The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Today was another boring day at work. Some of the girls from the office went out for drinks after work and they didn’t even invite me. Again. They think they’re so much better than me. Okay, so I don’t read our magazine. BFD. I don’t have a closet full of cool clothes. I wasn’t a cheerleader in high school and I’m not about to become some ditzy office girl just to fit in. Still, it would be nice to have some friends, or maybe even a relationship.

You’d think that working at a feminist magazine I’d be able to meet lots of intelligent, cool girls to hang out with. Not. Sure, the editors are amazing, and I really look up to them, but the rest of the staff treats me like shit because I’m Just The Receptionist. I didn’t realize that paying my dues meant being treated like dirt by the people I’m supposed to be learning from. It’s like a god damned fraternity. Get me some coffee, pledge. But it’s okay because it’s not a man telling me to do it? Give me a break. It’s not my fault I just got out of college and don’t have any industry experience. Did they expect me to learn all about relationships at a private college for girls?

Well, hope springs eternal. Maybe tomorrow night I’ll finally sign up for an online dating site, but tonight I have to finish this new book that I just can’t put down. Those bitches are out killing brain cells and I’m here at home using mine. Who cares if they’re probably getting laid. By cute boys. Sigh.

Ah, fuck it. Half of them are probably dykes anyway, and hate me because I’m not on their team.

That book rocked. I stayed up ‘til 2:30 to finish it, though, so I was a bit late this morning. I wish I had been on time, though, because I would have gotten a better look at this guy who was in Carolyn’s office when I came in. He was kind of older, maybe 40-something, but daaamn. He had kind of a Sean Connery / Harrison Ford thing going on. Cultured. Refined. Experienced. No, I don’t mean like that. Well, yeah, I do. I only got to see him when he was walking out. He did smile and say “good morning” to me. I think I said “hi” or maybe “unh”, total cavegirl, real smooth.

I wonder if he’s going to replace Carolyn so she can take over as Editor-in-Chief? That would be nice. This place is such a... hmm. What do guys call it when a party has too many guys and almost no girls? A sausage festival. What’s the female version of a sausage festival? Yeah, yeah, a wet dream. If you’re a guy. I’m drowning in estrogen. We could use some sausage.

God damn I wish I had done laundry last night instead of watching random TV. I had on probably my lamest outfit because it was the only thing that was clean. Jeans and a T-shirt. Carolyn is such a cool boss to let me wear stuff like that to work. Well, okay, the T-shirt does have the magazine name across the front, but like everything else, it doesn’t fit me. It looks like I’m smuggling cantaloupes. They didn’t have an XL or XXL, so what was I supposed to do? And the jeans are old old old. I think I’ve had them since I was 17 years old. They fit well, but they might as well be Jordache, they’re so out of style. Even I know that and I don’t even read Cosmo. Ha ha, look at me, I made a fashion joke.

Well, here’s why that was bad: Mr. Sausage from yesterday showed up again. At 9. For work. No shit. He’s not replacing Carolyn; he’s the new Editor-in-Chief. That’s right, they hired a man to run Pussy Power magazine. The weirdest thing is how Carolyn is taking it. She seems like she’s half disappointed and half happy. Maybe she’s relieved that she gets to learn the ropes a little more before she steps up to the plate. Ooo lookit me, now I’m using sports metaphors. I think.

Anyway, this totally messes with the tone of the office. I’m not sure but I think that’s a good thing. I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to him aside from the handshake when he was walking around being introduced to everybody, but he seemed really nice, and charming. Plus, he’s even better looking when he’s not walking away, although that reverse angle shot of his tush in suit pants when he did walk away was burned onto my retinas for the rest of the day.

Something else stayed with me for the rest of the day, too. When he reached out to shake my hand I looked at his hand so I could shake it. But then I couldn’t help myself. It just popped into my head. “Sausage.” No, I didn’t say it, but I thought it, and I looked right at his crotch as I was shaking his hand. That’s why I missed what happened next. He said, and I know this is word for word, “It’s good to know that such a pretty young lady is representing us to guests.” When I stopped staring at his sausage region, he was saying the part about representing, and he was looking right at my shirt. Or... was he looking at my chest? I can’t figure it out. If he said “such a pretty girl” when looking at my face and then looked down to say “representing us” then he was looking at my shirt, because “representing us” means wearing a company logo and being at the front desk.

But what if he was looking at my chest when he said “such a pretty girl”? Maybe he was trying to tell me something. But I was staring at his crotch.

I have to stop thinking about this. I obviously need a boyfriend so I can stop noodling over whether I have a crush on my boss and whether he might actually think I’m pretty or whether he was just being polite...

Instead I will have to wrap up tonight’s entry, O beloved diary, and find me a porn site. I have some tension that needs releasing.

Last evening’s plans did not turn out as pornerific as I had planned. Instead I went shopping and picked up some not so dumpy clothes. If I am going to be representing the company, I should at least try and look a bit more presentable. I got a few pairs of jeans (low-riders, even) and some really cute tops. I had some trouble finding stuff that fit me up top but what else is new. Now I remember why I hate shopping. Nothing ever fits. But I did find a new store that caters toward the plus-sized woman. Hooray for the internet. The poor girl at that store kept saying that she didn’t think she had anything in my size in skirts or pants, and the guy at the mall just kept trying not to stare at my boobs while he told me that no, he didn’t think they had any tops that were my size. Nope, no tops that size. That size, not so much. Nope. Like a deer in headlights, except it wasn’t cold enough for me to have headlights, and deer don’t drool like that as far as I know.

So, I dressed up for work a bit. A few of the girls complimented me on my outfit, which was interesting. It’s just jeans and a T-shirt again, but this time it’s just a much better T-shirt with much better jeans. And earrings. And about six inches of exposed midriff. Carolyn smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. She did e-mail me and say that although it looked good, it might not be appropriate for the office. I decided to ask Mr. Sausage. I could tell you his real name but that would boring, now wouldn’t it? It’s my diary entry and I’ll write what I want. Nyah nyah.

He said that it looked good and that he thought it was a good representation of our magazine’s message that a girl could be sexy and smart at the same time. Yeah, I know. It sounds like he was hitting on me, but I didn’t get a chance to process that when he said it, because he immediately followed it up with a change of subject. He had me help him work on his presentation to the staff introducing himself and some of his thoughts for the magazine, and I really enjoyed it. I mean, it was nice getting some respect and being included in something other than answering the phone or making copies or getting coffee for a change, but there was more than that. I just like being around him. I like his ideas for the magazine and he just has a really nice... well, for lack of a better word, aura around him. He just exudes confidence and poise. He’s just a natural leader; he makes you just want to be part of his team, and he makes it so easy to know where you stand and what’s expected of you. Carolyn is good at some of that stuff, but it’s all explicit with her. She tells you what to do, she tells you what she wants, and tells you what she thinks of your performance. But he’s different... somehow I just know what he means when he says something, you know? Like with every word there’s a paragraph of meaning hidden in his body language and tone and expression that tells you so much more. After working with him all day I felt like we had such a good rapport going.

Also, I felt something else. I felt like he was the sexiest man I have ever spent any amount of time with. Not like Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp where it’s really just a sexy picture but you don’t really know the guy... this is real. He likes me, but I think it’s more of a father-daughter thing for him. I’m still stuck on the level of James Bond and some Bond girl, or maybe Indiana Jones and one of his lovestruck students. “love you”, “love you”, you know the scene.

I should probably keep this on the level of fantasy, though. I’d be crazy to try and sleep with my boss. I wouldn’t even know where to start.

Bedside table, top drawer. That’s where I’m gonna start. Good night, diary.

Man did I sleep like a baby last night. Thank you, Mr. Electric Sausage. I got into work on time, a smile on my face and a spring in my step. But today was nothing like yesterday. He didn’t pay any attention to me at all. He made his presentation to the staff pretty early in the day and of course I had to stay at my desk as usual. I guess I already read everything he had to say and he even took some of my suggestions and worked them into his presentation, but it still felt like a slap in the face. Just The Receptionist.

Nothing was quite as bad as the slap in the face I felt when Carolyn walked out of his office after their meeting. Not only did she look at me differently today, but she looked different. She dressed up, or down, or maybe sideways. She’s trying to look better, but hardly more professional. You know what I think? I think she dressed up for him. I think she dressed up because she knew she was going to have that meeting today and she wanted to look good for him.

What’s she trying to do? Sleep her way to the top? She’s already at the top, almost, and all she has to do is wait a year or two and he’ll probably get bored with us and move on. Then she’s in like Flynn. Boom. Editor-in-Chief.

Even if she’s genuinely attracted to him, it’s a bad idea. People would think the worst. At a magazine like ours, with the articles that we write every month, it would be even more scandalous. He’s got to know they’d both lose their jobs if anyone found out. He’d never do it. The board of directors would fire him in a heartbeat and...

Wow. She’s craftier than I thought.

Okay, so she’s figured out how to sleep her way to the top without losing her job. Who would run the magazine? The board could fire him and just say it didn’t work out. He’s only been here a few days. They’d probably keep her and give her a slap on the wrist. She’s been here forever. They’d just fire him and pretend it never happened.

And she’d get to fuck him until they got caught. God dammit. Who does she think she is? Moneypenny? Moneypenny never gets any. Marion did get to screw Indiana Jones, though.

This is so wrong. I have a crush on my boss and now I’m imagining that my best role model is conspiring to get him fired by fucking him. Is this what male-female office politics are like? The women all imagine that their co-workers are all sluts who’re trying to sleep their way to the top, all the while fantasizing about doing that same thing themselves? God, I hope not.

Well, there’s only one thing to do, either way. If she’s trying to get him fired, I should dress up more to draw his attention away from her, and maybe stop him from getting fired, and her from making a serious career mistake. If she’s not trying to get him fired, and he’s just not noticing me, I should dress up more so he will.

Today was a total scorcher. I wore some of my new clothes to work. On top I wore a tank top and on bottom I wore shorts. After my realization last night, I decided to skip the bra.

Well, that wasn’t too slick. I forgot that the office is air conditioned. I had headlights all day. They were totally obvious but of course nobody can see that over the phone so it was mostly okay. I was a bit jittery since it was cold, though.

He was out for a meeting in the morning, so he only came into the office after lunch, at about 2. About five minutes after he got in, he called me into his office. Uh oh. I was sure he was going to comment on my outfit and tell me it was too over the top, inappropriate, revealing. Seriously. Me, in a tight tank top? That’s more cleavage than a whole Leave It To Beaver marathon. (If I do say so myself.)

Well, he started off by asking me to close the door. Oh shit. Here it comes. I was so nervous but I approached his desk and stood there waiting. He asked me whether I thought I was dressed appropriately for work. I said no, but that it was really hot today and I didn’t think about the air conditioning at work. He stood up and walked a bit closer to me. He asked me if I was wearing a bra. I said no, because the straps were showing. That was a lie but maybe he’d buy it. He said that the way I was dressed left nothing to the imagination.

At this point I was trembling. I was partly shivering from the cold, and partly from fear of how he was going to punish me, and partly because I was wearing next to nothing up top and he was so close to me, and looking right at my chest, and my hard nipples that were poking through my tank top.

I looked at him with the biggest puppy dog eyes I could muster, but it wasn’t even an act. I really felt like that. Please. What are you going to do? I’m at your mercy. Please keep looking at me.

He took a deep breath, heaved a sigh, and looked me in the eyes. His expression was soft. My heart was pounding but now I was starting to feel less afraid of what he might do and more afraid of having disappointed him. The silence was painful. I couldn’t read his expression. Was he disappointed? Was he flattered? Did he know that I dressed up this way for him? He would have to. How could he not?

He told me that the reason I didn’t wear a bra wasn’t because the straps showed. He didn’t ask. He stated it. He knew. I looked down and said no. He knew. I almost felt like crying right there, but somehow I didn’t.

He reached out and touched my chin, and lifted it so that I was looking in his eyes. That soft look was there again. He looked at me again, and the rapport was back. He knew. It was okay. He knew I dressed up for him before, he knew I dressed up for him today, that I was showing off my best asset for him even at the risk of embarrassing myself in front of my co-workers. But what was he going to do about it?

He told me that this was not going to help my career. I said that I knew that.

He told me to lock the door. I let out a little squeak and did it, and walked back to where I had been standing, or maybe a little closer.

He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand, and slowly moved his hand down to my breast. He began to lightly stroke my nipples with both hands. I whimpered my approval. He told me my tank top was very soft, and that I was beautiful. He slid the straps of my tank top off my shoulders and slid it down, exposing my chest. I was so wet and overcome with emotion that I couldn’t do anything but just stare into his eyes as he slowly massaged my naked breasts. He asked if I was wearing panties. I said yes and that they were very soft too. I pulled my shorts down far enough to expose my panties, and begged him to feel them and to touch me there.

He did. He knew just how to touch me. He stroked me gently but firmly. I came very quickly, and very hard. I stifled a scream and fell into his arms. He called me a good girl and held me and stroked my hair, but all I could think of was the hardness that was pressing into my crotch. It was his turn. I looked plaintively into his eyes and he nodded. Rapport. Amazing. I slowly got on my knees, shorts and panties already halfway down my thighs and breasts exposed, and unzipped him. I took his cock out and began to stroke it. It was beautiful. I wanted to put it in my mouth. I had never done this before but somehow I knew that was okay, and that he would tell me what to do. He did. It was glorious. I came again, and this time it was better than with my friend from the top drawer of the bedside table.

I got so carried away with sucking and stroking his beautiful cock that I didn’t notice that he had stopped giving me instructions. I sucked and stroked faster and faster and suddenly he was coming all over my face, in my mouth, and on my tits. I had watched enough porno tapes to know what to do at this point. I kept going a bit longer and swallowed the rest. I used my fingers to scoop up the rest of his cum and swallow as much as I could get. I didn’t think I’d like the taste, but I did. I told him I was sorry and that I got carried away and he said that it was wonderful and there was nothing to apologize for.

He held me again, and told me that even though he did like my outfit, it was still inappropriate. He told me that I could either go home early, or work in his office in just my panties for the rest of the day with him, with the door locked. He told me that he really meant that I would have to work, but that he would make sure that no one bothered us.

I stayed.