Mind Controlled Janice Pt. 105 - Sex Stories

Mind Controlled Janice Pt. 105

... cheeks, a shame that she'd never felt before.

Gingers voice grew throatier. "Now: take off that shirt and your bra."

She fought with every bit of her willpower, but only managed the briefest hesitation, her body was not obeying her mind it was obeying his, she pulled the shirt over her head and let it fall to the floor. She reached behind her back unclipped her bra and let it fall to the floor. She felt shame, embarrassment at standing there topless in front of a strange man and she felt fury at him, and a weird sort of defiance.

He looked her up and down in blatant appreciation. Her body was slightly overweight. Then he stepped back and raised his phone, he is going to take a picture she thought.

Janice struggled with all her might to raise her arms and cover her breasts, or at least turn away, but as before, nothing happened.

"Smile," he said, and to her horror, she did.

He took several pictures, then scrolled through them with a satisfied sigh. When he looked back up at her, he barked out a laugh. "You can stop smiling now."

Her expression fell back to neutral.

He stepped close again, and used his hands to cup and lift her breasts. The touch sent shivers of revulsion through her. His thumbs stroked her nipples, but they did not stiffen. She was scared of this man, what he might do, what he might make her do, she wanted to both cry and to hit him. Her body not obeying her mind was the most scaring thing about her situation.

Without a command to ...

... enjoy it, it him touching her nipples was the least erotic thing she could imagine. Instead, she envisioned her hands around his neck.

"I can make you like this," he said softly.

She glared at him, but she knew it was true.

He pulled away his hands. "But first, take off those jeans and socks."

She tried to fight it but her hands unfastened her jeans and slid them down her legs. She stepped out of them and discarded them, just as she had her shirt, then she pulled her socks off. Now clad only in white cotton panties, she resumed standing immobile. The sensation of helpless certainty of her situation, filled her with renewed rage and terror.

He slipped one finger under the waistband of her panties and slid it slowly across the skin below her navel. "One little piece of cloth is all that keeps you from being naked," he said. He circled behind her, then stepped so close she could feel his erection through his trousers against her buttocks. He cupped her breasts from behind, his now-ragged breath in her ear. As he kneaded the soft flesh, he said, "You can speak now. Tell me how this feels."

Like a switch had been thrown, she snarled, "bastard, get your fuck hands off me, don't ever touch me again, I swear to God when this wears off, I'm going to kill you so fucking slowly you won't—"

"Shut up," he said, and she did. "Now...answer this question honestly. Which would humiliate you more: me removing your panties, or making you do it yourself?"

"Myself," she said ...