The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Later that night, up in my bedroom, Mira smiled a little wickedly and asked if I wanted to see the “special trick” that had helped her to stay away from me, back before she “came to her senses” and surrendered to her need to fuck me.

I loved hearing that language coming from her; it conveyed how she saw the loss of her will to resist me as a kind of victory or the logical course of action in her life, not any hypnotic shenanigans perpetrated upon her.

“Show me,” I replied, because of course.

She made it look easy, extreme-folding her body so her upper thighs or butt cheeks were tucked under her arms, her mouth positioned to taste her own pussy. She winked at me before nibbling at her clitoris, her tongue coming out and wiggling up and down her slit.

It was like I had an erotic circus performer in my bedroom, and I instantly grew hard, just as she’d known I would. In those early phone conversations when I’d been sure that Mira had been going at herself while we talked dirty, had her crazy flexibility meant that this had been going on?

Her right hand reached out and found my cock, squeezing at my growing meat. It was more than I could take.

“Let me take over,” I said, positioning myself to drive it in.

And so this was the first night I ever had a lover tonguing both my dick and her own clitoris while I slowly moved in and out of her. More acrobatic proof, as if that were needed, that I should rejoice to the heavens that the force of immersion magic was so strong in this one.

Afterwards, I insisted on relocating my head to right between the thighs that Grace ired so much, my cheeks gliding along the smoothness of her stockings.

Her slit was swollen with need but I took my time arriving there, speak to the whole woman, repeatedly telling her how beautiful she was. Then, when I began kissing her thighs, I told them how special they were. They trembled with anticipation, her incredible thigh muscles tensing and momentarily relaxing. She was silent until my breath was deep between her legs, and she began to beg. Her pleas for the touch of my tongue were soft at first, becoming more insistent as I teased her with nearness, but no actual touch. Once I did taste her, I tortured her further with a teasing rhythm where I went at her clitoris with bouts of extreme attention, only to ignore her most sensitive organ for minutes at a time. That start/stop action, essentially a form of edging, went on long enough that Mira’s active hands got my cock filling out again, and we switched positions and gears so that my thumb vigorously rubbed at her clit while my cock glided in and out of her.

Along with her captivating little girl cries of escalating delight, she started grunting gibberish, like her mouth couldn’t even function correctly. When I increased the pace of my thrusting, what had begun minutes before as little girl sounds turned into big girl screams, and she bucked when she came, all that wetness allowing me to thrust even deeper. When I lost my load again, Mira was still quaking, wet meeting wet. I didn’t know if she had orgasmed anew or if she’d never really stopped.

“It just keeps getting better,” she whispered some time later. The light had completely faded outside and we were spooned together, my hands on her thighs.

“For me, too,” I answered back, because it was true. Mira had my immersion influence in her, guiding her towards revelatory orgasms and always feeling awed by everything about my cock. For me, it was the sight and feel of her astounding body, and the added resonance that I’d been the one to create this sex-addict version of the woman.

At some point Mira described how she had driven to three restaurants earlier in the evening, before spotting my car at Hungry Thai. Her purpose had been both what I had thought and what she had told Grace—she’d wanted to entice me towards her pussy as soon as possible, and she had ordered enough meals that we would never need to leave the house before our work weeks began on Monday. She had felt clever and capable when pretending in front of Grace that we had nothing to do with one another, until something changed and she’d felt herself lubricating. She’d covered it well, but at a certain point it was all she could do to keep herself from grabbing at one of my hands to make it rub between her legs.

“You’re a very sensuous woman,” I said, like that could be the whole of it. The truth was more nefarious, and I had revisited the exact words many times in my secret journal—When Michael tells you how beautiful you are, you feel those words in your sexual core, and you can sense that engine inside you roaring with sexual vitality.

I kept thinking that I hadn’t known to put much in the way of triggers inside Mira, but this one had been woven in, where I could blow oxygen on her sexual fires just by telling her how gorgeous she was. At the restaurant I had told her she was looking really great, and even a simple compliment like that had been enough to stoke her coals. And with my voice just inches from her pussy…

“What are you thinking about right now?” she asked, a hand cupping my butt.

“I don’t want this to go to your head, but has anyone ever told you that you just might have the best legs in the entire fucking world?”

She giggled. “Actually, they have. But I’m glad you finally figured it out.”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” I said, ri on one elbow.

Her breathing was changing. “I hear that from people almost every day, but when you say it…”

“You’re make-me-want-to-beg-for-mercy beautiful, Mira. Your eyes, your lips…”

She touched my cock as if absently playing with it, but there was focus in her eyes. “Sometimes you seem so fixated on my legs that I wonder if you even see the rest of me.”

“As if. I also love your mouth, and your neck, and your big breasts, and your extremely round areoles and your gorgeous nipples…”

I rolled her left nipple with my fingers, feeling it harden. She brought her other hand to my cock, curling around the shaft as I hardened. She made a needy sound and I could feel the way a frisson of excitement shot through her.

The very existence of my hard cock was a trigger—I’d sure known what I was doing when I created that one. Her fingertips moved along it as I kept expanding, and she let out a little “Ohgod, yes,” when it twitched in response to her touch.

“Sometimes I think you’re way more into my cock than the rest of me,” I returned fire.

“Completely true!” she itted, moving so her head was at my abdomen, which gave me a great view of her pussy and her amazing thighs. I almost laughed, thinking that if I snapped a photo of this view, Grace would be willing to pay me for it.

“You didn’t have to be this big for me to love you,” Mira said, speaking softy with her lips just centimeters from my dick, like wanting to have an intimate conversation with it. She started to say something else, but then her mouth became full, cutting off speech.

She only had a portion of me in there, swirling hot saliva with her tongue lightly dabbing. What she had been saying was almost like a recitation of words that had been deposited into her psyche, which made me want to smile with my tongue out, lightly swiping Mira’s wet slit. And why not heat her up even more, the same way she was with me?

“Even your pussy is gorgeous,” I said, lifting my tongue away and planting little kisses. “The heat of you, the taste of you…”

She said something that might have been the beginning of a word, cut off as she swallowed me deeper. Mira couldn’t come close to deep-throating me; maybe someday, if I gave her an assist by hypnotizing her gag-reflex into oblivion as I’d done with Terri Thorngood. But Mira’s oral skills were very well developed now, and she really wanted my cum. She had told me that she sometimes got hot in random situations, just recalling the taste of it.

I felt the same way about the woman’s pussy; there was nothing like witnessing the effects of super-orgasms on the musculature of her body, the vibrating thighs and strained neck, her skin flushing red like reaching climaxes with me was little different than being boiled alive.

She got me spurting first, and afterwards I switched into another gear in tonguing her clitoris, thrilling to the show of her thigh muscles twitching when she came.

At some point when we could both breathe normally again, Mira said, “I’ll never be able to stop wanting this.”

Completely true, although I kept my mouth shut.

We did some actual non-erotic talking after that, becoming more familiar with one another’s histories, increasingly comfortable with sharing stories of the people and events that had shaped us. Mira asked about my family—not much to say there, with both parents deceased in a car crash, and no siblings. She could see the two sides of that—in of blood relations I had no safety net and no emotional , but it also meant there were no expectations to live up to, no one telling me to be a certain way.

“You’re the rare free-agent,” she said at one point.

I had no strong feelings about that; it was what it was and I was used to it. But I would learn, soon enough, that Mira had touched upon a piece of critical information that would have an oversized effect upon the shape of my life.

Her biography was more traditional, and also more rarified. She had a younger sister, and her childhood held lots of clues as to the development of the good/naughty split that existed long before she ever met me. She was from old money, and Daddy had always been extremely successful at buying and selling real estate. He bet heavily on tech stocks in the early-enough days, swelling the family fortune several times over. As Mira put it, her father wasn’t as rich as God, but he had more than enough to bribe St. Peter into setting him up in whichever part of heaven had the best view. She would almost certainly come into a giant inheritance one day, but her father was still vigorous and very fit, that kind of future-fortune still miles off.

There was more that emerged. Mira’s natural athleticism and sturdiness came from her father’s genes, while the haunting beauty of her face was all from her mother. The parents had known they had quite the beauties on their hands when Mira and her sister, Lily, had been young, and they’d both been given deportment lessons with a private tutor, in addition to regular enrollment in a ballet school. Mira had rebelled to a degree in her early teens, which only meant that she found the classical training too limiting, and she had insisted on being instructed in more contemporary and challenging dance styles.

I’m a good listener; it’s part of my nature and one of the reasons I became a therapist. Mira said it was easy to tell me about herself because she could see she wasn’t being judged—that’s another talent that is crucial to being a successful therapist. I’m sure it helped that I wanted nothing from her that I wasn’t already getting.

That might not be entirely true, though, not after hearing that her sister had continued with ballet, and was now in a dance troupe in . Might Lily be similarly gorgeous, and possess a similar split in her personality, or some other crack that could be exploited? I knew better than to probe, mentally filing away the dance company’s name for later, certain I could find photos.

Here and there as Mira recounted personal stories, I caught glimpses of her younger naughty side, which had grown ever stronger when she physically blossomed in her late teens. The seeds of that split had been planted very early by her parents—act this way not that way; this is the behavior that others expect and respect, etc. The psychological movement into the two distinct Mira’s had been further propelled by criticisms from her dance instructors—when her body blossomed and her lines became too erotic, her teacher had made her feel that looking so sexy was a bad thing. It was easy to imagine Mira seeing for herself how boys went ga-ga over her curves, while respected dance teachers frowned and whispered about her having far too much sexual allure. One had told her she was more suited to being a stripper. Another had come close to insisting that she get a breast reduction.

At one point she told me that she had no regrets about failing at becoming a more ionate lover for Taylor, even after our attempt with hypnotism. She believed that I had sincerely tried to help her. She also believed that she was destined to unlock the depths of her ions with me.

I rarely thought about Taylor—in my mind he was almost an abstraction. When I did apply any mental or emotional energy towards him I saw him as a poor rich man who’d married tragically, thinking he had a rare and transcendent beauty for a wife—which was correct—while also believing that the wife part would keep Mira faithful. I could never muster any sympathy for the man; if I’d never come along, his wife’s full carnal self would never have been thrown at him. I wasn’t really taking anything from him by relentlessly fucking his wife; it was more that I was giving to Mira, and the husband be damned.

I did hear Taylor’s voice for a few seconds that Saturday afternoon, when he called to check-in with Mira. We were lying in bed together in a post-coital wipe-out state, just minutes after Mira had nylon-fucked me to explosion again with her legs. She wore earbuds for the bulk of that conversations, so most of what I heard were her responses, often no deeper than “wow” or “uh-huh” as hubby said whatever he said.

At a certain point I couldn’t resist running my hands all over her legs as she spoke to her husband, and when I could hear that the call was only moments from ending, I worked my head between her thighs. I lightly kissed her pussy as she said her final good-bye, and the second their connection was broken I drove my tongue in deep, causing Mira to gasp with pleasure.

Later on we fucked in the shower, and Sunday morning she foot-jobbed me underneath the dining room table as we sat for breakfast. Later that afternoon, lying in bed with cunt-juices all over my face, I asked, “Would you ever divorce him?”

The question didn’t alarm her. “It’s hard to imagine it. The lawyers, the shock to our social circle, the disruptions…”

Mira went silent for a little while, and I thought she must be picturing it all, or weighing the pros and cons. But when she spoke, she had gone elsewhere.

“Your buxom blond date, back at Lucinda’s party… I heard through the grapevine that she moved to Los Angeles?”

I stiffened; not my cock this time, but me. “She’s out there, yes. She might even be there permanently.”

“You and she… I suppose it’s none of my business, unless she gets in the way.”

“In the way of us, you mean.”

“Don’t you ever let anyone get in the way. I just wouldn’t… I’d fight for you. You want to know if I’d ever divorce Taylor? It’s not really in the cards unless… I might do something dramatic if that’s what it took to keep doing this.”

Maybe just thinking of Dee as a competitor got Mira extra motivated, because she gave me quite the tit-job after that, as if to remind me that she could attack my dick in all the ways Dee could, in addition to the pretzel-bodied positions that few women on earth could match.

Taylor called again late Sunday afternoon, and from Mira’s expression I could tell it would be a somewhat lengthy conversation. Secure in being alone for a little while, I went downstairs and indulged my curiosity by finding a few photos of her sister on my laptop.

The first was a profile picture from the dance company’s website, and her face was very much like Mira’s. She was leaner in the neck and shoulders, and her collarbones were much more pronounced. It was funny; I’d never given much thought to any woman’s collarbones, but this comparison revealed to me that Mira’s were especially sexy, just like the rest of her. I assumed that her sister’s stood out because she had more of a typical ballerina’s physique, and when I found a performance photo that showed her arms and legs to good advantage, I couldn’t help letting out a breath of confirmation. She was every bit the beautiful ballerina, long of limb and almost dripping with elegance, but also very thin. Lily’s legs had gorgeous shaping, no surprise, and I wondered if they could give Mira’s a run for the money if she ditched her rabbit food diet and downed heaping portions of burgers and fries.

I had my laptop closed when I heard Mira’s bare feet descending the stairs. I turned and found her standing at the bottom completely naked.

I ed how her expression was pure distress just before she uttered the words, “He’s coming home tomorrow! A possible ebola outbreak at their final destination, so they aren’t going.”

It was air out of a sex-balloon. We were supposed to have Monday and Tuesday nights to continue fucking, and late into Wednesday morning.

“What time tomorrow?”

“His flight arrives at four p.m. I’m going to pick him up at the airport.”

My dick, well aware that a totally naked Mira Cassidy stood not ten feet away from it, didn’t seem to know which way to go. This would be our final night of leisurely sex together; after that it would be fuck as fuck can.

My head-brain grieved for the loss of the Monday and Tuesday night sex I’d imagined, but Mira’s glorious physique was powerful medicine. She was fifty times as hot as her ballerina sister, and the sensations below my waist informed me that I had a glass half-full kind of cock.

I was shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans. I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants and let my cock spring out, loving it as the hypnotic residue buried inside Mira’s brain and body did its dirty work. She became visibly fixated, needful, her rapturous response to my exposed penis providing all the fuel I needed to be fully erect again.

I reached down and lifted my penis, aiming it at her face. “We still have this evening and tonight,” I said. “Let’s fuck twice as hard and twice as often.”

Going by my mood with my Monday morning clients, I did not have a graceful transition into the post-Mira work week. It wasn’t from lack of sleep, as we had dozed in-between the many times we’d gone at each other. It was more like general disinterest in my clients’ issues when I had a deeply consuming problem of my own—I didn’t know when I’d next get to shove my cock into Mira’s perfect pussy.

I’d dealt with enough addictive behaviors to know exactly where I was. I had gotten a very heavy fix of something I had desired for months, and in the wake of all that excitement I was floating somewhat dazedly in a funk of missing her. Making matters worse, my cock was rubbed half-raw, so sitting still while listening was not easy.

When I got home that evening and found my house empty, there was a corresponding emptiness in my gut and loins. I had every confidence that Mira would throw herself at my dick just as soon as she got a decent chance, but that could be days, or even longer.

I stepped out onto the back deck for some fresh air, and recalled the troubled night when I’d wrestled with what had felt like my sexual demons. That had only been a week and a half ago, yet it felt like I was living in a different world now. Spring had gathered strength with warmer air and fuller leaves on the trees, and it was approaching eight in the evening yet there was still some post-sunset glow in the sky. This was a time of expansion, of accelerated growth, and Mira’s absence felt like a discordant contraction. I missed having my hands running all over the structure of her incredible body, and the breathless sounds she made at the beginning of lovemaking, and the animal fury she became just moments before her seismic climaxes.

I had known I would have to endure times like this. She might be with Taylor at this very moment, doing what she had to do to keep their marriage on life-. Maybe the problem was that I had no similar role to play, no mission to fulfill other than waiting. I needed… I wasn’t sure what I needed.

Back inside, I thought about numbing my impatience with wine, but chose the more constructive path of compiling a to-do list on my laptop. I could mulch areas of the yard, and I wanted to buy a longer water hose for dry spells. Then I thought of the volleyball league that I hadn’t participated in for two years, and wondered if it made sense to a team again, maybe just one night a week.

That got me thinking of a really hot woman I’d played with in the past, Susan Tinley. Susan worked for the state’s lottery system, and she was a “thicc” gym-rat with some extremely impressive legs. She was fast on the court and could spike the ball as well as any of the guys, grinning her Rachel McAdams-like smile any time she got everything she had into the ball. She’d flirted with me some, but I’d been with Joyce then and had pretended to be clueless.

I didn’t have Susan’s number, unless it was listed in emails from old team rosters. She could easily be in a committed relationship by now—women that good-looking didn’t remain unattached unless that’s what they wanted. The thing was, I wasn’t in the market for a real girlfriend; I’d learned that when Dee and I…

“Fuck, Dee.”

When I checked, there were two texts and a voicemail that I listened to. In the voicemail, she explained that she had signed a contract to play the android on a new streaming show, which had convinced her to put down roots on the West Coast.

“There will be some location shooting in New Zealand,” she laughed. “That probably sounds like heaven to most people, but for me…” And then, softer: “I couldn’t even have contemplated something like that without your help, Michael. Every actor dreams of getting their big break, the role that changes everything. I think mine has arrived and I have to go with it, and I’m just so… Well, grateful, but also a bit sad. We were amazing together, like… You know how we were. Call me, please. I’m staying here, but I think I need to hear your voice with all of this.”

Translation: We should probably call it quits as a couple but I want to talk to you again.

The fingers of my left hand lightly drummed a beat on the dining room table. She’d been waiting for a return call and I’d flaked on that, because I’d been fucking the daylights out of a married woman who was hypnotized into craving my cock.

Regardless, I was almost one-hundred percent certain that I could have Dee back here in a day, half-crazed for nearly non-stop tit-fucking my cock—if I really wanted that. I didn’t, yet it sucked to just sit at home, hoping Mira could steal an hour or two from her life to show up and fuck me. What I wanted right now was…

Truth? I wanted a woman… No, I wanted multiple women to experiment with, hypnotically and sexually. I wanted to push deeper into the possibilities of where immersion hypnosis could go.

There was no denying this, regardless of whether I believed such exploits were morally corrupt or not. The technique had never failed me so far, in my legitimate practice or when affecting the behaviors and capacities of sexual partners. Given that, it seemed to me that the real crime would be going through life wearing a behavioral straight-jacket, only getting sex every now and then with a married partner like most people.

I laughed at the absurdity of holding myself back. Sex with Mira was pure heaven, but it was never going to be consistent enough to satisfy my needs. When I had the equivalent of a super-power to wield in the sexual realm, why would I ever choose to sit at home all alone?

Without really deciding to do it, like it was the most natural thing in the world, I opened my safe and took out the notebook where I kept notes on all the immersion suggestions I’d placed inside of women so far. On a new page I wrote the words: Strategies/Options/Ideas for Hypnotizing More Women.

I didn’t want to constrain my brainstorming by thinking practically or morally. Perhaps not surprisingly, the first idea that came to me was to engage in more sexual experimentation with my clients.

Not cool, but this wasn’t about self-censoring. In that spirit, I wrote, Make Terri Thorngood insatiably horny and dying to suck me off. I had already set her humming her way to some degree in that direction, but I could go so much further.

“Take that, Alexandre,” I said. I’d probably never meet her pretty-boy soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, but I could only smile at the regret he might feel if he ever learned that the woman he hadn’t treasured enough turned out to be a blow-job genius.

I pictured her gorgeous mouth and all that she might be able to do with it in time, and then made a mental checklist of all my other female clients. I immediately ran into a wall—I had no other female clients that I desired.

I didn’t let that get me down. Instead I wrote, Recruit gorgeous clients? Meaning singling out luscious women and somehow offering real therapy, whereas I would never have that intention.

I immediately crossed that one out. Putting a scheme of that nature in place would essentially turn my practice into a front, a seemingly legitimate establishment where the true business at hand was corrupt at its core. Also, it was implausible.

I closed my eyes and took a few slow and deliberate breaths, and for whatever reason my thoughts went back to Susan Tinley, the sexy volleyball hottie from my past. How would I get someone like that to agree to be hypnotized? Let’s say I called her and she agreed to go out on a date with me. If we hit it off well enough, it was conceivable that we could end up in bed with no hypnotism needed; that happened to people all over the world, and had just recently been the case with Dee.

What next, in a more ordinary scenario like that? Perhaps, in a conversational way, I could tell Susan about the immersion technique, and convince her that it could… What, further improve her setting or spiking skills during volleyball games? Help her do more reps in the gym? Bring inner peace and tranquility? The truth was so much more exciting than any of that, but how to make it happen? A line like, “Hey babe, want me to prime your sexual engines until you feel like you could blow a hole through the ceiling when you come?” might be accurate, but most any sane woman would be out the door if I said it.

I could see no way of getting Susan or some other acquaintance into the immersion state through any straightforward means. Same with any fine-looking woman that I found on a dating site—no matter how well a date went, I’d need some sort of subterfuge to get anyone to…

“Wait a minute,” I said, gears turning. Susan had an extremely athletic body. She’d pumped iron at a gym back then and probably still did, and that much working-out had to come with some aches and pains, right? What if I didn’t offer hypnotism at all; that word was too loaded. But if I offered a relaxation technique, sold as more of a curative for the body than a -key to the mind…

Heart beating fast, I wrote it down. I should have thought of this sooner, that the initial stages of immersion work were so oriented towards an experience of the body that it could be d as so much less than it really was. Clients never reported an uneasy sense that they’d been hypnotized; they almost always believed that they’d fallen asleep while I was speaking.

“Completely clandestine hypnosis,” I said, picturing a conversation with Susan where I told her that I had been trained in istering a muscle relaxation technique that required no physical touching.

JesusfuckingChrist, this was big! It was all a matter of marketing, as with any other service. Say the word hypnotism to people and they think of everything from stage magicians to Get Out’s sunken place scene, or even glowing-eyed vampires. If I was bringing a New Age-y body-relaxation technique instead, they would either think it gently possible, or believe it to be ineffective bullshit. Anyone who said yes would have no awareness of having been hypnotized. At worst, they’d believe they fell asleep out of boredom.

Scratch that—they’d believe whatever I shaped them to believe. I could worm my way in and turn any little sexual preference into a fetish that boiled with raging need. I could turn the simple instinctive desire for pleasure into a gnawing quest for orgasmic thrills. I could turn any whiff of sexual inadequacy into a full-on agenda for the acquisition of super-skills, as I’d begun to do with Terri.

Best of all for me—even the the most teensy-weensy hint of sexual attraction towards me could be magnified and re-shaped until my cock had the pull of a black hole, a phallic event-horizon from which free will could never escape.

I stood and paced, my cock hard as could be. This was the key strategy I’d been seeking for weeks. Misdirection, selling my talents as one thing while invisibly delivering another, could help me to claw into the minds of additional beautiful women, maybe many beautiful women.

I thought about Terri Thorngood again. I would have her on my office couch in a matter of days, and I could do any fucking thing with her that I wanted. Maybe, by inserting the right words into her, she would need to recommend me to her three best-looking model friends.

First things first, though. Locking my notebook back in the safe, I went back to my dining room table and opened my computer. I pulled up the email address for Amir Golden, who’d been the captain of the volleyball team from two years ago, and typed a quick message that I was anxious to get back to the sport. I said it would be great to see some old friends again, and asked if some or most of the same crew was still around, like Bill and Holly and Susan. Hopefully, whether I could get onto the team again or not, I’d soon know something about Susan’s whereabouts.

Not quite sure what to do next, I put my phone on the table and stared at it. I should call Dee, and have whatever conversation we needed to have. It was almost 10, which meant 7p.m. on the West Coast. The sun would still be up where she was and Dee could be anywhere doing anything.

I opened the safe again and flipped through my notebook, to refresh myself about the various immersion suggestions I’d crammed inside the woman. It was almost embarrassing how many triggers I’d put into her before she left—I could easily heat her up, or cause her to let me watch her masturbate, or make it so she felt compelled to send photos of her tits to my phone, or…

After locking the notebook back in the safe, I texted her, asking if we could FaceTime in a few minutes. I got up and poured a glass of wine, and Dee replied before I was back to my chair.

At cafe with friend. Need half hour to get home, will FT you then.

I waited, reminding myself of the trigger I didn’t want to pull with her. If I let her see my hard cock, presumably even on her phone or a computer screen, she would need to get on the first available flight back here, other plans be damned.

She really was like a bird that I could have caged, but had instead decided to set free. Let her pursue her acting opportunities out there, all fine with me now that I was getting Mira visits, and I knew I’d be trying like hell to hypnotize and fuck others.

I brought out my iPad and changed my positioning at the dining room table, just in case Mira walked through my door. A few seconds later the pad buzzed, and there was Dee’s beautiful face on the screen.

Dee’s beautiful face and her beautiful boobs, bulging up from a lacy blue bra. What an ideal beginning, to see that Dee still could not resist showing off her breasts to me.

“Wow!” I said, and then, “Hi.” And then, “Am I looking at a human face and human boobs in a bra, or is it all android flesh?”

She laughed, the tops of her breasts jiggling. “I’m not a real android, I just play one on t.v. Although it will be months and months before you ever see that.”

“How are you, Dee? You look spectacular, as always. And maybe happy?”

“I am happy. I feel lucky, and appreciated for a change. As an actress, I mean.”

“I’ll bet you’re knocking them dead out there.”

“That seems to be true, and… You know, they’re even happy that my skin is pale, because it means less make-up for my android role. My android name is Mandy, by the way, as in Handy Mandy. She can fix anything, with special fingers that turn into tools for repairing all that goes wrong on a spaceship.”

“Sounds like fun. And I have to ask—will she be sexy? Which I guess means you wearing something skintight?”

“You mean Seven-of-Nine but with much bigger boobs? The short answer is yes, and that’s one of the reasons I can’t even believe what’s happening! They’re going to play up my figure; it even becomes an evolving theme in the show, that some of the ship’s crew develop feelings for Mandy, and they want to know if I’m anatomically correct, and whether I can experience pleasure.”

“Can you?” I asked, my eyes affixed to the breasts on my screen.

“There are secrets that I can’t tell anyone; I’ve promised, and there are confidentiality requirements in my contract. So let’s just say that in one episode near the end of the first season, someone monkeys with my software and my nickname morphs into Randy Mandy. The show’s producers could just be talking me up, promising more than they can actually deliver, but they tell me I’m going to become a new sex symbol.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine. What was hard was my cock, achingly aware that Dee would not be giving this view of her bra-clad tits to anyone but me on a FaceTime call. We ought to talk about the Southern California weather or she’d seek hypnotism from someone else to help with a long flight to New Zealand, or anything else. But instead…

“Dee, if the producers of your show had any idea just how beautiful your boobs actually are, and that we had you coming just from playing with your nipples… I keep thinking about what we found together, my cock pressed between your tits, the dreamy expression on your face when you were just coming out of the immersion state and the first thing your eyes focused on was the head of my cock, all lubed and needy.”

She went silent and the viewpoint wavered on my screen. Then I saw the cups of Dee’s bra being lowered, her bare tits on view.

“Oh Michael, I promised myself I wouldn’t… But it’s impossible to stop! Even on the phone you’re my erotic utmost and I get so… Just hearing your voice like this…”

“Fuck, you have gorgeous tits.”

“Oh…”

“You’re starting to go at yourself, aren’t you?” Of course she was.

“Yes!”

“I am so hard, Dee. I can’t help it, because I know what it feels like to be pressed between your breasts, to come between them.”

“Shit! How am I ever going to stop…”

“Imagine me there, Dee, pulling at your nipples.”

“Uh!”

“Your tits enveloping me, pressed all around me.”

“Gahhh! I’ll never… I can’t…”

She groaned in a way that I knew very well, and her picture and voice disappeared, the call ended. That might be because she needed two hands to finger herself into oblivion, or maybe she needed to seek out a more private space for masturbating. Whatever; it was all fine by me.

Had that been the last time I would fuck around with Dee Young’s mind and body? Maybe; maybe not.

I sipped a small glass of brandy before retiring to bed that night, feeling triumphant on the one hand, but also wishing that Mira could somehow walk through my bedroom door just then and go all animal on my cock.

I was hard as I fell asleep, and my dick might have stayed that way for most of the night, because I had a very sexy dream. In that dream I was standing next to Terri Thorngood in an elevator. She looked amazing with her body more pumped, like time had ed and she’d been filling it by working-out every day. It was thrilling when she sidled up to me, standing so close that I could sense her body heat.

I looked up to see what floor we were at and the numbers were absurdly high, in the thousands that culminated in an icon of a crescent moon. I don’t specifically Terri unzipping my pants in the dream, but I was still standing in the elevator going up and up, and she was on her knees absolutely inhaling my cock into her throat. The suction was so forceful that I thought she might be stretching me even longer than I already was, and the way it felt had me imagining that when I blew my load, she’d probably feel the impact deep in her stomach.

I did let loose, in the dream but also in real life, and that awakened me. I was disoriented for a few seconds, not even certain where I was, my heart racing and wet stickiness on my abdomen.

“A fucking wet-dream!” I laugh-mumbled, before getting up to clean myself in the bathroom.

It was only two-thirty in the morning; there were still a few delicious hours for additional sleep. Back in bed under the covers, I replayed all I ed of the dream in my mind, and didn’t quite know how to feel about it.

I was certain I hadn’t had a wet-dream since my early teens; they did happen to adults sometimes in REM sleep, so it wasn’t anything to be alarmed about. And had the dream been prophetic? It could be that even in real life, Terri’s gag-reflex was already a thing of the past, whether she knew it yet or not. And would I get one of those deep-throat hummers? Or many?

That was pretty much up to me, wasn’t it?