The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Mis ish demishness.”

Matt meant “This is delicious,” but it was hard to make out words when his mouth was so full of food. Karen looked at him while tilting her head, smiling in a way that said, “Really?” Embarrassment swept through Matt. Of course, he shouldn’t speak with his mouth full. He swallowed.

“This is delicious,” he said, properly, and Karen’s head and smile shifted just a bit, in a way that washed away Matt’s embarrassment, replacing it with the lull of a soft warmth.

God, how could she be both maternal and so wildly attractive at the same time?

Though, truth be told, he could hardly be blamed for talking with his mouth full. He was eating the best food he’d ever tasted. They’d eaten so much, and he was still hungry. He’d never been this insatiable.

Everything, not just the food, was perfect.

Including the weather. It was a cool evening, just enough below room temperature to feel it. A slight wind drifted up and over the walls and into the villa and seemed to linger in the enclosed space. Matt and Anna were sitting on a comfortable bench attached to the villa wall, across from Karen and Jack; Karen, next time to him, and Jack next to Anna.

Between them was a full table of food. The third course.

It was a full end to a full day. Matt and Anna had followed Karen’s earlier suggestions word-for-word. After the tea, Karen had made a smoothie for both of them (his was peach flavored) and sent them to the workout space downstairs.

Working out was a good idea. Though they enjoyed working out together back home, they rarely had the time. They worked out together about as often as they’d gone on dates—which was to say, not very often. It felt nice to exercise together again.

There was also something different about working out here on the island. It was easier. Maybe it was the lack of work stress or the time change or the island air, but Matt felt like he could exercise for hours.

It helped that Anna looked so damn good while working out. Matt realized he’d never admired Anna while working out. Sure, yes, Anna was always attractive. But always this sensual? This sexual? While working out?

Certainly not then. But now, on the island? Oh, hell yes. From the machines in the back of the exercise room, he’d thoroughly enjoyed watching Anna’s breasts bounce happily as she jogged on the treadmill.

Her ass looked amazing too, in the tight exercise pants. Every once in a while Anna would turn and Matt would stand a little higher over the machines in an effort to see her torso and crotch. Sure enough, the tight fabric pushed in just at her cleft, creating a slight but visible valley.

Anna looked perfect in the clothes, even if they’d had to borrow the workout clothes from Karen and Jack.

At first, Matt declined because it felt odd to sweat in what looked like such expensive workout clothing. But Karen had insisted and sent them off. “Nonsense. You’ll wear them of course. They’re yours now. We can always buy more. They’re just clothes,” she said with a shrug, returning to her residence through the hall door.

Matt was sure that Anna hadn’t even bothered to put on underwear under the exercise pants.

All of this made it much easier to work the weights machines while he stole glances, or climb faster on the stair machine.

He had something to work for.

After working out, Anna and Matt went back upstairs for a shower. Matt was so wound up from watching Anna bounce and stretch and bend over that as soon as she turned on the water, and smelling the saltiness of her sweat, he immediately moved on her in the shower, kissing her briefly on the neck to at least give the appearance of foreplay.

But neither of them wanted just foreplay. Anna grabbed the tussle of his dark brown hair and pushed his head further downward. Matt’s lips followed the trail of falling water down Anna’s hair, her neck, her cleavage, to her belly button, and finally, to his ultimate goal: her pussy.

Lines of water gathered just where her pussy lips met at the bottom, then joined in the little curls of pussy hair, then dripped down to the floor, glistening in the beach sun shining in from a window.

But the second he knelt on the tiled floor and hungrily moved towards Anna, the door to the apartment unlocked and swung open. In walked a man toting a bucket and some brooms and mops. Matt suddenly became aware of the transparent glass walls of the bathroom and shower and he stood, nervously looking for a way to quickly cover up.

Anna though didn’t seem to mind. She laughed, and “awww-ed,” disappointed that Matt had given up so quickly. “I wanted you to dig in there,” she said, cupping his balls and giving a little squeeze. Matt smiled, cringed actually, awkwardly looking between the visitor and Anna. He quickly finished washing in the shower, keeping his back to the visitor, then stepped around Anna, and stepped out, leaving Anna to shower naked. She took her time, sometimes looking at over Matt and smiling and winking.

The visitor, who had set to cleaning the kitchen, was paying no mind.

By the time Anna was out of the shower and dried off, Matt had already dressed. Anna did the same, both of them donning clothes they brought from home: t-shirts and jeans. They were about to walk out for the shopping district when the man stopped scrubbing the floors, stopped them. He looked them over.

“Hello. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lionel. I work for Ms. Karen and Jack,” he said. “You are eating with Ms. Karen and Jack tonight?” he asked.

“Yes, we are,” answered Anna, as Lionel walked towards them from the kitchen.

Lionel tsk-ed. “You might be able to get around town like that,” he said, looking them over, “But you should not eat dinner with them in, well, this,” his hand swept over their forms. “If I may.”

Uh oh, thought Matt. There was no way they could afford the kind of clothes needed to impress Karen, or, presumably, Jack. But Lionel waved him off as if reading his mind. “You go. I will set out some clothes out for you, don’t you worry.”

“Ok,” said Anna, before Matt could protest.

Lionel smiled a big smile and went back to work.

“Thank you, Lionel,” said Anna, smiling back.

The shopping turned out to be little more than window shopping, involving very little actual purchasing. It wasn’t for lack of want; everything in the shops was of amazing quality. It didn’t just feel expensive, the clothes and the food and the clay sculptures and the art; it all felt like it deserved whatever it cost. But after asking about a price for the sixth time, Anna and Matt realized that when something did not have price tags, it meant they could not afford it. Which was every store.

Even though Matt was enjoying the walk and the weather and being with Anna, he couldn’t shake the feeling of not-belonging. Matt felt out of place in almost every way possible. The clothes were part of it; Lionel had been perhaps too polite; Matt and Anna barely passed muster out here. But it wasn’t just their clothes. Everyone else around them tended to be either older, or wealthier, or younger, and most certainly classier, and usually a combination of all of the above. Their clothes were different, their mannerisms different; all of it, everything about everyone was more refined than Matt and Anna.

Anna recognized some of the people. A famous actor in one store, a model in another, an architect in yet another store, a renowned performance artist eating one of the local ice treats, a Senator sipping an espresso at a cafe table and flirting with a younger man.

It also didn’t help that Matt couldn’t actually focus on shopping. His eyes kept drifting to Anna, and specifically to her crotch, at the place where her jeans came together tightly, in a V. Her jeans weren’t tight by any measure, these weren’t island clothes, so Matt found himself imagining her jeans getting a little tighter, and a little more, and just a little more, tight enough that it would indent the soft lines of her pussy lips, like the exercise pants had cradled her pussy lips while working out. Matt wanted to stare forever at the valley of Anna’s pussy. He wanted to dive into the V and lose himself in her valley.

Staring became a thing. Anna would be turning over a piece of clothing or looking at a piece of art, and Matt would be a few feet away looking intently downward at her. Anna would catch him staring, which she’d return with a big smile and then reciprocate by looking down at his crotch.

They could not keep their eyes off each other.

And if it had just been each other, it’d be cute. Honeymoon-esque.

But it wasn’t just Anna that captured his gaze. If she was in another corner of a store, or in the bathroom, or in a dressing room trying on an outfit (they could never afford), Matt’s eyes wandered to other women. Everyone on the island was attractive, and most of the women weren’t wearing much anyway; swimsuits mostly.

Matt found himself inventing mental games to avoid staring at damn near everyone: stare at the fire alarm on the wall, stare at the street outside, stare at his watch.

His strategy rarely worked. And every time it didn’t work, every time someone caught him staring, he felt skeezy and sketchy and creepy, shameful even, which only compounded the feeling of not belonging.

The most gregarious example happened in a clothing store called “Perso,” yet another store sans price tags. Anna was in the back trying something on. Matt was leaning against one of the clothing racks, trying to find a fire alarm on the wall or some other totally non-sexualized boring object. Luckily there weren’t many people in the store, and even though the clerk was quite attractive, she was doing some price checking behind a counter, which made things a little easier for Matt to not stare at a strangers’ crotch.

But then the store’s front door swung open, light streamed in from outside, and in walked a beautiful, young, tall, slender women, set against the sun from outside, her shadow stretching long across the floor. The few patrons in the shop and the clerk looked up. It was as if she and the sun were working in concert, the sun illuminating and accentuating her frame with shining radiance. She tilted her head down, scanned the room through her sunglasses, and with a sweep of her arm she took off her big straw beach hat. With her other hand, she swiped off her sunglasses and again inspected the store. It shouldn’t have worked, really. It felt so dramatic.

But it worked. Matt couldn’t not stare. Entrance aside, the woman’s presence commanded attention, her blonde hair done up in a tight bun in a way that accentuated her heavily freckled shoulders. The thin material of a barely-there bikini top flanked her perfect shoulders. Her see-through silk cover-up swam through the air like a graceful jellyfish as she stepped into the store, one tall leg in front of the other.

And try as he might, Matt could not avert his eyes from looking downward at her bikini bottom. God he tried. He was literally mouthing, “do not look down, do not look down.” But it didn’t work. It was as if someone had tied anchors to his eyeballs that only eased their pull when he was staring at pussy. Matt studied her bikini bottom, a floral, cross-back bikini, with a triangle of material connected around her upper waist by three strands. It fit perfectly.

She was, obviously, shaven.

Matt’s knees buckled, a little, and he grabbed onto the clothing rack to balance himself. What was happening? His brain was running in overtime, forgetting even to stand, and instead, his brain was imagining Matt running and falling to his knees on the floor in such a way that when he skidded to a stop in front of the woman, his mouth was already licking and devouring her smooth pussy through the silky material of the bikini.

He wanted to feel the material moisten, not just with his hungry saliva on one side, but with her own wetness on the other side. He wanted their wetnesses to meet in the middle. He wanted to taste the salt of whatever ocean water she’d been swimming in, then lick enough to taste the saltiness of her pussy; he wanted to lick it up, to drink from its well of her pussy, through the swimsuit like it was a filter; to taste the fabric and the salt, until his tongue was pushing the fabric up into her valley until it found the resistance of a hardened clit.

He gathered the umption to look away, he willed it to happen, and he legitimately was about to look away—but he was too late. The woman caught him looking at her—she looked straight at Matt. There was no hiding this one. He was clearly checking out her cunt. His heart dropped. Like a kid caught in a cookie jar, he slowly looked up from the bikini bottom and met her bright piercing eyes.

Matt didn’t know what to expect; gazingly wantonly at women was new enough. Getting caught looking at other women, like some creepy old guy, was an entirely new experience. He could almost hear her footsteps and feel the sting of her slap on his cheek.

But neither the footsteps nor the slap ever happened.

Instead, the freckled woman just smiled at Matt and winked, as dramatically as she’d entered, and then flourished a turn on her high heel sandals and proceeded into the store.

Matt was confused. Had she liked being looked at like that, with such wanton lust? What world was this place even?

In fact, the woman kept walking into places in the store where Matt would get a better view, in an obvious way. She was actively teasing him, smiling a bit here and there as she walked from aisle to aisle, reveling in Matt’s attention.

Normally Matt would’ve walked away, outside; well, normally Matt wouldn’t have stared at all. But today and here were different. So Matt made an unusual decision: If she wanted to be looked at, fine. He would look. It was like a mutually beneficial feedback loop; she’d given him permission to admire her, and so admire her he would.

When she would walk into the same aisle as Matt and reach for an item on the top shelf, he stared. When she walked into another aisle and dropped her sunglasses and bent over, slowly, her taut ass pointing directly at him, pushing against the fabric, creating another kind of wonderfully valley, he shifted and angled his standing position so he could watch.

Matt licked his lips. God, was he really salivating?

He was licking his lips when he heard an Owen-Wilson-like “wow” from behind him. He turned to look. It was Anna, walking up from the dressing rooms.

Matt jumped a little and his heart sank yet again. He’d been caught staring at another woman.

What a roller coaster of a day.

“I’m sorry,” he began to explain.

“For what?” Anna interrupted him. She stepped around him, in front of him, and turned to him. Matt was still facing the younger woman, now with Anna standing in front of him, close. He opened his mouth to start to explain, but she put her finger on his lips to stop him from talking.

“Shhh. It’s ok, hot stuff,” she said, as she turned her head and looked over at the women from across the store. “I’d have looked too,” she said. “In fact, I’ve been looking. Although not just at her,” she said, nodding down Matt’s own crotch. His hard-on was visibly straining against the jeans. Again. Jesus.

She stepped up on her toes, pulling in closer to Matt and her breasts pushed into him, feeling firmer than usual. Her torse pushed against his cock, sandwiching it between her and him. Matt’s erection hardened impossibly more. He felt like if he just pushed upward, his cock could almost single-handedly lift Anna’s frame upwards.

She moved her lips to his ear, as his cock pushed into her.

“Look at her Matt,” she said. He did. The woman was trying on a shimmery silver beach shawl that covered up her waist and legs. She posed in front of the mirror. She looked amazing; her tall legs were visible through the slightly transparent shawl, her ass sticking out just a bit from the folds of the fabric, perfect curves everywhere.

What was happening here? Could Anna feel how quick his heart was beating?

“Are you looking at her Matt?” Anna whispered into his ear. Was there a wrong answer to this question? Yes. Of course, there was.

He felt like he was butter melting under her hot breath.

He told Anna the truth, in almost a growl. “Yes. I’m looking at her.” The woman turned around, now watching Matt, and Anna, watch her. She put on her sunglasses, seemingly about to leave, but then let the beach shawl fall, as if by accident, and there she was again in what was barely a swimsuit. She stood, without moving, watching them watch her, and smiled.

“Do you like looking at her, Matt,” Anna whispered again, her hand now squarely on his hard-on, in full view of the woman.

“Yes,” he heaved, quietly.

“What, exactly, are you looking at Matt. Tell me.” Anna asked.

His breath left him. His heart was going to explode. “Her pussy. I’m looking at her pussy,” he said, quietly.

“What are you thinking right now Matt?” Anna said, again with a whisper, this time pushing her body closer into Matt so he had to step back. Her breasts pushed against his chest again; her nipples were as hard as his cock.

“I,” he stumbled,” I am thinking,” he started, trying to put raw lust into words. But he couldn’t finish. He breathed in, trying to answer.

He was going to faint. He was sure of it. Right there. It was all too much.

And then: “Let’s go, Matt,” said Anna, smiling, falling back on her heels, spinning around, all in one move, and as if in concert the other woman smiled and turned around.

Matt breathed out. It felt like he’d been holding his breath underwater for hours.

Matt realized that with Anna now several steps ahead of him, his hard-on had pushed back out into his jeans, broadcasting its existence to everyone in the room, including the young woman. Matt coughed loudly, as if that helped, stepped forward, and almost tripped on the leg of a clothing rack trying to catch up with Anna.

The woman and the clerk giggled. As Matt walked towards Anna, who was now at the exit, Matt smiled awkwardly. His face felt red, hot.

Anna opened the door to leave, Matt behind her like a lost puppy, and Anna leaned sideways and glanced back at the woman, who in turn looked back at her. Anna smiled, and mouthed “You’re hot,” to her. Matt couldn’t believe it.

It was like Anna was a totally different person. The woman winked and gave a little wave, and Anna walked outside. “See you soon,” the woman called. Wait, what?

Matt shook his head in disbelief and followed.

For the rest of the shopping excursion, Anna kept running her hand past Matt’s perpetually hard cock, accidentally-not-accidentally. Matt kept trying to readjust in his jeans so that his seemingly everlasting hard-on wasn’t noticeable. His adjustments didn’t work.

His tall cock was always visible, so Matt now had to invent a new game: hide the hard-on. He spent most of the rest of the shopping trip ducking behind counters or clothing or sitting in chairs and leaning forward or hiding behind poles. None of it worked. Anna kept staring down at his dick. Other people shot glances his way, men and women. both A few smiled or winked or said hello.

And Matt could’ve sworn that he caught Anna also checking out many of the men who were shopping, all of whom were either wearing some kind of expensive and comfortable looking island linen khakis or seersuckers, or tight European-style swimsuits. At one point, while they were walking down the street, Anna suddenly looked to the side and said, “Let’s get some gelato.”

As Anna rushed to a nearby gelato stand, Matt waited and looked over. Next to the stand stood a tall toned man with dusty blonde hair, his muscular frame visible through a buttoned-down, rolled up long-sleeve shirt. He was licking some melting gelato that had fallen from the cone onto his hand. He wasn’t wearing pants; his buttoned shirt fell just a little over a tight, thin, Speedo-style swimsuit brief.

It was clear that Anna didn’t just want gelato; while ordering, she kept looking over at the man and his crotch almost as much as Matt had stared at the woman in the shop. She’d smile, nod, say something laugh, then awkwardly look back at the gelato seller. She almost dropped the two ice creams cones, she was so visibly captured by Matt couldn’t blame Anna; the man’s cock was visibly large, poking upwards in the swimsuit, either erect or just plain huge while flaccid.

Sometimes Anna would walk ahead in the street crowd, and Matt could swear that Anna was brushing her hand against other men’s crotches, basically feeling up strangers.

He wanted to be jealous. But . . . he couldn’t. His brain was telling him yes, you should be jealous that your wife is not just staring, but flirting, and maybe even feeling up other men. That is jealousy-worthy. But try as he might, Matt could not conjure the feeling. It was like jealousy didn’t exist in his emotional vocabulary.

In fact, the exact opposite started to occur: Anna’s wandering gaze and brushed touches turned him on, even more.

Was this how Anna felt in the store as he so gratuitously stared at the young woman? When he was so blatantly checking out the swimsuit-laden woman, staring at her pussy, was Anna getting as wet as he was hard when she looked at other men? He really wanted to know.

Several shops later, sitting and leaning forward on a bench while he waited for Anna, Matt chalked it all up to the vacation. That had to be the reason for it all. They were outside of their environment, in a brand new place they’d never been. Strangers. No one knew them here, so there were no expectations. And no consequences. They could both enjoy the scenery. All of it. “It,” apparently, meaning cocks and pussies.

So maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop staring at pussy, and why Anna had suddenly become a rampant exhibitionist, rambunctious, flirty, and staring at men—and women. Maybe these impulses had always been inside of them? Matt couldn’t figure it out.

Matt watched from his seat on the bench to inside the store. Through the window, he could see that Anna had walked out of a dressing room wearing a scooped one-piece. She was modeling it for a couple of men in the store, maybe she’d asked for their opinions. They were both smiling and laughing with her. She tossed her hair back, her hand brushing the forearm of one of the men as she mouthed thank you.

Matt’s erection hardened, and he exhaled as much air as he could in a big sigh.

By the time they got home, both wanted to fuck.So badly. Fucking felt preordained. Every step was a step closer to fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking.

The unrestrained, unfulfilled sexually charged energy reminded Matt of a time, years ago when a mutual friend, who’d set Matt and Anna up in the first place, suggested they go to a show at a local, small venue. It was maybe their third or fourth date? Their previous dates had been good; great conversation late into the night, but physically respectful and even restrained. A close hug or two, a kiss. But something that night had just clicked, locking in a certain physical energy.

For one thing, the band was amazing, one of those bands Matt would later brag about seeing in such a small, divey venue. Their style and presentation was thoroughly sexual and even explicit, a throbbing all-women electro band reminiscent of a newer version of Peaches or Goldfrapp. Anna and Matt had also both downed a few drinks, enough to get happily tipsy. And they’d both smoked a hit or two of a particularly potent strain of weed during the opening band (who was not nearly as good as the headliner).

Everyone was dancing, sweating, losing themselves and their bodies in the music. Anna and Matt were grinding on each other, rubbing their bodies against the others’ body, as well as other peoples’ bodies around them. The air was thick with the smell weed, spilled beer, sweat, sex.

After one particularly good song segued into the next, Anna had grabbed Matt’s hand, yelled into his ear, “We’re going to fuck now,” and weaved him through the crowd, down the dark hall, and into the venue bathroom; a single fluorescent shop light hanging from the ceiling, stickers and graffiti everywhere, toilet paper all over the floor, a sink perpetually running.

God, Matt wanted her so badly, then, there. They’d left respect and restraint far behind. They both just wanted to fuck. The second they got into the bathroom, Matt had hoisted Anna onto the counter as she pulled her pants down, and right there, in the middle of what he would in a more sober state call decidedly unsanitary conditions, Matt fucked Anna hard. He fucked her hard enough that the counter creaked and shook precariously, and the mirror behind it banged against the wall with the music, daring to crack and break with each forward motion.

Matt thrust over and over, fiercely banging his torso into hers, again and again, his cock sometimes entirely exiting her wet pussy only to re-enter her tight heated wetness seconds later. His head swam with the music and the weed and the alcohol, his nose with the smell of sweat and sex and shit and piss and body odor. He was watching himself in the mirror as it shook, staring into his reflections’ eyes, listening to the sounds of himself growling like an animal in heat, and enjoying it all, reveling in it.

For her part she was pulling him in with her hands wrapped, her nails pressing into this ass through his jeans. She was heaving, her eyes frantically moving from his eyes, at times rolling upwards with pleasure, sometimes downward to watch his cock move in and out of her, and occasionally drifting over to a corner of the bathroom, her tongue moving over her lips to stay wet as she heaved, her small breasts having escaped their bra and jiggling up and down in her v-neck shirt.

Matt couldn’t take anymore; with a loud grunt he almost came inside of her but he had the wherewithal to quickly withdraw. Anna wasn’t happy with this; she grabbed his ass and tried to yank and pull him back in, but she only managed to pull Matt’s pulsating cock closer to her. He uncontrollably spurted cum all over her clothes, her t-shirt, even up to her cleavage and chin.

The thick whiteness stood out in the fluorescent light on her dark jeans and dark shirt.

“Fuck,” she said, catching her breath.

Matt breathed in and stepped back, exhausted, his dick dangling out, dripping whiteness to the wet, pissy, messy floor.

Anna started rubbing Matt’s cum into her skin with one hand, at one point even licking it off her finger, and jammed her other hand deep into her pussy where she furiously tweaked her clit to finish. She looked over to the corner again.

Matt turned to look. A man was in the corner, previously unnoticed by Matt, apparently a fellow music fan. The stranger, who was averagely attractive, started similarly breathing heavily, in time with Anna. He’d been watching and, apparently, jacking off. A moment later, and the man jerked forward in pleasure, lifting one hand to the wall to steady himself while he kept pumping his cock with his other hand.

The voyeur came all over the floor, a thick spurt of ejaculate flying forward in an arc and coagulating in small white puddles on the tiled floor.

“That’s hot,” heaved Anna, low but loud enough to hear over the music, her eyes going between the stranger’s cock and Matt’s, both of which were still dripping remnants of cum.

After a few moments where Matt was trying to piece everything together through the charged fog in his brain, the stranger gathered his breath, “ahem”—ed, zipped up, and walked out of the bathroom, disappearing into the dark hallway as the door closed.

In that moment, even though Matt had just cum, and had cum all over Anna, and the room was thick with the smell of his and the strangers’ cum and Anna’s juices, Matt wanted to fuck her again, the same way.

In fact, as he thought about it, Matt wanted to pull the stranger back inside the bathroom and make him watch, again, and cum again, adding more cum to the pool on the floor.

It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime events that Matt often referred back to as the moment of his rawest sexual desire for Anna.

There had been even a few times where they’d actively tried to recreate that moment; they’d tried sneaking into a bathroom at a bar, or even going to the same band. It was never the same. They were too plan-ny about it, too strategic, to formal.

With the exception of that one time, their sex life had been less spontaneous. Ok, never really ever at all spontaneous.

In “real life,” Anna was, for the most part, the opposite of that woman in the bathroom. Matt too.

But being on the island all day and watching Anna flirt with damn near everyone, and staring at as many pussies as he had, was in many ways reminiscent of that night at the bar, if slower and more sustained and sober.

The whole day had felt daring, bold, risky, primal. Wanton.

As Matt and Anna walked back to the apartment, and up the stairs, Matt kept thinking of their bar encounter. It felt like something like that night was going to happen again, here and now.

And just like that night in the bathroom, Matt felt like he was going to explode. Specifically, he wanted to lick pussy, to eat it out, to suckle any pussy until he licked it dry of wetness. Matt felt like if he could just lick some pussy, any pussy really, his cock would shiver and quake and ejaculate its cum on its own. Licking pussy would be enough to set him off, and he’d do anything for it; like that guy in the corner of the bathroom. Any pussy would do.

He looked at Anna as she stepped inside. Luckily, he didn’t need just any pussy: Anna’s pussy was right here, and hers was beautiful.

The second they got in, he closed the door, set Anna against the wall right next to the door, and started to bend his knees, eagerly licking his lips.

Anna breathed out, pushing her torso towards Matt, and sighed.

“Dammit Matt,” she said, looking up at her watch. “Handsome, I’m sorry. Look at the time.” She showed Matt her wrist.

Matt stood back up and looked at. They were late, behind Karen’s prescribed schedule.

Suddenly, as badly as he wanted pussy, it felt more important to be on time for dinner than to release the pent-up sexual energy.

The speed with which he agreed to this idea felt so strange to Matt. It wasn’t as if his imminent desire for pussy had disappeared; somehow, in realizing that they were not doing exactly as Karen had asked, Matt had put his extreme sexual charge in a box, where it could wait, until they did what Karen had asked him. As he cross-examined it all, none of it made sense. One second, nothing could stop him from sucking Anna’s pussy until she collapsed in orgasm and him in a puddle of his own cum. And then the next moment, he wanted to make sure everything was on time and just right for dinner. They couldn’t not look good for Karen.

They quickly and quietly changed into the clothes that Lionel left for them, stealing glances at each other as they undressed and redressed. Matt put on a white, breathy dress shirt with a light blue sports coat and cream colored pants and dark leather Italian boat shoes, Anna a long flowing cream colored summer gown that dangled gracefully and seductively off one shoulder. Beneath the dress she’d put on the lacy white bralette and white bottom that Lionel had left out. Everything, on both of them, fit so perfectly it was like someone had tailored it all for them.

“Wow,” said Anna, stepping back to admire Matt when they’d finished and stepped towards the door to head downstairs. “You look sharp Matt. Everything fits you so well. I love your shoulders, your waist. God. It’s like you’ve lost weight and gained muscle from working out one day. I want to eat you,” she said, hungrily looking down at his crotch again like it was dinner.

Matt, too, looked back at Anna. He was so lucky: she looked dazzling, comfortable, confident, relaxed, in her element. He could but just barely see through the dress and the bralette and underwear and he caught shadows of her areola and nipple; the outfit was so open and transparent and still tasteful.

And he wanted to eat her out.

But first, actual dinner. They were supposed to meet Karen and Jack downstairs.

It was clear Anna felt the same way because she grabbed his hand and led him outside.

“Let’s go,” she said, looking back and smiling, set against the open doorframe and behind it the sunset and the lights of the island city.