Chapter Eight

        In the cramped foyer of the commercial building were two doors.

One led to a dentist’s office, the other to a boutique marketing agency. Neither, however, indicated the presence of Wheaten Dynamics.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Ali asked.

“Yes.”

If Henry hadn’t provided this location as a mailing address on his resume, Helen would share Ali’s doubt that another business could be found here. Instead, she eyed the third path, a staircase leading down, suspiciously.

“You don’t think…?”

“I do.”

For courage, Helen slurped a mouthful of candied orange sweetness off her lollipop. Now that she knew of Ali’s brainwashing theory, every indulgence of this behavior brought with it a guilty pleasure. After this one was gone, after she sucked it away into nothing, she really mustn’t have another.

The two of them already looked ridiculous enough.

They met at the bus stop this morning in brand new outfits. If Ali had attempted to dress modestly, she failed utterly. Though she’d managed to leave the dorm in a full jacket, it was unzipped entirely to her bra, two absurdly tiny cups in which her tits rested, spilling every which way out of them. Her skirt was no better. It at least fell to the bottom of her crotch and ass, but it was so tight that Ali’s stiletto steps had to be meticulously short.

Helen, for her part, did her best to cover up by putting on pantyhose. And for the first time in awhile, it felt good to be covered, like wearing a second, slicktight skin. She felt it most in her silky spandex thighs, ever-rubbing each other in need, always reminding her of what was now adorning her.

But the sleek pantyhose, despite her modest intent, only accentuated her legs, turning them into dark, glossy pillars on heels. The choice also justified wearing a half-skirt, she reasoned, since her ass was covered now. As a reward, Helen wanted to show how the formfitting hosiery shaped her round, pert cheeks. She made sure that her panties, visible through the semi-opaque spandex, were at least classy, with fine lace and an elegant cut. It matched her bra, which adorned her chest between her unbuttoned blouse.

The combination was, she realized in a rush of wet heat when she stepped out into the world, perhaps more attention-grabbing than she anticipated. And the two of them on the bus, sucking their candies and squirming in their seats, drew so many eyeballs that when they finally got off, they left puddles behind them.

Now, in the antechamber of the building where Wheaten Dynamics supposedly lived, Helen was only just coming out of that horny fog.

They took it one step at a time down the stairs. In her tight skirt, Ali had to hold Helen’s arm for stability, and the wood creaked under their heels as they descended. The stairs were lit by a single light bulb, and it flickered, occasionally plunging the stairwell perilously into darkness.

We’re going to get answers, Helen thought.

But with a sexy co-ed pushing her tits into Helen’s bare arm, with pantyhose rubbing endlessly between her legs, and with the lights FLICKERING like that, hard notions of how this needed go were turning soft and sticky.

Gonna get answers… No matter WHAT it takes.

The woman at reception had pliant eyes.

It was more than just her eyes, Ali realized. It was her entire demeanor, how she elegantly stood from her desk and glided across the room to greet them, and how she spoke too. Her voice was soft and airy, with delicate and careful enunciation. Her blonde hair was styled impeccably into a housewife bob, which curled up into springy coils at her neck, and they too, were light as air.

Her movements and words flowed from her, unburdened by thought.

And she wore a collar. It clung to her slender neck, a wide black band that stood in stark contrast to her pale complexion, and to the modest pastel dress she wore.

“We weren’t expecting visitors today. Who are you here to see?” She asked, leading them into the sitting area.

A CRT television was mounted to the corner of the room, and on it, an idle DVD icon bounced from wall to wall, changing colors slowly.

“Whoever is in charge.” Professor Paisley said, glancing from the idle screen to their collared hostess.

“You’ll have to be more specific. They’re all in charge.”

The receptionist smiled, sincere. Her serene coolness sent a shiver through Ali’s spine. The DVD icon, slow as a glacier, moved towards the corner. It was going to hit.

“Then how about somebody who worked with an ex-employee of yours. Henry Hearst.” Helen said, looking past the receptionist to where the DVD icon inched, closer still, to the corner.

“Mr. Bishop is very busy today,” the woman said gently.

The DVD icon bumped, just missing the corner. Ali’s heart dropped at the tragedy of it. It drifted away now, colors changing still, but moving even slower.

“Please.” Helen said. “Let us in with somebody. Anybody. We won’t take up much time. We’ll… We’ll do anything.”

Use my body. Use my slutty body.

The receptionist offered a condolent smile. “I’m sorry. You really should have made an appointment. It’s the end of the month, you see. We’re very busy.”

The DVD icon was adrift in the middle of the TV’s black void, and Ali felt adrift too. They’d come all this way. Now her lollipop was running out, and her tongue was beginning to feel restless.

“Someone from your company turned is into… into sluts or something!” Ali blurted. “And we’re not leaving until we find out how to stop it. Or at least find out why!”

The receptionist didn’t flinch at Ali’s accusations. She redirected her smile Ali’s way, her tranquility unbroken.

“Please, there is no reason to yell. You have so many reasons to be happy. I will see if Mr. Bishop can fit you in. Take a seat. You might be waiting here awhile.”

On the CRT, the DVD icon inched towards another corner. It was still a ways off, but Ali thought it looked like it might hit. And the hues were still shifting imperceptibly slow, giving the icon an iridescent quality. Ali looked to Helen for approval, but her Professor’s attention had fully shifted to the idle screen, which she watched intently.

“We can wait.” Ali answered for them both.

Helen murmured her agreement, “Yes… Of course we’ll wait…” even though the receptionist was already leaving lobby with long, easy steps.

They took their seats together, taking care to pick ones with the TV in sight.

The collared woman in the pastel dress stepped in front of Helen and smiled.

“Mr. Bishop will see you now.”

Helen clawed her way back to waking life. She’d drifted off watching that stupid DVD icon bounce around. It had come so close to hitting to corner so many times, but it never did. Now, it looked to be on the perfect path, but at the pace it was going, it’d take another few minutes.

“Oh…” She mumbled. “Like, now, now?”

It would hit. She was sure of it. Next to her, Ali was still watching, sitting low in her chair with her legs spread as wide as her tight skirt would allow. Today, the coed’s panties were hot pink and seamless.

But the receptionist didn’t care about what they were watching. “Now.” She said smiling. “Or never.”

She led them out of reception down a skinny hallway. The walls bore in on them, so narrow that two people wouldn’t be able to pass down them opposite directions. Helen felt sluggish using her body again, like every step came at a five second delay from her brain. It took all her focus to simply follow, but following was so easy, because she didn’t need to decide where to go, she just needed to follow. Follow.

They followed.

First passed a closed door labelled TESTING ROOM A. And then another door, TESTING ROOM B, which was cracked ajar and leaking a swirling symphony of hums. Flashing lights spilled out from the open sliver in brilliant bursts.

The sound, mostly muffled, was gloriously rich. From here, Helen could hear layers of it, shimmering overtones and deep basses, and everything in between. It oscillated to the flashing lights, which shone like beacons of sunshine against the stark, dimly lit hall.

“Wanna go in THERE.” Helen said, and Ali grunted in agreement.

Helen made a beeline for the door handle. She had to go in. Had to. Just for a second. To see the source of the lights, to listen to the sound without obstructions. And then maybe to just rest there, for a little while longer. Her body felt so lethargic.

And then the woman closed it shut, and the impulse vanished.

“Sorry about that. Right this way.”

They followed her around a corner, beyond a small area with a kitchenette and a couch. A man in his mid-fifties read the paper there, and on her knees a naked woman, her ass resting plump on the balls of her feet, diligently sucked his cock.

But the receptionist wasn’t concerned with that either.

“Here we are.” She arrived at another door with her arms held flat in front of her. “Please be mindful. Mr. Bishop is being very generous today.”

She opened the door to an office, where a bald, wide-framed man sat in front of a mountain of papers. With their entrance, he looked up to see them, the annoyed expression falling off his face when he did.

Their hostess stepped aside. “Master, these are the subjects I mentioned. They’d like a word with you.”

“Thank you Sue.” He examined intently the fresh slutty pair of skirts in front of him. “I must apologize for being short with you before. I didn’t realize our guests were so… advanced. Thank you for talking me into seeing them.”

At his praise, Sue lost her composure to one brief shudder, then collected herself.

“It is no trouble, Master.” She said.

“Indeed. Treat yourself to a training session for this. Level 10. You’ve done well.”

Sue’s temperance broke again, and this time she didn’t bother to regain it. Her lips trembled to suppress a wide smile, and she squeezed the hem of her dress, squirming where she stood.

“Oh, thank you, Master. Thank you so much.”

Sue closed the door behind her when she left, taking hurried steps into the hall.

“Very bright woman.” The man said. “Even now. You know she used to be a Federal Agent. Was investigating our business in the early aughts before she found her true calling here.”

“You brainwash people.” Helen said flatly.

That much was obvious. But the brainwashing here seemed different than what was happening at Monroe. Sue was wholly compliant, almost without personality, and the reverence at which she spoke to her boss was beyond anything Helen had seen before. The girls at Monroe hated Henry.

“Go ahead take a seat.” Mr. Bishop gestured to the cheap carpeted floor, and with uncertain hesitation, Helen and Ali both knelt there.

At their confusion, he tutted.

“You’ve been exposed to a simple obedience program. Only temporary, but keeps the peace with visitors. Compared to what you seem to have going on in those pretty little heads of yours, it’s basically nothing. Where did you say you were from again?”

“Monroe University.” Helen answered. “Your ex-employee, Henry Hearst–”

“Yes, yes, Henry, I know. One moment.” He clicked a button on his intercom. “Jeffrey, come in here for a moment, will you?”

The coarse carpeting dug into Helen’s knees while she and Ali waited patiently. I should stand, Helen thought. But she didn’t. In her head, a DVD icon floated listlessly.

A dark man with glasses entered the office. “Holy smokes. And who are these dollfaces?”

The attention of these men was starting to turn Helen on. As she knelt there, she felt her pussy moisten between her thighs. Beside her, Ali slipped off her jacket so only her minuscule bra remained. Under examination, the girls straightened their backs and quivered.

“They’re Monroe University girls, apparently.” Mr. Bishop said. “What do you think?”

“Very impressive. Is this Jamison’s project?”

“No, no. Jamison’s running the ‘Casual Fridays’ program at some accounting firm. He’s two Fridays behind his proposed schedule, in fact. Women should have been offering tit jobs like candy last Friday, yet most were fighting the urge to even go topless in the first place. Apparently there’s an issue with them reading the memos.”

“Yeesh. What a disaster.”

“This is Henry’s project. His whole reverse psychology thing.” Mr. Bishop stepped around his desk and stood between the kneeling pair. “Is your whole University like you?”

“Yes, fucker. You’ve fucked up all of us.” Ali said, spitting as much venom as she could muster while kneeling on the floor in a micro-skirt and bra.

The men laughed.

“I see Henry went with the ‘disobedient brat’ thing.” Jeffrey said.

The words incited butterflies in Helen’s stomach. Brat. Disobedient brat.

“We’re not… Brats!!” Ali yelled, but her defiance turned petulant in her throat, and she sounded exactly like a brat.

The butterflies tumbled. Brat. A bigger picture dawned on Helen, one where every single one of her brainwashed actions was driven by the same impulse. To disobey.

“Here I thought Henry was being tight lipped because things were going poorly.” Mr. Bishop said to Jeffrey. He turned to Helen. “And you dress like this every day? Do up your faces like that every morning?”

Helen nodded, the heat of humiliation rising in her. She felt like the butt of some sick joke, one she was only just beginning to understand.

“And you still know your names?” He asked. “I mean. Jesus. You managed to find your way here. Complete behavioral overhaul without any degradation of self.”

“We know our fucking names, Mister!” Ali huffed, though the men had long moved past it.

Jeffrey tilted Ali’s chin upward with his finger and looked down into her eyes.

“You know Frank, the big boss is gonna be thrilled when he sees this. Henry’s program fucking worked. There must be a thousand girls like this. I mean, we all thought his code was too inefficient, but look at this. By now that program would knock any girl on their ass, and his school was clearly none the wiser while it optimized.”

Mr. Bishop growled. “I know. And after all those failures of his. Remember the Summer School Incident?”

He returned to his desk and yanked open a drawer.

“Look, girlies. Today’s your lucky day. Suffice it to say that of all the field tests running right now, Henry’s is the one on my shit list.”

“God, can you like, get to the point!” Helen yelled.

The outburst came from nowhere, and the butterflies fluttered louder at her righteous anger. She sounding a little brattier than she intended to.

Brat. Disobedient brat.

“The guy’s been a thorn in my side for decades. Constantly poaching my best engineers for his team, not contributing a damn thing to our Single and Small Batch jobs. Which we’re damn good at, by the way, thanks to me. So I really don’t want to see his schema for Mass Alterations go public first.”

“Meanwhile I launched a closed beta for a Gacha mobile game last week, and it’s looking real promising. Very addictive, and more importantly, very scalable. Much more scalable than a fucking dress code. That’s where our resources should go.”

Frank Bishop pulled a thumb drive out of his desk and slammed the drawer shut.

“So look. I’m gonna give you a fighting chance. This here’s a kill code. Get it in his computer and it’ll neutralize the whole damn program. If you sluts can manage that, his broadcast screen will clear up everyone who looks at it. Might be a trip though.”

Jeffrey stroked Ali’s hair, and she glared back at him. “Say Frank, you think they’re giving blowjobs yet?” He asked?

“Come on man, we don’t have time for that. We have a 3:00 coming and the conditioning chamber hasn’t been cleaned yet from the 1:30. And it’s a Goddamn Senator’s daughter. Plus those advertising fucks upstairs are late on their payment again. I swear to fucking God.”

Mr. Bishop jammed the thumb drive into Ali’s cleavage and snapped at the door dismissively.

“I’m sure you can show yourselves out. My secretary will be occupied.”

They exited, passing the man in the kitchenette who was now pushing his busty partner’s legs straight to the ceiling.

“Get wet, slave.” The man grumbled, and she simpered back, “Yes, Masterrr….”

Beyond that, Testing Room still moaned with symphonic hums. Wanna go in there, Helen thought again, but the door was locked. They lost track of time jostling the knob, all the while the woman in the kitchen’s moans turned frenzied against squeaking couch springs.

When they finally reached Sue, she was very occupied indeed. She was naked, wearing only her collar and a pair of headphones. Her modest pastel dress was bunched up and discarded like trash, along with her dignity, because she was riding wantonly a dildo mounted to her chair.

“I’m a fuck slave!” She gasped, her head lolling about loosely as she bounced enthusiastically on the shaft. She’d long lost the rhythm of it, taking it into her pussy with impassioned bucking hips. Her titties bounced asynchronously, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

Sweatslick, her abs tightened and her face contorted in obscene pleasure.

“I’m a horny Fuckslut Slavecunt for my— MA-ASTERS!!”

She quaked, tongue falling out of her mouth as she squirted puddles onto her chair.

Right there in the waiting room, a girl with tightly braided hair and a conservative ankle dress sat, too. As Sue screamed and gushed, the new guest slackened in her chair, watching the idle DVD icon creep towards the corner, a bead of drool forming on her lip.

The journey back to Monroe had been difficult.

For one, Ali left her coat at that stupid brainwashing lab, so she had to go in public with her tits spilling out of the skimpiest micro-bra ever. It meant even more eyeballs on her than before, and even more attention to soak up. And make her soaked.

Which she was. Needfully so. She was starting to feel insolent about the whole situation. It wasn’t fair. How was she supposed to fight brainwashing when Boy Attention made her so ooey gooey wet?

And then there was the fact that they were out of lollipops, so both Ali and Helen’s tongues were getting restless. In the back of the bus where they fruitlessly hid from all those stupid men, the temptation to make out like horny teenagers loomed large.

As the bus jostled Ali’s tits, jiggling them in their tight, threadbare holdings, Helen couldn’t help but stare. Her attention, too, was unbearable, and it only ratcheted up the sexual tension between them. Stop loookiiiing! Ali thought impetuously. Or I’m gonna KISS you.

They sucked on each other’s fingers instead.

Ali wasn’t sure how it happened. Ali remembered admiring Helen’s cherry red nails, thinking how they looked like fruity pieces of candy in her lap, and then the next thing she knew, she was pulling them to her mouth and wrapping her lips around Helen’s ring finger.

This isn’t PDA… Ali had told herself. I’m just sucking. Like a candy. But when Ali felt Helen’s wet tongue warmly envelope her index finger back, when she felt the sensation she was giving get returned in kind, she moaned and sucked harder.

At least those boys don’t get to watch us make out, she thought defiantly, taking another of Helen’s fingers into her greedy mouth.

Stepping back onto campus was another thing entirely. Since yesterday, the state of things had devolved further. Though the fall air had long turned brisk, you’d never know it from how girls pranced around in their slutwear, flashing their titties and lifting their skirts playfully to the boys.

Affectionately, they screamed affirmations across the quad.

“You go, sluut!”

“Yeah, Saaaraah you WHOOORE! Wooo!!!!”

And a lot of them were fucking. Pinning each other against benches, walls, and hedges, pumping fingers into their pussies, writhing and giggling to an audience of hungry boys.

The boys were getting handsy. No longer satisfied on the sidelines, they groped the girls, grabbing at tits and ass to fits of girlish laughter. The girls fought back playfully, sticking out their tongues tauntingly as they broke free to continue playing with each other.

An incessantly wet part of Ali was jealous of the brainwashed students and teachers. It looked like they were having so much fun.

They were acting, of course, like BRATS.

BRAT.

After everything they saw at Wheaten Dynamics, that was the one word that Ali couldn’t shake. It lingered in her stomach, like a swirling dance of butterflies. That was what Professor Collins had called her, too, when she sucked his cock. She still felt his hands in her hair as he growled the words, cumming.

“Take it, you disobedient little brat.”

The thumb drive that would save them was still wedged between her tits. But using it under Henry’s nose would be a challenge. They would never get into his office without him there. After hours, it was locked. And during the day, his submissive secretary Agatha would never let them without an appointment. They’d have to do it with him in the room. And that meant needing a distraction.

Use my body. Use my slutty body.

No. Bad idea. Dangerous idea. Ali thought. They had to find another way.

To complicate things further, Henry’s office lied beyond the student center lobby, where the insidious code of conduct waited to mess with their heads even more. Their bodies would never allow them to pass through without looking at it.

On that front, they’d already fucked up majorly. Without even thinking about it, they passed directly through there on the route to Helen’s office. At first, they were distracted by the lobby’s transformation into a debauched den of sin. The dancefloor had expanded to the entire center of the hall, and girls and guys co-mingled there, grinding and swaying and groping to the music.

But then, Helen gasped and halted in place, her eyes widening in a combination of fear and enthrallment. She was looking up, Ali realized, and then her whole being was overwritten with the singular thought, What does it say NOW?

It was stupid, so fucking stupid. Of course there would be new rules since yesterday. And of course they’d be unable to resist looking at them. What were they thinking?

WOMEN FACULTY, this is a reminder that you are PROFESSIONALS. When you come to WORK, please keep your mind off SEX, BOYS, and other SILLY TRIVIALITIES. You are here to be IN CHARGE, not to TURN YOUR BRAIN OFF.

GIRLS, the SAME to YOU. BE SMART. MAKE GOOD CHOICES.

They weren’t thinking. That was the problem. Now more than ever, they needed to MAKE GOOD CHOICES, and they had made a bad one. Just like all the girls on campus were making bad ones by giving guys access to their bodies, teasing them and provoking them to push the boundaries further.

Ali had no idea how long she stood there, drooling on her tits, staring at those stupid words, and thinking about the implications. When she recovered, Helen was drooling too, muttering about how she was a “Stupid… slut-brained… airhead…” and Ali had to drag her out of the booming, sex-charged dance club before she came to.

When they finally arrived to the safety of Helen’s office, the the dead quiet room so LOUD in its silence, Ali slapped the thumb drive on the desk. It was time to get to business. It was time to form a plan. But Helen, distractedly, was primping her hair in the mirror.

“God, my pussy is so wet.” She sighed.

“Sooo wet.” Ali agreed.

Both girls shuddered in pleasure, and then got a little wetter. They had been trying to avoid bringing that up. It was INAPPROPRIATE, especially between a TEACHER and a STUDENT, and doing it played right into Henry’s hands.

But it also relieved stress to acknowledge it. It reminded them that they were in this together, that they weren’t the only one whose cunt was slickened and slippery. And, though it probably wasn’t a GOOD CHOICE, there were far worse ones they could make here in the privacy of Helen’s office.

“Okay, so. Saving the day before we lose our minds.” Ali said, trying to keep her mind ON TOPIC.

She had to be SMART. But that wasn’t a problem. Ali was smart, and Henry couldn’t trick her into being STUPID with reverse psychology like he could the rest.

She imagined Sheena on her soapbox, stamping her little foot, yelling “How DARE he tell us to be SMART! Like, who even CARES about SMARTS!” Her titties would be jiggling with outrage and her wits trickling down her thighs, and meanwhile all her brainpower would be going towards coming up with new ways for the girls to rebel. The girls in the crowd probably all removed their panties as Sheena preached, “Who needs GOOD CHOICES? College is for BAD CHOICES! SLUTTY choices!”

They were, all of them, such brats. But that was the key. Ali had to explain it to Helen, before she lost it.

“The way I see it, we’ve been programmed to be disobedient. Like, the whole protest is built on us acting like… like…”

“Brats.” Helen finished with glassy eyes.

“Exactly!”

Ali’s butterflies danced happily. So Helen had the word in her head, too. Defining their behavior felt like a win. And it was a smart thing to do. Henry’s whole scheme worked because it amplified their impulses to rebel. Despite Ali and Helen being aware of that, those impulses were still there, strong as ever, and they could lead them down the wrong path.

Even now, there were a million bad choices that Ali wanted to make. Like pinning Helen against the wall and kissing her slutty mouth, like peeling those tight pantyhose off her legs and diving into her soaked pussy. But Ali held onto her train of thought, because it was a really, really good idea.

“Disobedience. It’s programmed into our fucking pussies.” Ali said, the excitement growing. “But that’s OKAY. We can BE disobedient! Because what’s more disobedient than foiling Henry’s stupid, sexy plans?”

“Uh huh…” Helen said, rubbing her lips with her thumb. “We were programmed to break the rules. But the game has changed. We know what he’s really trying to do. So whatever that screen says, it won’t affect us. Cause we’ll be putting our rebelliousness into stopping him! Like little brats!”

“Uh huh!” Ali smiled.

The butterflies were an achy swarm. They fluttered up to her chest where they enveloped her beating heart. Something new, she realized, was inside of her, and trying to get out. And it answered to the word BRAT.

“We’re gonna make him, like, so mad.” Ali said.

“SO mad!” Helen repeated. “He deserves it. The big stupid jerk!”

Brat. Disobedient little brat. Slutty little BRAT.

Making Henry mad was an overwhelmingly exciting prospect. Ali tingled from head to toe at the thought of it, her butterflies dancing and spinning and flipping in her chest.

It’s the brainwashing, Ali thought. The BRAT thing was the core of all of it, the impulse that made them want to do the opposite of everything Henry wrote on his board. Making Henry mad is what drove her to put on a skirt in the first place, and here she was letting it consume her. Giving herself to it.

MAKE GOOD CHOICES.

But this was a good idea. She didn’t need to fight it, not when it aligned with their goal of ending Henry’s big, mean, bossy reign of skirts and candy and sex. That would make him maddest of all.

So, closing her eyes, Ali let herself internalize the one thing she knew was malicious mind control.

I’m a disobedient… horny… slutty… BRAT!

She was a BRAT, BRAT, BRAT, BRAT. A naughty, naughty girl who spat in the face of a big, controlling man like Henry. And she knew, in her heart of hearts, that even though he reshaped her mind to be that way, she could beat him with it, too.

And that was kind of funny.

Really funny, in fact. It made her want to… to…

Oh God. Fuck. I’m gonna… Gonna–!!”

Ali, in a moment of sheer panic, tried to hold back what was already too late.

The butterflies exploded out of her in the form of giggles, which poured effortlessly from her throat and lifted with them about a million pounds of stress. She giggled, deliriously, uncontrollably, feeling so silly doing, especially in front of her teacher, but she couldn’t help it. Ali was like, SO excited now, and it felt SO good to laugh and smile about how they were gonna brat up Henry’s life.

“Ali…” Helen said, watching her student succumb to a fit of laughter. “Are you okay?”

But Ali couldn’t stop. “Yeess!” She wheezed through giggles. She was so, so, so okay.

“Ali I think maybe.. something’s wrong…” Helen said, trying to hold back a smile. “Ali stoo-oop!”

To Ali’s delight, Helen’s smile broke wide, and then she was giggling too. “Aliiii!”

The Giggles were infectious, everyone knew that, and Ali was spilling butterfly nets of them all over her teacher. They giggled together, basking in the euphoria of their release, feeling happy, and even briefly forgetting about how fucking painfully horny they were.

“Oooh… okay…” Helen said, collecting herself from the fit of giggles that had just overtaken her.

They’d come out of nowhere.

Or… not exactly nowhere. As Ali outlined her bratty plan, and Helen realized that she was a brat, or at least that Henry had turned her into one, the butterflies in her stomach became erratic, waiting for the barest opportunity to let loose.

So when Ali started giggling, Helen wasn’t that far behind, even if she had tried super hard to stay serious.

And in any case, she felt better now. Much better. Especially now that Ali had a plan. Helen was getting tired of thinking so much.

And after traveling with her student all day, after feeling responsible for every creepy leer that young Ali was subjected to, Helen was tired of being IN CHARGE too. It felt good to TURN HER BRAIN OFF, just for a little bit, and let Ali do the thinking.

She stuck a piece of gum in her mouth and examined herself in the mirror. After a long day, her pantyhose were starting to constrict her, and the way they wrapped her, dark and sleek from waist to toe, made her look so professional and stuffy.

Something about it didn’t square with their plan. “So we set a meeting with Henry. We walk in, totally un-phased by whatever new, dumb rules he throws at us on the way. Then what?”

Use my body. Use my slutty body.

“Distract him!” Ali said. “Show him what hot pieces of ass he turned us into. Make him think he’s SO CLOSE to getting to FUCK us. Make him WANT our pussies SO BAD. It’ll hurt that much more when we plug this drive in and fix everything!”

“Use our bodies…” Helen muttered.

She squatted in front of the mirror and spread her legs ultra-wide, so wide that all of her crotch, adorned in pantyhose and panties, bared itself in the reflection. This is what she had to make Henry want. Her pussy.

Ali nodded spiritedly. “Just for a ’lil bit. To tease him. Like we do with all the boys.”

Teasing boys. That was nothing new. Helen did that all the time now, thanks to stupid Henry. So why did this feel different?

Boys. That was it. She was used to teasing her students, BOYS, who she was IN CHARGE of. But now she had to tease a man. A much older man. She had to make him think he was in control, that he’d won. The pantyhose were entirely the wrong vibe. They screamed AUTHORITY and PROFESSIONALISM. In them, Helen would have a hard time embracing disobedience. Which they needed to. To win.

Yes. For the plan, she absolutely, positively, undoubtedly, had to change clothes.

Abruptly, Helen ripped her pantyhose as easily as tearing tissue paper, and the black hosiery gave way to the whiteness of her inner thighs. Stupid things!

Ali burst into more giggles and fell back on her butt. “Ohmigod, why did you do that!”

“This outfit is like, way too serious, Ali! I look like a grandma.” Helen said, giggling too. Not to mention, her panties were slick, shiny and hopelessly wet. “Can I borrow something of yours?”