in an exaggerated shrug. That made her stumble again, her big tits jiggling inside the sundress. “Now that I drink… know… <HIC!>... know how to drink them.” She stumbled again, bumping into me lightly.

“Maybe you’d better sit down, huh?” I suggested.

“That is a good idea, Jim,” she agreed, patting my chest. “Good idea. I will sit down, and you will get us more drinks <HIC!>... to drink.”

She lowered herself a little unsteadily to the sofa, a contented grin on her pretty face… a face that was definitely rosier than it had been a few minutes before. I took the two empties back over to the bar. There was a loud thump from upstairs, followed by girlish giggle.

Laurel blinked woozily, trying to identify the noise. I was pretty sure I knew what it was.

“What wuzzat?” she asked. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, and a large strand of hair had fallen across her face, unnoticed. She looked sexy as hell.

“I dunno,” I said, grabbing the vodka bottle. “It sounded like Chloe fell out of bed.”

Laurel giggled at that and sank back into the sofa, boneless.

“Yeah, she can be a clumsy girl that girl,” Laurel agreed. She can also be so stoned she can’t walk straight, I thought, anticipating a topless entrance in the near future. I put down the bottle and pulled my phone from my pocket.

“Say, why don’t we start our brainstorming session, huh?” I suggested, tapping the record icon.

RECORDED AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION

June 25, 201910:38 AM

SUBJECT: Laurel Sterling

Brain… storming?

You know… about the idea of a dress code.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. Right right right right. <HIC!> Thassa really good idea, right Jim?

Yes it is. Tell me why you think a dress code is necessary.

Well, cuz… cuz I look at these women ann they’re… like… indecennly exposing themselves in ways that are… indecenn.

Showing too much of their tits, you mean?

Ezzzactly! Showinn off too mush o’their tits… ann their asses… ann… ann their legs… ann their tits.

But what if their man wants them to dress that way?

Oh, well… if their man wannns them to show off their tits, they should show off their tits, obviously. But I don’t think thass what they’re doinn. I think they are trying to steal someone else’s man, ann thass why they tit… show off their tits.

Ohhhh, you’re probably right. Here you go.

Whass this?

It’s another drink.

Ohhhhh, good, cuz… cuz I was thinkinn I should drink more. D’you think I should drink more, Jim? You’re a man, you tell me.

I do, Laurel. I think you should drink a lot more. Men like it when you’re drunk because it makes you even sexier.

It does?

Well of course. Why do you think all those guys in high school were trying to get you drunk all the time?

Annn, Dan’s boss.

Uhhh… yes. Correct. And Dan’s boss.

But… but I’m sexy even when I’m sober, right?

Oh my yes, you’re incredibly sexy. [subject giggles] But when you’re drunk you’re even sexier.

I am?

Oh goodness, yes. When you’re drunk, no man can resist you.

They can’t?

Well, see for yourself. Guzzle that down and see if I can resist you. [subject giggles]

I will. [subject drinks approx. six ounces of straight vodka]

Oh, here… let me wipe your mouth. And your chin.

Am I sesssy now, Jim?

You’re amazingly sexy, Laurel. It’s all I can do to resist you while we continue our conversation about the dress code.

You thing we needa… a… dresh code? Me too.

“Me too,” I assured her, switching off the recorder for the moment. “I mean… I see all these women walking around, dressed indecently, and it just makes me… well… not angry, really. Just… disappointed.”

“Yes!” Laurel cried out, her eyes wide. She thumped my chest. “Ezzactly! That is so ezzactly how I feel, Jim.”

“I mean… when I look at you,” I said, holding out my hands and admiring her, “I think, by god, there’s a woman who knows how to dress properly. Elegant. Conservative. But still completely and thoroughly feminine.”

Laurel giggled, delighted by my description.

“You really thing that?” she asked girlishly. Assuming the girl was drunk.

“Absolutely,” I said. “That’s why I admire you so much. You never take the easy road.”

She blinked, a little confused. All that vodka was really starting to do a number on her. Her ability to hold a coherent conversation was fading fast. She slumped back into the sofa, her eyes half rolled up into her head.

“I don’t stake… what road?”

“You know what I mean. Well, okay look, may I demonstrate?” I asked, gesturing toward her bodice.

“Cernnnly,” she told me, smiling expectantly, happy to have a demonstration of how elegant and feminine she was from a knowledgeable man.

“Well, I mean…” I said as I reached out and started unbuttoning her sundress, “…just as an example…” Two buttons undone. “…you would never…” Three buttons undone, just north of her cleavage. “…go out dressed like this.”

Laurel looked down at her dress. It was still quite modest, really, opened just enough to show a little skin.

“Well,” she admitted. “If it was a really hot day, I might.”

“Okay, sure, granted, but…” I unbuttoned buttons four, five, and six, then tugged the bodice open. The valley of her cleavage and the upper slopes of her huge tits were now visible. “…you would never go out like this, no matter how hot it was, right?”

Laurel, distinctly bleary-eyed now, examined her chest.

“Nnnnope!” she declared happily. She looked up at me, earnest and smiling and drunk. “I would not go out like this, Jim, because you can top… see… the tops of… of my boobs.”

“Exactly.”

“Ezzactly.” Then she grinned and giggled coquettishly. “Soooo… did you see the bops… the tops… of my boobs, Jim?” She was obviously very proud of her tits and was hoping I had noticed them. I had long suspected she was secretly a little vain about her looks and was glad to have my suspicions confirmed.

“I did, I saw them, and they were extremely sexy,” I told her. “Which is exactly why you would never go out dressed like that.”

“Ezzactly,” she agreed, her smile fading as she took on a stern demeanor and wagged a finger. “That is ezzactly why I would never grow out like this. Because I am too sexy.”

“That’s right. When a woman is as incredibly sexy as you are, Laurel, she has to be very, very careful how she dresses in public,” I said. Her grin returned.

“Nnnnnnnnn… you reallllllly think I’m incrennnibly sexy?” she asked coyly.

“Well of course I do.” She closed her eyes and giggled. I reached for buttons seven through twelve and undid them as I spoke. “And that’s why… you would never… under any circumstances… go out… dressed like… this.”

I yanked the dress open and tugged the straps off her shoulders. The bodice was now undone all the way to her navel, barely covering her tits at all. She was wearing a green cotton bra trimmed in lace, her magnificent boobs overflowing its cups. With jugs like those, I imagined she had a good deal of trouble finding bras that fit her properly.

Laurel looked down at her overexposed boobs, then back up at me.

“I would never, ever, ever go out dressed like this,” she confirmed drunkenly. “Ever. Ann do you know why, Jim my friend ann good neighbor?”

“Because you look incredibly sexy?” I asked.

“Zzzzactly. Because I am incremmly sexy ann… ann… ann I don’t wann a bunch of lustful schoolboys drooling over my humongous tits, goddammit. That is why.”

“And that’s why we need a dress code around here,” I agreed, refilling her glass from the bottle. “Otherwise, all the lustful schoolboys will be drooling over your goddamn humongous tits. Not to mention Dan’s boss.”

“Yeahhhh, I’ll zzrink t’that!” She raised her glass clumsily, slopping some vodka on her arm. “Here’zz to a Meadowbrook States dress code for my tisss!”

Without any urging at all she proceeded to chug back her fourth glass of Grey Goose. When she finished there was no coughing at all this time, although a goodly amount of vodka was dripping out of her grinning mouth and onto her bared tit slopes. Then her grin faded and she blinked.

“How come you dinnn zzrink a toase, Jimmy?” she asked me, wavering where she sat.

“Well,” I confided, “I don’t think I should have any more to drink.” I leaned closer to her and whispered. “When I drink too much, sometimes I get drunk.”

Her bloodshot eyes got wide.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, me stoo,” he told me. She stabbed at my chest with her finger. “Thass why I do not zzrink, Jimmy my ol’ pal. Because when I get zzrunk, I zzrink.”

“Does that happen a lot?” I asked. She shook her head repeatedl, her hair falling every which way. I took the empty glass from her hand, afraid she might drop it. She held up two fingers.

“No. No. No. I have only been zzrunk twice times,” she confessed, “ann neither times did… did it turn out well.”

“Oh dear. What happened?”

“Well… the firss time wuzzin high school ann I got zzrunk on… on strawberry wine ann had sexss with my boyfrenn Mark,” she explained. “Exsssept it turnzz out it wasn’t my boyfrenn Mark, it was my boyfrenn Mark’s brother Eric ann his frenn Tony, ann thass why we broke up. Me ann Mark.”

“Ohhh, that’s too bad.”

“Ann the seconn time I got zzrunk was juss before we moved here,” she went on. “I had too mush punsh at Dan’s office’s Christmas’s party ann… ann I has sexss with Dan’s boss.”

“Ohhhh my goodness.”

She put a finger to her lush lips.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Don’t tell Dan cuz Dan duzzin know. Duzzin know. But thass why he got th’promotion ann got transferred here.” She grinned proudly.

“Because of you.”

“Mmmmmmm-hm,” she confirmed. I leaned in closer.

“You’re a really good wife,” I told her, “To have drunken sex with your husband’s boss so he’d get a promotion.” In fact, I was pretty certain Dan’s boss transferred him to get Laurel as far away as possible and avoid a scandal.

“I know. Ann you are… a really good neighbor,” she countered, “to get me zzrunk while my hussmann’s away so I can have sexss with you.” Our faces were only inches apart. “You do wanna have sess with me, right?”

“I do want to have sex with you because you are incredibly sexy.”

“Ann I wanna have sess wiss you cuz you are incremmmly sessy.”

She tilted her head and kissed me. It was a bit tentative at first… perhaps old Laurel was making a last stand… but once new Laurel decided she liked it she fully committed. Within a few moments we were full bore making out, tongues sliding into each other’s mouths, lots of lip-twisting and throaty moaning. I got the impression that Laurel hadn’t made out with anyone in a long time and was hungry for it.

When I put down the empty glass and raised my hands to those amazing tits, gently squeezing them, she did not object. On the contrary, she moaned with some pleasure and grasped my wrists, encouraging me.

By the time Chloe stumbled down the stairs I was sucking her nipples and her thighs were wrapped around me.

“Holy fuck!”

I disengaged from Laurel’s nipple and looked up. Chloe was standing on the bottom step landing, holding on to the newel post for support. She was grinning and her eyes were nothing but red slits and she would stumble every few seconds, catching herself. Wasted.

And oh yes, as instructed she was wearing her torn Calvin Klein jeans and no top.

“Hey there, Chloe,” I said. She started giggling and couldn’t stop.

Laurel looked up, saw her daughter, and grinned.

“Heyyyyyyyyyyyy, baby,” she drawled. She waved a drunken hand. “Lissen… lissen… don’t tell Daddy I’m havinn zzrunken sess wiss Jim onna sofa cuz he duzzin know.”

Still giggling uncontrollably, Chloe slid to the floor and started crawling in our direction. With some reluctance I disentangled myself from the voluptuous Laurel… I was enjoying myself with her, but this was a scene of my own devising, so I had no one to blame but myself.

“Heyyyyyyyyyy,” Laurel complained. “Arnnsyoo gonna fuck me onna sofa?”

“Yes, darling, I am,” I assured her. “Give me a minute to deal with Chloe.”

She blew a razzberry, spitting. “Good luck on that, buddy, shezza hannfull,” Laurel warned me, sitting up. “Shit… I needa zzrink.”

“Help yourself,” I told her, pointing. “Bottle’s right there.” I walked over to Chloe, still giggling, still crawling, her youthful but very impressive tits brushing the carpet. She had taken my suggestions to heart. I had never seen a girl that stoned, and I’ve seen quite a few.

I stood there, blocking her path. When her head bumped into my knee she stopped giggling, stopped crawling, and looked up at me. Her pretty face broke into a stoned grin.

“Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy,” she greeted me. “I know you.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, reaching for my phone, “I’m your neighbor Jim Decker.”

RECORDED AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION

June 25, 201910:52 AM

SUBJECT: Chloe Sterling

Yeahhhhhhhhhh. [subject giggles] You are sooooooooo hot. I wanna… [giggles] I wanna… [giggles] I… [giggles] I wanna fuck you but… [giggles] but… [giggles] I’m too fucked up.

Oh, now, you’re never too fucked up to fuck, Chloe.

I’m not? [subject attempts to unzip my shorts] I wanna… [giggles] like… I wanna… [giggles] give you a… [giggles] a… like… [giggles] a blow job.

Having some trouble?

Fuck. I told you I was… [giggles] like… [giggles] too fucked up to… [giggles] to fuck.

C’mere. [subject is lifted to her feet and kept upright]

Hey. [giggles] Hey. [giggles] Are you gonna fuck my mom?

Mm-hmm. Is that okay with you?

Fuck, I don’t care. [giggles] Maybe it will make her less of a… [giggles] a fucking bitch. Holy fuck, she is so drunk.

[NOTE: at this point subject Laurel Sterling is chugging vodka straight from the bottle, much of it washing her breasts]

Looks like fun, huh?

Fuck yeah. [giggles]

Well come here. [subject Chloe Sterling is walked to the bar; NOTE: motors skills are severely impaired] Let’s see… how about tequila?

I’ve never… [giggles] like… [giggles] drunk tequila.

Well then. It’s high time you did. Tilt back your head and open wide.

You’re gonna just like… [giggles] like… [giggles] pour it down my fucking throat?

Uh-huh. Just like mom. Until you’re so fucking wasted you don’t know your own fucking name.

She giggled, opened wide, and I started pouring.

In the end it only took about ten minutes and half the bottle to get her so fucking wasted she didn’t know her own fucking name. After all, she had already been extremely stoned. Now she was extremely drunk on top of it. By the end she was laughing so much hardly any of the tequila was going down her throat, so I gave up.

I put the bottle down on the bar and held her by her tits… which is a terrific way to hold a girl, I recommend it. She was still giggling, tequila dribbling everywhere. Like mother like daughter, her tits were soaked with booze, which made them a bit slippery. But I held on.

“Hey… Chloe.”

“Frzzzlmmrr grummtizz slammber,” she gurgled incoherently, half talking, half giggling. I squeezed her tits to get her attention. “Nnnnnnnnnn…. fuggg yeahhhh.”

“Chloe… how many guys have you fucked?” I asked her. I very much doubted she was a virgin, not with a face and a body like this, but I was curious how experienced she was. But I was too late. She was way past the point of answering a question.

“Fuhhhhhginjn fuhhggg flummmm frimmm,” was her only answer.

But as a wise man once said, she was never too fucked up to fuck.

“C’mon,” I said, leading her, stumbling erratically, over to the sofa. “Let’s say goodnight to mommy.”

Laurel was taking a temporary break from guzzling vodka to enjoy the effects of guzzling vodka. She sat slumped on the sofa, her wet tits hanging out of her dress, barely still in her bra, her legs splayed, a vacant but very happy grin on her face. My guess was she was slightly more coherent than her completely fucked up daughter… but that was just a guess.

“Hey, beautiful,” I said. She heard me and her eyes kinda sorta focused on me. Her vacant smile got wider.

“Heyyyyyyyyyyy, byoooooful,” she replied. I wondered how many of me she was seeing. Then she noticed Chloe. “Heyyyy, whass wrong wiss… wiss Chlo Chlo?”

“Nothing at all,” I assured her. “She’s just completely wasted.”

Laurel giggled happily.

“Juss like meeeeeee.”

“Oh no, she’s much more wasted than you,” I said. “See? She doesn’t even know who she is or where she is.”

“Granfrmmm cammtsterinng blick,” Chloe mumbled, by way of proving my point.

“You, my darling, are just a little tipsy,” I told Laurel. She pouted her lips.

“I’m juzzza li’l tisssy?” she asked, disappointed.

“Yup. So look… I’m gonna take your wasted teenage daughter upstairs to her bedroom and fuck her brains out until she screams so loud the windows rattle.”

Laurel giggled at that. “Make th’winnndowzz rannel,” she repeated.

“Yup. And then I’ll come back downstairs,” I continued, “and if you’ve been a good girl and have finished off that bottle of vodka, then I’ll fuck your brains out too, okay?”

She giggled in happy anticipation of that event.

“Nnnnn-kay.” Then her smile faded a bit and she blinked hard at Chloe. “Heyyyy… how come she’zz… she’zz got no top on ann… ann she’zz topless?”

“Oh, well,” I said, “I think because she’s a shameless slut… just like her mom.”

That made Laurel giggle merrily.

“Shanelezzz slump,” Chloe gurgled, sliding down my side. I hoisted her back up.

“Okay, fat ass,” I told Laurel, “you work on that bottle.”

“I’ll zzrink it all, Shim, I promish,” she promised.

“Good. Now, you may be passed out cold by the time I get back down here,” I said, “but don’t worry, I’ll still fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before, you big-titted whore.”

Yeah, I admit, I was enjoying all the verbal abuse after months of Laurel’s bitchiness and Chloe’s sullen indifference… but it was also a test. If the big-titted whore didn’t object to being called a big-titted whore, well… that meant she belonged to me, heart and soul.

She didn’t mind. In fact, she giggled with delight, as if I had called her “kitten” or something. Sure, she was drunk as fuck, but this was something more. She was mine.

I looked down at Chloe in my arms, drooling all over herself, cute as a button, sexy as a teen porn star, and too wasted to know her own name.

They were both all mine.

I headed for the stairs, practically carrying Chloe. I only hoped I could get her up to her bedroom before she passed out.

“Come bag sooooon ann fugg me ann my big tided whores!” Laurel called after us… and then I heard the sound of guzzling.

I ended up throwing Chloe, who had become a giggling rag doll, over my shoulders. She wasn’t light, but holding on to her ass with one hand and the railing with another I managed to ascend the staircase. I, of course, had no idea which room was her bedroom, but I found it easy enough. I dumped Chloe face down on her bed, sending her stuffed animals flying. She giggled, drooling into her sheets, young and gorgeous and topless and every teenaged boy’s wet dream. I hadn’t been a teenaged boy in some time, but I was willing to take on the role.

I knelt one knee on her bed and yanked down her jeans, tugging them off each leg and tossing them away. She wore no panties. Naughty naughty Chloe. She was still conscious… sort of… and twisted her head to look up at me. She grinned, her eyes barely open.

“You gommma funng me, Misher Dennner?” she asked, drooling and wasted but more aware of her surroundings than I had thought. So much the better. I liked to hear the female I was fucking enjoying herself.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Chloe?” I asked. She giggled.

“Fuggg yeahhhh,” she replied. “I’ve allzzz wannnned you t’funng meee.” I didn’t know if that was true or just the post-hypnotics talking, but I was willing to take her at her word.

So I fucked her.

I dropped my trousers, climbed up on the bed behind her, and slid my erect cock between her wet and waiting cunt lips.

“Uhhhnnnnn,” she groaned happily. “Ohhhhh ffffffugg.” And then... “Oh shid! Oh fugg! Oh yeahhhhh!”… as I slowly but firmly pushed myself in as far as I could go.

I started pumping, slowly at first, but gradually increasing the tempo.

“Uhngh. Uh. Uh. Ungh! Oh. Fugg. Umf.”

Faster and harder.

“Uhn! Uhhn! Umf! Yes! Fugg! Oh! Shid! Mnngg! Uhnn!”

Faster and harder.

“Oh!Uh!Unngh!Umf!Yes!Yes!Fuck!Yes!Ungh!Umf!Shhhit!Ungh!”

I was fucking her like a lust-crazed dog, slamming into her naked teenaged ass again and again, and she surprisingly stayed with me the whole time, grunting and groaning and pushing back and wriggling her ass and clenching the sheets and biting her pillow. This went on for the better part of fifteen minutes.

Then I flipped her onto her back and fucked her like a lust-crazed missionary, watching her big naked teenaged tits bounce around crazily, for another fifteen minutes. My suggestions had apparently placed her on a hair trigger… or maybe she was just a horny teenager, who knows… but she orgasmed multiple times. Like, every few minutes. Each time bigger and longer and louder and more violent than the time before. The last time she screamed so loud I think the windows might actually have rattled a little bit.

“Ungh!!! Ungh!! Ahh! Uhhh! Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!”

Her body stiffened, twitched uncontrollably for about ten seconds, and then she passed out, limp as a rag doll. Fortunately, I came (for only the second time) at that same moment.

I won’t lie. It was probably the best fuck I had ever had.

But I was pretty sure it was about to become the second best.

I left young Chloe’s naked, sweat-soaked, cum-stained body sprawled on her bed, gathered my clothes, and headed back downstairs.

As predicted, Laurel was out cold, lying face down on the sofa, her ass pointed at the ceiling. The empty vodka bottle was on the floor by the TV where it had rolled.

I considered trying to wake her up so she could join in the festivities, but that fat ass was too tempting. I tossed my clothes aside, stepped up onto the sofa, flipped up her dress, yanked down her panties, and mounted her from behind.

I held tight to those lush hips and slam-fucked Laurel Sterling much as I had her teenaged daughter, smashing into those chubby ass cheeks like a pile driver. At first, unlike Chloe, she didn’t make a sound, it was like fucking a senseless love doll. Not that I’m complaining; I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

Gradually, though… bit by bit… she starting coming out of her vodka-induced stupor. At first it was just an occasional soft groan, nearly drowned out by the sound of our sweaty bodies slapping together, again and again and again.

“Nnnnn…………. mmmm……… nnnnnnn.”

Then she started really feeling it, grunting like an animal with each thrust.

“Nnng. Mmmg. Nnnng. Mmg. Nnn.”

I was encouraged by her response and my thrusts became faster and more violent, squashing her ass cheeks flat, my fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs.

“Oh! Oh! God! Uhh! Oh! Nnn! God!”

She was fully conscious now… or as fully conscious as a woman who had downed most of a bottle of vodka could be… doing her best to angle her ass to take me, hugging the sofa cushions, and screaming with pleasure.

“Yes!! God!! Yes!! Please!! Oh!! God!! Yes!!”

We came together, me like a fire hose, Laurel like a woman who hadn’t had an orgasm in many, many years. I almost lost my grip on her sweat-soaked body she was shaking so violently as she came. Unlike her daughter, she came down from it slowly, in stages, gradually twitching less and less, her moans of pleasure softer and softer, until at long last she was still. I pulled myself free with a soft slurp and sat back on my haunches.

She giggled then rolled over onto her back and grinned up at me. She was obviously still drunk as shit, her eyes droopy and bloodshot, her cheeks ruddy, and her hair by now a hopelessly tousled mess.

“I knew id wuzzzz you,” she told me happily.

“It was me, all right,” I agreed. “Your good neighbor Jim Decker.”

“My good Decker neigh… neighbor Jim,” she drawled.

She giggled again, sat up, grasped her sundress and clumsily tugged it up, over her head, and flung it aside. Her panties had long since vanished, so now she was dressed in only her green cotton bra, which had pretty much given up even trying to contain her massive tits. Laurel fumbled around behind her back for a few moments, then managed to unclasp it. The bra fell to the floor and she was gloriously naked.

I lay back on the sofa, admiring her voluptuous body.

“Jesus… you’re gorgeous,” I said, meaning it. She giggled, delighted, and half-knelt, half-fell toward me, her dangling tits brushing my thighs. She inched closer until she was hovering over me, her face very close to mine, those tits now pressing into my chest.

Her grin faded and she became serious.

“I thing I love you,” she told me sincerely.

“Is it love,” I asked, “or is it lust?”

She giggled, smiling, then leaned down and kissed me.

“I thing iss both,” she replied softly, those imperious eyebrows arching.

And then, as if to prove it, she reached down and maneuvered my cock between her thighs. My faithful member took the bait and, to my delight and surprise, hardened once again.

“Mmmmmnnnnnn,” Laurel moaned happily, closing her eyes as I entered her and she sat back on my hips. “Ohhhhhh yeahhhhhh. Iss den… definitely… mmmmm… both.”

And so, we fucked for a while with her on top. This was a more leisurely ride; I was tired, and she was barely conscious enough to stay in the saddle. I enjoyed watching her all too sexy flesh jiggle with each descent onto my waiting cock, and as we neared our second mutual climax, we accelerated the pace a good deal. By the end her boobs were bouncing up and down like volleyballs, her hair was covering her face like a Scottish Highland cow, and her body was legit spraying me with sweat. It was amazing.

She screamed like an exorcized demon when she came, of course, but the last words out of her mouth, before she passed out and fell to the floor, were a soft, squeaky…

“Oh my.”

Thuh-thump.

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

After that, I dozed on the sofa for a while, regaining my strength. Then I got dressed and started cleaning up. I got rid of the empty vodka bottle and glasses, then pulled Laurel’s underwear and dress back onto her floppy body. It was a struggle, but a very pleasant struggle. I sat her on the sofa facing the TV, turned the set on, and placed the remote in her limp hand.

I jogged upstairs, dressed Chloe in her t-shirt nighty, straightened up her room, and left her with her phone in her hand.

I wasn’t worried about what either of them would think… or remember… when they woke up… whenever they woke up. After all, I knew I could tell them what to think and remember. And that’s precisely what I did.