The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

PART 1

My name is Ron, but this story is about my wife. Let me tell you about her. Janey is 29 years old, the youngest member of the psychology faculty at the prestigious state university where she works. To her students and colleagues she is Dr. Stevens. When Janey was a graduate student, she did extensive research on the effects of subliminal messages, and wrote her graduate thesis on that topic. Now, as a member of the faculty, she has her own laboratory devoted to developing and testing various methods of subliminal messaging. Janey has received numerous awards for the work she had done on using subliminal messaging to help drug addicts kick their habits, and to help reform criminals. She also has done a number of top secret projects for the CIA, the precise nature of which she never has told me.

Janey also is extremely athletic, and for the last two years has helped coach the varsity cheerleading squad at the university. Under her leadership, the cheerleading squad has won several national championships, and is generally regarded as one of the best trained, most impressive squads in the country.

Janey is strikingly beautiful, at least in my eyes. She is tall, slender, but with very ample breasts. She has long, straight dark hair, and disarmingly blue eyes. With her beauty, intelligence, and devoted passion for all that she does, Janey is, in many respects, a perfect companion. Every day, when I wake up and find her lying next to me, I pinch myself to make sure that I’m not dreaming. With her, my life is complete.

Our story begins once day last September, a few days after the fall cheerleading tryouts. A day that happened also to be my birthday. I was home in the evening, going over my investments, when Janey walked into my study.

“Honey, I hope you don’t mind—and I know it’s your birthday—but I brought home a dinner guest,” she said.

“Of course I don’t mind. When you reach my age, you don’t really want to celebrate birthdays anyhow. Who is it?”

“One of the new girls on the squad. Her name is Clarisa. She just transferred to this school, and seemed a bit lonely. So, I thought I’d invite her over.”

“Fine. Where is she?”

“She’s in the living room. But before I introduce you, there is something I need to tell you about her.”

“Yes?” “Well,” Janey said after a pause, “she comes from a very strict background and, I think, has some very conservative views of the world. And she is a bit naive. Even for a nineteen year old girl. I think that is why she hasn’t yet fit in well with the other girls on the squad. They think she’s stuffy, and not a lot of fun.”

“Sounds like a wonderful dinner guest,” I replied sarcastically.

Janey replied in a serious tone, “I’ve sort of taken her on as a project. I want to help her loosen up, and help her fit in better.” She paused. “But you need to be on your best behavior around her. You have a tendency to say things purposefully to shock people, and I don’t want you doing that to her. At least not yet.”

I smiled. “Fine. I’ll be good. Cross my heart.”

“I know you will,” Janey laughed. After giving me a peck on the cheek, she started to walk out of the study. “I’ll get her and introduce her to you.”

I turned back to my work, thinking that this was going to be a long, dull dinner. There simply was nothing fun about spending time with naive, stuffy college students. What would we talk about? Some birthday! Ah well, if Janey thought this was a good idea, that was enough for me.

I had barely turned a page of the file I was looking over, when Janey returned with Clarisa.

“Ron, I’d like you to meet Clarisa.”

I turned slowly in my chair, and was greeted with one of the most stunning sights of my life. Clarisa was astonishingly sexy. She had the face of an angel. Oval, with a petite nose, shining green eyes, and the fullest, pinkest lips I had ever seen. All framed by a cascade of tightly curled blonde hair. Her breasts were perfect, just the slightest bit too large for her frame, so that they seemed to be thrusting forward, asking to be gently touched. She was wearing a shiny silver-hued satin blouse, that accented her curves with the way it shimmered. And it was tight enough across the front that I detected the pattern of what appeared to be a lace bra underneath. She wore a pair of white denim shorts, that fit snugly enough to demonstrate that her waist was quite slender. And then came the best part. Clarisa had magnificent, smooth, long legs that were well toned, no doubt from the cheerleading. Strangely, the moment I saw her, I was overcome by an urge to run my hands over her legs, to see if they were indeed as smooth and supple as they appeared. On her feet she wore a pair of plain white tennis shoes. I instantly imagined, however, what she might look like in a pair of black patent leather pumps with 5-inch heels. It was, to say the least, a tempting image.

But I was supposed to be on my best behavior. So all that I said was, “nice to meet you Clarisa.”

As I stood, she walked over to me and extended her hand.

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. . . .” She searched for a name.

“Ron is fine. Just call me Ron.”

She didn’t smile. “Fine. Nice to meet you Ron.”

Although she carried a warm, sexy exterior, I sensed from her voice and demeanor that she either did not realize how sexy she was, or didn’t know what to do with it. Oh well. The dinner conversation would be dull. But the view would at least be nice.

And my predictions were accurate. The conversation—mostly between Janey and Clarisa—was almost entirely about cheerleading, one of my least favorite topics. When Janey asked Clarisa about friends or family, Clarisa would get very serious, and give only short evasive answers. I developed the distinct impression that Clarisa was alienated from her family, and didn’t have many friends.

Then, somewhat to my surprise, Janey began to ask more personal questions.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Clarisa?” Janey asked.

Clarisa didn’t answer right away, but instead put another fork full of peas into her luscious mouth and chewed for a while.

“No. Not right now,” she answered.

“Did you have one at your old school, before you transferred?” asked Janey.

More chewing.

“Not really.”

Janey paused before her next question. “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

Clarisa was becoming noticeably uncomfortable. She was blushing a bit, and squirming in her chair. All of which made watching her more fun.

“I don’t really understand boys too well,” Clarisa finally answered. “And besides, between cheerleading and studying for classes, I don’t really have time for a boyfriend. Maybe when I get older.”

“Oh, I don’t know Clarisa,” Janey responded. “I think it’s important for a girl in college to experience life more fully, and not to just concentrate on classes.”

Now Clarisa was really chewing those peas. I could tell that this conversation made her uncomfortable. I began to wonder what Janey was up to.

But Janey seemed also to sense Clarisa’s discomfort. “I’m sorry if I asked personal questions. It’s just that I like to get to know the girls on the squad a little better, so that we can think of each other as friends.”

Clarisa smiled. “That’s okay,” she said. “I appreciate your having my over for dinner. I don’t really make friends all that easily, for some reason.”

Janey nodded understandingly, and then got up from the table. “I’ll be right back. I want to get something out of my briefcase.”

Clarisa and I were left alone for a moment. This obviously made Clarisa quite nervous. She did not look at me, but instead pretended to be concentrating as hard as she could on the food on her plate, as she rearranged it with her fork. Which didn’t bother me, since it made it somewhat easier for me to simply stare at her and drink in her innocent sensuality. We didn’t speak.

When Janey returned, she was carrying what appeared to be a CD case.

“I just wanted to put on some new music that I picked up today.” Into the CD-player she popped her new CD. Soon, some gentle jazz music emanated from our sound system.

“Do you like jazz, Clarisa?” asked Janey.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really tried to listen to it.”

“Oh, you really should listen to jazz. It’s such sexy music,” intoned Janey, with a noticeable emphasis on the word “sexy.”

Now I was truly puzzled. Janey had told me to be on my best behavior with this conservative, naive girl. And now Janey herself was making suggestive comments, as if she was purposefully trying to shock Clarisa.

When I looked back over at Clarisa, she was still staring at her plate, but her fork had stopped moving. She appeared almost to be mesmerized by her peas.

“Clarisa? Don’t you think this music is sexy?” asked Janey.

Clarisa was blinking rapidly, and seemed not to have heard Janey’s question.

“Clarisa, it’s okay for you to answer me.”

Then Clarisa, in a soft voice, said, “Yes. Sexy.”

“Clarisa,” said Janey, “don’t you think this would be good music to make love to?”

Again, a long pause. And then Clarisa responded, “I don’t know. I’ve never made love.”

“But surely you’ve thought about it,” said Janey. “Haven’t you?”

“Sometimes,” said Clarisa. “Yes. Sometimes I think about it. But . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Janey just smiled, first in Clarisa’s direction, and then directly at me. “Oh, Clarisa, I almost forgot to tell you. Today is Ron’s birthday.”

In a distracted voice, Clarisa said, “That’s nice . . . happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“And here’s something for you, Ron.” Janey handed me an envelope.

Wow, I thought to myself, Janey really splurged. A birthday card. How touching.

I opened the envelope, and removed the card. It was a typical “humorous” birthday card. You know the type of which I speak. Some sort of you-know-you’re-old when joke on the outside.

I opened the card, read the punch line, and grimaced. Then, I began to read the note that Janey had written inside the card:

“Dear Ron. I decided to get you something very, very special this year. It is a present that has, to some extent, grown out of my research at the university. Right now, if all has gone as I have planned, we are eating dinner with Clarisa, one of the girls from the cheerleading squad. She is a guarded, nervous girl who, I have no doubt, has very little sexual experience. But she is quite beautiful. Don’t you agree? Tempting is perhaps a better word. I have just now started to play some jazz music in the background. This is no ordinary music. I have infused the music with a series of subliminal messages. All of these messages are of a sexual nature. They will plant certain images, thoughts and feelings in Clarisa’s mind. The early messages are somewhat innocent, mostly to do with kissing, gently touching, and light rubbing of certain sensitive areas of the body. The messages become somewhat more explicit as the CD progresses, until, by the end of the CD (which is approximately 2 hours long), the subliminal messages are very, very suggestive of rather extreme forms of sexual expression. In particular, they will plant in Clarisa’s mind the idea that she wants nothing more than to be completely and wantonly sexual, in a very submissive way. If my research is correct (and it usually is!), Clarisa will, by the end of the CD, be in a state of complete and utter sexual arousal, and will be willing, of her own free will, to do almost any sexual act demanded of her. What remains to be seen (and this really is the fun part!) is how Clarisa will choose to express the thoughts and feelings she is experiencing. She may struggle very, very hard to keep them to herself, using all of her mental and physical stamina to maintain a calm facade, while practically boiling inside. Or she may simply give in to the feelings and beg for sexual relief with very little prompting. We shall see. Again, happy birthday. Hope you enjoy your present. Love, Janey.”

I was stunned. Although Janey was sexually uninhibited in private, I never would have guessed that she would do something like this. And I had no idea that her research had delved into sexual response. Perhaps it was the CIA work. I looked up at Janey.

But she was looking at Clarisa. “So, were you a cheerleader at the school you transferred from?” Clarisa looked up at Janey with a blank stare.

“What did you say?”

“I was just asking if you were a cheerleader at your old school.”

Clarisa seemed almost surprised by this bland question. “Yes. I was.”

Janey had a mischievous look on her face. A look I had not seen in several years, since the time she showed up at my office wearing a trenchcoat, shoes and nothing else.

“Tell me about your old squad. What types of cheers did you do?”

The conversation droned on like that for another ten minutes or so. A stream of dull questions from Janey about cheerleading, and Clarisa’s equally mind-numbing responses. No more personal questions or veiled sexual references from Janey. But Janey’s strange smile reappeared occasionally. She was like a cat, pretending to lie lazily in the sun, but all the while planning her pounce. Though the substance of their conversation had me bored to tears, I was mesmerized, waiting for some sign from Clarisa that Janey’s music was having its intended effect.

Finally, Janey seemed to run out of cheerleading questions, and she turned to Clarisa’s academic pursuits. “What are you majoring in, Clarisa?”

“History. Or maybe Government.”

“What classes are you taking this semester.”

“American History, Advanced French, and . . . and . . .” Clarisa stopped in mid-sentence, a far-away look on her face. She brushed one of her blonde curls off of her forehead, and tugged slightly at the front of her satin blouse. She swallowed. “Could I have a glass of water?”

“There’s a glass of water right in front of you,” Janey said.

Clarisa slowly noticed the glass, stared at it as if it had magically appeared, and then reached for it. Her hand grasped the glass, but did not lift it right away. Instead, for a long moment, she seemed to be using the glass to steady herself, as if all her weight was leaning against it. Then, slowly, she raised it to her pink tinted lips. The glass began to tremble ever so slightly as it approached her lips. Clarisa, apparently unable to move the glass any further, dipped her head slightly until her lips touched the rim of the glass. But she did not drink. Instead, the tiniest tip of her tongue emerged from between her lips and just barely touched the water. She closed her eyes, and seemed to be savoring the sensation of the cool water touching the tip of her warm tongue. Then, she gradually tilted the glass backwards. The water touched her lips, but she did not, at first, open them. Instead, she allowed the water to rest against the outside of her lips, again seeming to savor the sensation. Finally, her lips slowly opened, and a small bit of water was admitted into her mouth.

She sat like that—the glass tilted slightly against her lips, her eyes closed—for a few seconds before slowly lowering the glass back to the table. Only when the glass had come firmly to rest and she had pulled her hand away from it did she open her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said to nobody in particular. “I think I need a breath of fresh air. I’m feeling a bit . . . a bit . . .” She gripped the arms of her chair and pushed herself into a standing position. “Excuse me,” she whispered.

Clarisa turned and began to exit the room, but stopped to say, “I’ll just be a minute.” With another brush of another blonde curl, she was gone.

With Clarisa out of the room, Janey laughed gently to herself. “Did you like your birthday card?”

“The most amazing card I’ve ever received. I had no idea that you would do something like this.”

“Someday I’ll have to tell you about my CIA research.”

“Yes. Now my interest is piqued.”

Janey began to clear the dishes. “Clarisa will be back in about 10 minutes. She won’t be able to stay away longer than that.”

I rose to help her. “Why is that?”

“One of the subliminal messages creates a strong desire to continue to listen to the music. In about five minutes, she will start to feel a craving to hear more of that same music, and a few minutes later will decide that she has to come back. Meanwhile, while she’s away, she’ll continue to experience the same sexual images and thoughts that she was having when she left. So, going outside for a breath of fresh air won’t really help her, and she’ll begin to realize this.”

“That’s devilish.” I smiled.

And sure enough, in about 10 minutes, Clarisa returned. By then, Janey had put out dessert. Beautiful little fruit tarts that she had picked up at one of the local gourmet stores.

Clarisa looked even more flushed and flustered than when she had left. Her breathing was somewhat labored, she had a light sweat on the brow, and she now almost continuous touched various pieces of her clothing with her busily moving hands.

“Feeling better?” Janey asked, as she laid out the dessert forks.

“Oh . . . I suppose . . . I’m not really sure what . . .”

Janey put a concerned look on her face. “Is something wrong?”

“Maybe, I . . . I’m not sure.”

“What is it? Is there something I can do to help?” Janey asked, continuing to act the part of the innocent.

“It’s hard to describe. I’m just feeling . . . strange.”

“Strange? In what way?”

Clarisa was running one of her hands up and down the outside of her leg, tugging at the edge of her shorts. “I . . . I don’t think I can talk about it.”

“Maybe it’s this music,” said Janey. “Sometimes jazz makes people feel strange. Perhaps I should turn it off.”

“No!” Clarisa looked almost panicked. “Don’t turn the music off. Please!”

“Okay,” Janey said in a soothing voice. “If you don’t want me to turn off the music, I won’t turn off the music.” She looked at me, and slowly winked. “But if it’s not the music, then what’s bothering you?”

Clarisa clearly was putting up a monumental fight against the images and thoughts that Janey’s music was forcing into her brain. I imagined that she would explode at the slightest touch or verbal suggestion. Her lovely chest was heaving rapidly, and her nipples were becoming more and more visible through her satin blouse.

Clarisa ignored Janey’s question. Mustering all her strength she said, “These tarts look delicious.” She shakily reached for her fork.

And then, the doorbell rang.

Janey didn’t move, but instead smiled at me. “Why don’t you get it, Ron. I’ll keep Clarisa company.”

I rose and went to the door, which I opened. There was a girl, in her late teens much like Clarisa, but more slender and athletic. Her red hair was pulled into a bunch on the back of her head and held there with a pin. She had piercing green eyes. All I could see of her clothes was the long, wool coat that covered her body, and the white high-heeled shoes on her feet.

“I’m Amy,” she said. “I’m here to return the CD the coach lent me.” She held up the case.

“What type of music is that?” I asked.

“Just some jazz. I never really used to like this kind of music, but this CD is great. I couldn’t stop listening to it.”

“Oh really?” This, I thought, was an interesting turn of events. “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” she said eagerly. Too eagerly, I thought.

Amy entered the house and I closed the door behind her. She turned to me, and said, “Oh, I almost forgot. I’m supposed to give this to you.” She reached into one of the deep pockets of her coat and pulled out an envelope. “Go ahead. Open it.”

I opened the envelope, and inside was another birthday card. I opened the card, and read the following note:

“Dear Ron. If all has gone as planned, you are now standing in the foyer of our house reading this card, which has just been handed to you by Amy, another one of the girls on the cheerleading squad. She has no idea what is written in the card, or even how it came into her possession. All she knows is that she had a strong desire to get the card into your hands. She is, most likely, wearing a long coat and a pair of high-heeled shoes. Precisely the outfit suggested by the subliminal messages contained on the CD she has come to return. Amy has been listening to that CD almost continually for the past two days. Although she may not show it, inside she is boiling with sexual frenzy from the messages she has absorbed. I suggest that you see her into the dinning room, where Clarisa and I are waiting, and then offer to take her coat. Again, Happy Birthday! Love, Janey.”

Interesting. Very interesting.

“Amy, we were just sitting down for dessert. Why don’t you join us.”

I led Amy towards the dinning room. As we approached, I heard Janey’s voice.

“Clarisa, wouldn’t you feel better if you rubbed your nipples just a bit?” asked Janey.

Clarisa’s voice answered. “Please don’t tell your husband how I’m feeling. I don’t know what’s come over me. I feel so . . . so . . . so hot inside.”

I announced my presence loudly. “I suppose you both know Amy.”

Clarisa, when she heard my voice, almost jumped out of her chair.

Janey just smiled. “Hello Amy. How are you?”

“I’m just returning your CD. It was great. I couldn’t stop listening to it.”

“Could I take your coat, Amy?” I asked.

Amy turned to me. Her face was flushed slightly. She didn’t respond immediately, but instead swallowed hard, and seemed to be contemplating her next move. “Sure. Why not.”

She turned her back to me, unbuttoned the coat, and then waited for me to lift it from her shoulders. When I did, I was treated to a stunning sight. As the coat came off her shoulders, I noted that they were bare. As I slowly peeled the coat away from her back, the first piece of clothing that came into view was a pale green bra strap, contrasting nicely with her red hair and pure white skin. The rest of her back was bare. The second piece of clothing that came into my view was the thong on what appeared to be a pale green silk panty, which perched on her firm, lovely ass. And that was all she wore, except of course for the white high heels.

As I admired my rear view of Amy, she turned her head over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

Then, she turned the rest of her body towards me. The bra was, indeed, pale green and made of exquisite lace. The most interesting feature of the bra, however, was that it was only a quarter cup, supporting her firm young breast, but leaving exposed her nipples and most of the breasts themselves.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” she said. “But somehow I got the idea of coming over here like this, and the thought of it made my entire body tingle. I had to find out what it would be like.” “And what is it like, Amy?” came Janey’s voice.

Still looking at me, Amy replied. “Wonderful. I’ve never felt hotter in my life. Coach, would you mind if your husband ran his fingers over the outside of my panties?”

“Not at all.” Janey stood, came over to me, and took Amy’s coat. She draped the coat over a chair, and the pulled another chair in front of Amy. “Ron, why don’t you have a seat.”

This turn of events had me somewhat stunned, but I complied with Janey’s suggestion, and sat down facing Amy.

Amy stepped closer to me, put her hands on top of her head (a move that raised her lovely breast even higher), and closed her eyes. I slowly reached up between her legs, and brushed the fingers of my right hand lightly over her pale green silk panties. The material was moistly clinging to the folds of her pussy. I wondered if perhaps she was clean-shaven down there.

Amy opened her eyes. “See what I mean?” She sighed slightly as I continued to rub her very, very lightly. “Oh God . . . that . . . that feels wonderful.”

It was then that I noticed Clarisa. She was fixated on what had been happening, and her eyes were glued to my fingers as they slowly moved up and down on the outside of Amy’s wet silk panties.

“Clarisa, does that look like it might feel nice?” Janey now clearly intended to direct the action.

“Oh yes,” responded Clarisa, her eye never moving from my fingers. Clarisa was now slowly licking her lips, and her breathing had become even more labored. Her nipples was practically bursting through her bra and silver satin blouse.

“Would you like to feel his fingers rubbing you through your panties?” asked Janey.

“Oh yes.”

“Then, why don’t you take off your shorts, and see if he’ll do it for you?”

Clarisa stood, as if in a trance. She unbuttoned her shorts, and pulled then down her long, firm legs. She was wearing white lace bikini panties. She gracefully picked up her shorts, and hung then over the back of her chair. Then she walked towards me, and stood next to Amy.

Without removing my right hand from the outside of Amy’s panties, I placed the fingers of my left hand gently on the outside of Clarisa’s panties, and began to lightly stroke. Clarisa closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly back.

The sight that presented itself to me at that moment was the most erotic I had ever seen. Two young, beautiful girls, both in a sexual trance with eyes closed. To my right was Amy, her breasts thrust forward by her pale green quarter-cup bra. She had unpinned her raven hair, which cascaded down to her shoulders. She was moaning gently, but the movements of her hips was less gentle, as she urgently attempted to increase the pressure exerted by my fingers. To my left was Clarisa, whose hands had floated slowly to her breasts, which she now cupped on the outside of her silver blouse. She seemed to be attempting to control the movement of her hips, but she unmistakably was pressing forward into my fingers. Amy’s pale green silk panties, which by now were practically soaked through, contrasted with Clarisa white lace panties, which were only beginning to show a bit of warm moisture.

As the two girls wriggled on my hands, Janey walked up behind me, and placed her hands on my shoulder. She spoke to Clarisa. “Those lace panties are very sexy, Clarisa.”

“Ohhhhh. Thank you.”

“But Amy’s panties are made of silk, not lace.”

“Mmmmm. Yes.”

“Which means that you’re not really getting the same experience as Amy. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Clarisa, with eyes closed and head thrown back, just nodded her head.

Janey continued. “Wouldn’t you like to see how it would feel to have my husband’s fingers gently rubbing your pussy through silk?”

“Ohhhh. I don’t .... I don’t know ... mmmm.”

“Well, that way you could compare it to lace, and find out which you like better.”

“I suppose ... mmmm ... I suppose that would be ... would be nice.”

“Maybe if you asked,” continued Janey, “Amy would let you try on her panties, and then you could see.”

When she heard that suggestion, Clarisa’s body froze for a moment, and she emitted a series of quiet, high-pitched gasps. Within moments, I felt a flood of moisture leaking through her panties onto my fingers. Janey had clearly touched a nerve. A highly arousing nerve, if the moisture was any indication.

Clarisa finally opened her eyes, and turned her head towards Amy who, since Janey made her little suggestion, had been pressing her mound more urgently against my fingers.

“Amy?”

“Yes Clarisa?”

“Could I ... could I ...” Clarisa was unable to get out the words.

“Yes Clarisa? Could you what?” Amy wanted to hear her say the words.

Clarisa swallowed hard. “Could I ... could I ... could I wear your ... your ...”

“My what?”

Clarisa’s mouth moved, but no sound came out.

“I can’t hear you, Clarisa.” Amy was enjoying this moment. “What is it you want to wear?”

Finally, Clarisa gave in. “Your panties. Could I wear your panties. Please. Please. Please. Please let me wear your panties. I want to feel what it’s like to get rubbed through silk. Please.”

“Why Clarisa!” Amy pretended to be shocked, but the pressure of her hips against my fingers and the sopping-wet state of her panties told me that she was more than pleased by the request. “I never knew you were so naughty. But okay. If you really want. I’ll let you wear my panties.”

And with that, the two girls stepped back away from my fingers, and faced each other. Amy smiled, and then hooked her thumbs under the waist-band of her panties.

Just then, Janey bent forward and whispered in my ear. “Enjoying your birthday?”

“Yes,” I replied softly, not wanting to distract the two girls.

Janey continued to whisper softly in my ear, in a voice that only I could hear. “Clarisa has given in. Her defenses are down. But the images and messages she has received so far are relatively innocent. When the next song begins, the suggestions become much more intense.”

As I listened to Janey, I continued to watch Clarisa and Amy. Amy had actually pulled her panties up tighter against her pussy, apparently trying to get them as wet as possible before giving them to Clarisa. They were staring deeply into each other’s eyes.

“The next song,” continued Janey in a near whisper, “contains suggestions that will overpower Clarisa. She will feel a deep want, a deep need, to please others. She will want to be commanded, to be submissive. Direct orders of a sexual nature will cause her arousal to become even more intense. In fact, being commanded to act in a sexual way will bring her almost to the point of orgasm. It will be almost unbearable for her.”

Janey stopped talking for a moment, and laughed softly, almost wickedly.

“But there will also be another suggestion in the next song. One that will prevent Clarisa from achieving sexual satisfaction, from achieving orgasm. Instead, she will be remain just on the brink, wanting more but unable to go over the edge.”

“That’s horrible.”

Amy had now begun to slowly—very slowly—peel her panties down her beautiful legs. The crotch clung wetly to her pussy until it finally popped away, revealing the fact that Amy was, indeed, completely shaven.

I whispered back to Janey. “Keeping Clarisa on the edge of orgasm like will be torture to her.”

“True.” She chuckled. “And only you will have the power to end her torture. Because the next song contains yet a third type of suggestion. A phrase that, when Clarisa hears it, will allow her release and the most intense, most satisfying orgasm she could ever imagine.”

“And what is that phrase?”

“You’ll find out later,” she replied. She gave my ear a gently lick, then stood up, her hand still on my shoulder.

Amy’s silk panties were now around her knees. She was about to pull them all the way down.

But Janey stopped her. “Amy, don’t pull them off yet. I think you look so sexy with those panties around your knees. Don’t you agree, Ron?”

“I sure do.”

Janey continued. “Turn your back to us, Amy.”

Amy did just that. Now, her gorgeous, tight ass was facing us. Her wet pale-green panties hung between her knees. Her legs looked so shapely above her white high heels.

Janey apparently also liked the view. “That’s wonderful Amy. Clarisa, I was wondering if you would mind also pulling your panties down to your knees, and then turning your back to us.”

Clarisa quickly complied, gently pulling the white lace strip off of her pussy, revealing a small thatch of soft blonde hair, and turning away from me and Janey.

“Clarisa,” said Janey, “could you bunch your blouse up around your waist so we have a better view of your behind?”

Clarisa, without a word, complied. We were now faced with two of the most gorgeous asses I had ever seen. And the sight of the two young girls, both with their panties hanging between their knees, was breathtaking. If only Clarisa was wearing a pair of stiletto heels, instead of those tennis shoes. That was the only detail that could have made the sight even lovelier.

We let them stand like that for a moment. I tilted my head back to smile at Janey, and she quickly leaned towards me for a hungry kiss. She was loving this almost as much as I was.

Finally, our mouths separated. Janey continued playing the part of the director. “Okay girls, you can face each other again.”

They slowly turned until, once again, they were looking into each other’s eyes.

“Clarisa, do you still want to wear Amy’s panties?”

This time, Clarisa did not hesitate. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“But Clarisa,” Janey continued, “Amy’s panties look like they’re totally soaked. Isn’t that right, Amy?”

Amy looked directly at Clarisa as she spoke. “All day my pussy has been so wet and leaky. Ever since I started thinking about coming over here to return that jazz CD. I don’t think I’ve ever made a pair of panties so wet before.”

Janey smiled. “Are you sure you want to wear Amy’s panties, even though they’re so wet?”

“I don’t care how wet they are,” responded Clarisa. “I still want to wear them. I need to feel what it’s like to get rubbed through silk. I need that. Please!”

Janey chuckled. “Well then, if that’s what you want, I suppose it’s okay. Go ahead, Amy. Give Clarisa those silky wet panties.”

With that, both girls quickly stripped their panties down their legs. Clarisa dropped hers to the ground. Amy slowly offered hers to Clarisa, who eagerly took them. Then, Clarisa bent over, hooked her legs one at a time through the leg-holes of Amy’s wet silk panties, and slowly pulled them up her legs.

When the slippery wet silk material finally touched her pussy, Clarisa gasped softly. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” Her chest was heaving heavily now.

She stepped towards my chair. I slowly raised my hand up between her legs and lightly touched the silk material that only minutes before had encased Amy’s clean-shaven mound. Then my fingers began gently massaging Amy’s pussy juice into Clarisa’s pussy. Clarisa groaned and began to buck against my hand.

“Amy,” said Janey, “take off Clarisa’s blouse. I don’t think she needs that.”

As I continued to rub Clarisa through her newly-acquired silk panties, Amy stood behind her, wrapped her arms around, and began undoing the buttons on Clarisa’s satin blouse. Amy started with the bottom buttons and worked upwards, closer and closer to Clarisa’s heaving chest. As she reached the buttons at chest level, Amy’s hands pressed against Clarisa’s breasts as she fumbled to strip Clarisa of her blouse. Every time Amy’s hands would brush against her nipples, Clarisa’s moans would be interrupted by a soft yelp. Finally, Amy had all the buttons undone.

“Slowly, Amy, slowly,” directed Janey.

Amy followed that directly well. As Clarisa continued to buck against my hand and moan, Amy slowly and teasingly pulled the blouse back away from Clarisa’s breasts, gradually revealing Clarisa’s sexy white lace bra. Clarisa’s very ample breasts spilled over the tops of her bra cups. Clarisa’s head was now thrown back, and her eyes were closed. Then, Amy pulled the blouse all of the way off, revealing Clarisa’s beautiful shoulders.

“And now the bra,” said Janey.

Again, Amy reached her arms around Clarisa, searching for the clasp that held together the two halves of Clarisa’s white lace bra. She finally got the clasp undone and (this time without the need for direction) very slowly began to peel the bra away from Clarisa’s breasts. As she slowly dragged the cups apart, Amy seemed intentionally to scrape her fingers against Clarisa’s nipples, sending a delicious shiver through Clarisa’s entire body. Clarisa’s nipples, when they came into view, were a beautiful pale pink color, and were jutting out with arousal. Her breasts were magnificent and, as I had imagined, seemed just a touch too big for her frame. Not that I minded. In fact, it made Clarisa look even sexier.

Finally, her bra was completely off, and Clarisa stood before me in nothing but Amy’s wet silk panties, and a pair of tennis shoes.

Clarisa was now going completely wild. Her moaning had become continuous and more intense. Her hips were gyrating wildly as she pushed her panty-covered mound against my hand. Her hands had found their way up to her own breasts, and she was tugging at her nipples. I was sure she was on the verge of cumming.

Just then the song we had been listening to ended. There was a moment of silence, as the CD player searched for the next song. The only sound was Clarisa’s sexy, wild moaning. I knew what was coming next. But she had no idea.

END OF PART 1.