The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter 6

The rest of the morning whipped by in a blur. Macy shopped like a woman possessed, dragging Carter along by the arm with her.

She had to get a whole new wardrobe. Had to. How had she gone so long without showing even just the teeniest bit of skin? How had she gone so long without wearing makeup? How was she going to flirt with these men when all she had were her words?—she needed more in her armory.

Clothes and makeup.

Store after store. Department after department. They shopped. They shopped as they had never shopped before in their lives. Macy certainly hadn’t; it was curious—she’d known that women should show off their bodies and flirt, that was obvious. But why had she never done it until now? How cringe-inducing. How embarrassing. She didn’t want to be embarrassed like that again.

And so they shopped.

All the places that she would have avoided for being too slutty or too feminine and yet here she was—buying stuff for herself. And what’s more—she was enjoying it. Finding the clothes that showed off her body. Finding low-cut tops—although she didn’t have too much up there to offer. Finding daringly cut skirts. Finding the lingerie section and filling up Carter’s arms with wispy silken items. Every purchase seemed right. Seemed like a jigsaw piece fitting into place.

Her credit card burned red with use. She didn’t want to think about the money she was spending; whatever the amount, it was worth it.

She was enjoying being with Carter, spending time with him. Flirting with him. Every so often, reaching out her hand and stroking his arm and hearing his soft chuckle or glance into his handsome eyes. And smiling.

Occasionally taking his hand to lead him into the makeup section. She found herself leaning against him more and more, pressing herself against his body. Laughing at his jokes. Catching his eyes with a sultry glimpse.

It was a game, she realized. A game that she was getting better and better at playing the more she did it. Macy even found herself flirting with other men, the shop assistants, and the customers. A dazzling smile, her smoky eyes, leaning forwards and exposing some of her skin. It all helped.

Carter was smiling more than she’d seen him smile in years, his grin stretching wide as she dragged him from store to store asking his advice on clothing, seeking his approval, flirting.

It was so much fun! Why hadn’t she done this before?

As they left a store with two bags full of clothing, Carter suddenly leaned over to her, a gleam in his eyes.

“You want to get a drink after all this, right?”

She looked up, surprised. How did he know? Even if it wasn’t yet midday, OF COURSE she wanted a drink. Her new outfit practically demanded it. A low-cut corset top, a pair of jean shorts that were in the process of being devoured by her ass, and a pair of perilously high heels that made her feel a million miles high. A visit to the department store makeup counter had her makeup game on point: smoky eyes, thick lashes, and rich, ruby red lips.

Carter tugged her into the entrance of a small bar, the lights dim and all the cool jazz music pulsing out. He ordered two large rum and cokes from the friendly bartender, who gave her a grateful smile.

“Happy Wednesday,” he said, his rich baritone voice suddenly stopping her in her tracks. Macy turned to face him, her spirits rising. It was a happy Wednesday.

She reached out, taking his hand in hers. She was enjoying the flirting so much, that she ran her fingers along the back of his hand.

“Happy Wednesday,” she grinned.

“You know, Mace, this has been a rollercoaster of a morning. I would never have believed that you would be so keen to dress so...” he tailed off.

“So?”

“Well, let’s call a spade a spade, here. The way you’re dressed. The only conclusion anyone seeing how you’re dressed is that you’re some kind of slut. Right?”

Macy said nothing, but she found herself nodding along. Slut. Yes. That made sense.

“And—you might call me a chauvinist for this; it stands to reason, if a girl dresses like you are and is at the bar in the morning like you are, she must be an enormous sex-hungry whore.”

Macy choked on her drink, the chauvinist pig!

“Damn right, I’ll call you a chauvinist. Girls can wear what they like and not be judged for it.” She spat the words with vitriol. This is why she didn’t like hanging with Carter too often—he’d say something stupid like that—and it would spoil all the light, flirtatious fun they’d been having.

As she spoke though, visions of Carter naked flitted through her mind. She felt a hot ball of lust building inside her, a desperate need to be near him, on him. To have him inside her. She wondered what his cock looked like. What it would feel like in her hand, between her lips, inside her. Macy shifted uncomfortably in her seat as a wave of arousal washed through her, sending gooseflesh rising on her forearms.

“You see,” he was leaning closer to her, his eyes twinkling with promise.

Oh, god, Macy thought. He’s going to say something dumb again. Something chauvinistic.

So she did what any rational, horny, flirtatious woman would do.

She leaned forwards and kissed him.

Their lips met softly, their breaths mingling. For a moment, it was almost chaste. And then the lust that had been building up in Macy took over. She kissed him with an intense ion, her lips pressing against his, her tongue gently exploring his mouth. And just as suddenly, as though he’d been slapped in the face, Carter pulled away from her with a horrified expression. He gave her a disbelieving look, his eyebrows furrowing, and his lips a fraction apart.

“Happy Wednesday,” she whispered.

Carter said nothing. He stared at his friend with wide eyes.

Macy cocked her eyebrows at his reaction. What did he expect from a girl dressed like she was this?

Under the table, she reached across and ran her hands over his thighs, up his legs until she found the hot bar she had been looking for. She squeezed it, relishing in his shocked expression, and spoke to him, barely audibly above the music.

“Are you going to fuck me or what?”

Carter’s expression vacillated from eager to horrified, desperate to scared. He pulled back, anxiety writ large over his face.

“C’mon, Carter,” Macy said, leering in his direction. “I’ve got an itch that needs scratching. Isn’t this pleasing?” A sliver of doubt entered her mind. What if she wasn’t fulfilling his needs? What if she wasn’t pleasing him? “What do you need?”

“I-I don’t know, Macy. This is all a little strange. You’re acting ... different.”

“I’m just being a woman, Carter,” Macy protested. She could feel her anxiety building again.

“You’re being a slut.”

“Aren’t they the same thing? Am I not doing it right?” Macy’s lower lip began to tremble.

“No, you’re doing just fine. It’s just...”

“Just what?”

“It’s just that sluts are more than just clothes and flirting, Mace. Sluts have, well, other qualities.”

She had to know what they were. She needed to know.

“What qualities?”

“Well, it’s a physical thing. Sluts have...” Carter made a circular motion with his hands in front of his chest. She stared at him, waiting for him to speak.

With embarrassment creeping across his features, Carter said, “Sluts have big tits. They’ve got fuckable lips, you know? Their bodies are, like, built for sex.”

Macy felt a warm glow of pleasure through her at his words. Sluts are built for sex. She was being a slut, therefore her body should be built for sex.

Heat spilled up through her stomach—a warmth that spread through her chest, and her legs, and settled in the warm recesses of her middle. A rising sensation—a feeling of being lifted, raised, elevated.

Macy felt like her whole body needed to yawn. A need to move. A need to shift. A need to twist. A need to be wild and free. Something was happening to her. Her skin felt like it was on fire, like every nerve in her body had been lit on fire. Her hips, her chest, her lips. Something was growing, something was emerging.

Macy stood, her legs wobbling beneath her.

“I-I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, the world spinning as she turned and headed to the bathroom.