The hole in the manor's bordering hedge was exactly where the Sally Wu’s source had said it would be. Sally Wu — town-renowned college coed detective — had been investigating the conglomerate CEO Barbara Jones for the past five weeks. Jones had fingers everywhere, redirecting city funds, dissolving investigations, even cowing her staunchest opponents in the legislature. Jones’ well-oiled machine of corruption, bribery, and blackmail — it just made Sally mad! And tonight, Sally was going to infiltrate the Queenpin’s lair.

She’d gotten a tip off a week ago in her mailbox, supposedly from one of Barbara Jones’ maids. The package contained a plan of the manor, its camera blind spots, and a handwritten collection of computer login details. The letter that came with it convinced Sally that, maid or no, the sender had inside knowledge.

Sally had entered the estates grounds, and now she just had to reach Barbara Jone’s personal study. The second leftmost window to the ground floor drawing room was, as promised, unlocked. With just her index finger, Sally pushed the window open, ready to dart if an alarm rang. The pane swung inwards without a squeak.

It was a narrow window, and Sally was a curvy girl. She started shimmying through sideways. Her pillowy bottom squeezed over the wooden frame, and she had to hold down her breasts with both hands. The tight squeeze wasn’t helped by her thick, mauve wool sweater.

It was a thing she had though — she couldn’t feel comfortable unless she wore this exact outfit. A thick mauve sweater — only a D-cup bra beneath — a bright purple, pleated skirt that stopped at the middle of her thick, tapering thighs, long knee-high socks, and black buckled shoes. The town had seen this outfit many times on the news, whenever she cracked a case against crime rings, insurance scams, etc.

She popped inside the drawing room, and her boobs and bum jiggled now nothing constrained them. Sally Wu wasn’t impressed by the drawing room, even though it was bigger than her dorm room, had medieval armour in each corner, and had paintings on the wall that could pay off her student loans. Sally knew that every flake of gold-leaf on Jones’ artisan lamps had been diverted from a homeless fund.

Jones’ study was upstairs. Sally took off her shoes to avoid thudding down the upper corridor’s wooden floor. The study door was locked, but Sally used the duplicate key that came with her informant’s package.

The study was all mahogany and crimson velvet, bookshelves to the ceiling, filing cabinets here and there, and yet somehow spacious and uncluttered. There on the other side of the room, just in front of the wall-width windows was a desk that looked like it had been carved in the 18th Century, and a computer that looked like it had been made in the 22nd.

Sat on the desk’s leather-cushioned seat, Sally booted up the computer. The computer asked for login details. Sally copied them off the scrap of paper. Sally held her breath until the screen said:

”Welcome”.

Sally cheered, before immediately covering her mouth. She’d hacked in!

”Welcome,” the screen read, and the text faded into a new message:

”You’ve done so well, Sally Wu.”

As her stomach dropped, Sally pushed the chair back, ready to smash through the window behind her. As soon as she lifted her butt from the seat, the screen pulsed, strobed, flashed. Her butt plopped back down on the seat. 

Sally was relaxed. She panicked, but she relaxed. Her brain was in full flight mode, but her muscles were tranquilised. With each pulse, strobe and flash her brain forgot it needed to fly. She tried to look away, but the screen was the only light in the dark room. Soon she forgot why she needed to turn her head away. She forgot she was even sitting there, slightly leant towards the beautiful lights, one arm flopped over the side of the armrest. Her thighs melted apart, and up her skirt, between her plump inner thighs, you could see her plain white panties.

Sally did not — could not — notice the hours pass and the dawn pour through the window behind her. Morning now, the computer’s light was less all-encompassing, but Sally didn’t even know what “looking away” was.

The door to the study clicked open. Sally heard it but the sound meant nothing to her. Barbara Jones stood in the doorway. Her navy blue bathrobe, its silk belt untied and dangling, hung open, her large, firm black breasts half-exposed, and her dark skin still steamy moist from her shower. Her wide mouth with its large, ruddy lips smirked. She lay her steaming mug of coffee on the desk right in front of Sally.

Barbara gently swivelled Sally’s chair left and right. Sally’s body moved, but her dazed face stayed facing the screen.

”I think we’ve left you in the oven long enough,” Barbara whispered.

”Mistress…” It was a nervous, desperate, eager voice from the hallway, just outside the doorway. 

Barbara swung around, her smirk hardening to a sneer, her back straighter, shoulders taller. “Yes, Emma, what is it?”

The maid had her petite hands clasping and unclasping in front of her lap. As she addressed Barbara, she kept her face towards the ground. If Sally’s brains had any thoughts or memories at all, she would have recognised that Emma was a hotshot legislator. Emma had been a viral sensation and a pebble in every billionaire’s shoe. Just five months ago she had almost maneuvered through a law that would cap political donations at half a grand. But, suddenly, her momentum — poof! — vanished. She was still a legislator, still posting viral shorts saying billionaires would know their place, but now she was just making excuses to her base.

”Mistress,” said Emma. “I sent the girl the plan, the map, the letter, the key…” She swallowed and her breath grew quicker.

”And I suppose the little lawmaker demands a treat,” said Barbara.

Emma’s skin prickled. Her mistress owed no one anything.

”Mistress, I would never—“

”Don’t try to take it back,” said Barbara. “You are insatiable! Fine.”

Barbara turned her back to the maid and lifted up her bathrobe above her hips.

”I’ll allow you the privilege,” said Barbara, “of kissing my ass.”

Emma the lawmaker’s knees buckled She crawled, mouth gaping, across the million-dollar rug, to her mistress’ big, firm, black butt. She kneeled before that perfect ass, the ass she’d worshipped ever since Barbara Jones had shown her the glorious light of plutocracy. This billionaire’s bum was worth far more than an uppity pleb like Emma.

Emma should respect the butt, only give it a light peck, but she was overcome with ecstacy. She smooched and smooched Barbara’s ass, still moist from the shower and soap-scented. After five minutes, Barbara dropped her bathrobe on the lawmaker’s head.

”Enough!” She looked down on the kneeling maid. “It’s more than you deserve. You know, I think you’re indulging too much in your little legislator hobby. I have been finding lint on my jackets, and scum in my showers.”

”You’re right, mistress, you’re right.” Emma kowtowed. “I have been neglecting my duties. I will cut down hours at the office—“

”No, you’ve done all you can for me as a legislator. You’re no longer a useful distraction. You are to retire and become my full-time, live-in maid.”

Emma’s cheeks went bright red and she smiled like a puppy. “Oh, mistress, thank you, thank —“

”Is my bed made, you little socialist?

”No, mistress! Sorry, mistress!” Emma scrambled to her feet and scurried out the door, tripping twice. 

Barbara returned to the little detective. Barbara sat on a corner of the desk facing Sally, one leg crossed over the other. Her open bathrobe had fallen back enough that you could see her whole left haunch. This girl detective, who had been interrogating Jones’ employees and snooping in her warehouses, stared saucer-eyed and drooling at Jones’ computer screen.

”Let’s turn this down to a simmer.” Barbara pressed a button on the keyboard. The light show became less overwhelming — slower, dimmer. It was still enough to render even the strongest-willed brat into a suggestible puppy. Barbara didn’t have to worry about the lights getting her. Her R&D had given her contact lenses that simulated severe colour blindness — a weakness in the brainwashing program was that colour blindness impaired it. With the contacts, the world was greyer, but Barbara could watch both the detective brat and the brainwashing screen.

Sally’s mind began to whir with the weaker lights. Thoughts had room to pop up here and there. She even had the brainpower to remember that she was sitting in a chair, in a room, that she was Sally Wu, and that she had come here to —

“Sit back and relax.” Barbara pushed the leant-forward girl, and Sally slouched back in the chair.

Sally was more aware now, but it was like she was watching a movie just before drifting asleep.

”Has my darling niece enjoyed playing on Auntie’s computer?” whispered Barbara.

”Auntie…?” Sally was confused but far too relaxed to panic.

”Yes, your aunt, Barbara Jones, the billionaire. There is no other reason you would be on my computer, in my home, in the dead of night, unless you were my niece.”

Sally had come here to… come here to… 

“Play… on my aunt’s computer…”

”Oh, Sally, ‘aunt’ is so formal! What’s your loving nickname for your favourite aunt?” 

The programming worked best when the subject had a hand in it.

”Um… Baba…” Sally grinned.

”That’s right, Sally. I’m Baba, your favourite aunt, your cool, rich aunt, the aunt you respect and admire. What do you admire most about your Baba?”

There were oh, so many things. There was the… the… bribery? Corruption? Baba had bought a newspaper that was reporting on her…

Sally was squinting, almost grimacing. Barbara knew exactly what was going through the detective’s head.

”And of course, you hate the awful lies that the biased media and naive politicians sling at your Baba. You know every bad story about your Baba is just vindictive slander.”

Yes, everyone was jealous of Sally’s amazing Baba.

”What do you admire most about your Baba?”

It was obvious.

”Baba’s… integrity… She would never… use wicked means to get what she wants.” Sally purred at just how amazing and kind her baba was, and how astronomically lucky Sally was to have her as an aunt. Sally knew — first hand, second hand, third hand — that most billionaires cheated, swindled, and stabbed to get ahead. Not her Baba!

And Sally… Or should I say, ‘Dummy’. That’s my loving nickname for you after all. Compared to your amazing Baba, your wise, mature Baba, you’re just a dumb, college brat, aren’t you.”

”I’m… a dumb, college brat…” Sure, Sally was smart, but she was lucky she had a mature, experienced aunt around to remind her that, at the end of the day, she was just nineteen.

”That’s right, Dummy, my dumb little niece, my little niece who loves to play the big-shot detective. You respect Baba’s wisdom and maturity so much. You feel so privileged when she gives you advice.”

Yes, whenever Baba gave Sally advice, all Sally’s worries and anxiety just cleared up.

“And of course, if your Baba’s advice ever went against your own opinion, or your own little sense of right and wrong… Well, you know that you’re just a dumb little college student, and you know your Baba is a wise, mature, and powerful woman, so what does it mean if you disagree with your Baba’s advice?”

“I’m… wrong…”

“That’s right. You’re dumb, but you’re smart enough to know that Baba is always right.”

Barbara thought that was enough for now. The girl’s eyes were teary and lovelorn towards the computer screen. Barbara pressed a button on the keyboard, and the lightshow vanished, leaving just a plain, old desktop.

Sally’s eyes crinkled slightly. She was totally relaxed but no longer tranquilised. She snuggled deeper into the cushiony office chair before she noticed, out of the corner of her eye –

“Baba!” She tried to sit up, but she’d slouched so far down that every time she pushed herself up, she slid back down.

“Shh… Shh… Dummy, relax.” Barbara stroked Sally’s head. “I know I’ve been very busy at work, so I’m glad you found a way to amuse yourself. But, Dummy, tell me honestly, what were you looking at on Baba’s computer?”

“Lights…” She said it with a sleepy smile, because it was the honest answer… or it felt like the honest answer… but why would she be looking at lights…

“Now, Dummy, I don’t think you should be telling fibs to your Baba. You may be dumb but you’re not that dumb.”

Sally lied to her aunt. “Lights”. A stupid, dumb lie.

“I actually know what you were looking at, Dummy.” Still seated on the edge of the desk, one thigh crossed over the other, Barbara leant down towards Saly, and one of her massive, black breasts dangled down like a water balloon from her open bathrobe. The reddish brown nipple fixated Sally as Barbara said, “You were looking at porn!”

“No!” Sally’s eyes were still on the nipple. “No, I wasn’t–”

“You were looking at porn, Dummy. Don’t lie to Baba.”

“I… yes…” Sally was red, and the back of her neck was hot and prickly. She’d used her cool, amazing, professional aunt’s professional computer to look at porn. She couldn’t even look Baba in the eye.

Barbara watched the curvy college brat squirm in shame. After a whole night of getting her brain melted, Sally would remain very absorbent for the next few hours to any “fact” stated firmly enough, especially any “facts” from her beloved Baba.

Barbara said with smirking, narrow eyes. “It’s perfectly healthy and natural for a girl in the prime of life.”

The shame in Sally’s tummy ebbed away. How lucky she was to have such an understanding, progressive aunt. 

Barbara took the computer mouse and opened the file directory.

“In fact, Dummy,” said Barbara, scanning down a list of video files, “you have the opposite problem. All work and no play make Dummy a dull girl.”

The image preview of the video Barbara settled was a picture of Sally. It was plainly from Sally’ laptop webcam, and her eyes were caught in the moment of rolling up, her teeth biting down on her lower lip. Barbara double-clicked.

It was indeed Sally, in her dorm room lit only by the laptop screen. Her wired earbuds flicked like reins as she twitched and moaned. One hand groped her breast through her sweater, the other was below the desk. Her shoulder pumped and rolled.

“It’s been five months since you last played with yourself,” said Barbara. “And this one was three months before that…”

Without closing the video, Barbara opened another. Sally had her top off, her right breast was trembling and jolting as she gripped her left breast’s hard, pointed nipple.

“And this one was four months before that.” Barbara opened a third.

In it, Sally had positioned the laptop at the bottom of her dorm room bed. The webcam looked right between her raised knees, down her quickly rising and falling tummy. As she lay her sweating back against the headboard, her middle two fingers sloshed in and out of her cunt, breasts bouncing up and down. 

Sally remembered that night clearly. Her roommates hadn’t gotten back from break, and she took advantage of having total privacy.

Three of Sally’s faces blushed, bit their lips, and moaned. Three overlapping, squeaking, squealing girls jiggled in front of Sally. All that time, someone – her Baba – had basically been standing right in front of her as she fingered herself.

“H… How…”

“I installed spyware on all of your devices.”

“What!?” Sally shrieked but her voice quickly dried up.

“Your Baba just wanted to keep an eye on her dumb, little niece. Would you really have wanted to enter college life without your aunt knowing every little thing you did?”

“No…” said Sally. “You’re… right… But…” Sally was going to say something about privacy, but even the thought of saying it made her feel like an ungrateful brat. Sally knew how lucky she was to get her Baba’s advice, and how could her Baba give advice if she didn’t know every little detail of Sally’s life. It was Sally’s privilege to have such an attentive aunt who cared enough to watch her diddle herself. “Thank you, Baba.” 

In reality, Barbara had installed the spyware when she’d learned of the detective’s snooping. Sally wasn’t as sneaky as she thought. Barbara could have led Sally to her home and her brainwashing hardware many times in the past months, but Barbara enjoyed watching the brat chase every single false lead she fed her.

Sally stared at the edge of the desk, redder and redder, as the three recordings moaned louder and louder. “Thank you for not telling me you put spyware on my… You knew I’d just feel embarrassed–”

“Oh! Fuck! Oh! Sweet cunt licking Jesus, fuck me!”

The Sally in the oldest recording had her fingers deep in her cunt, the other hand gripping the headboard, biting her lips, eyes fluttering, as her body shivered, cumming. 

Sally just kept staring at the woodgrains in Barbara’s desk. Barbara just gazed at the detective girl, shivering in shame.

“A good girl like you needs to blow off steam,” said Barbara. “Burnout’s such a buzzword with your generation. Do you think you can be a straight-A student and girl detective, day in, day out, without crashing?”

Baba was right. Sally’s recent course load had her overeating, and she’d been biting her nails about her current investigation into… into… who? 

Barbara poured her gaze down Sally, from the fluffy collar of her sweater to the hem of her pleated skirt.

“Stand up, Dummy.”

It took Sally a bit to get out of the deep, comfortable chair because her legs were so heavy from having sat down most of the night. Barbara slid off the edge of the desk and continued to look Sally up and down.

“Um…” Sally’s two remaining recordings were moaning harder and harder. “C-could we close those now…”

“Hmm? Oh, silly me.” Barbara, leisurely, bent over the desk, grasped the mouch and inched the cursor towards the x-buttons. Barbara overshot and undershot the x-button, one time, two times, three, so many times that a second Sally had time to cum. Of course, Sally wasn’t a big brat who would tell her aunt to hurry the fuck up.

When Barbara closed the last video, she grasped Sally’s shaking hands and led her to the centre of the room. Barbara circled Sally. Sally tried to keep eye contact, but was told to just stay right in place. Barbara held on hand up to her chin as she scrutinised Sally's outfit. A thick mauve sweater, purple, pleated skirt, thigh-high socks, and shiny, black, buckled shoes. Cute. Quaint.

Barbara knew it wouldn’t take too much to hurl this goody-two-shoes brat outside her comfort zone.

“Lift up your skirt.”

“Pardon?”

“I need to see your panties.”

Sally gripped her skirt’s hem, hands clenching and unclenching the fabric.

“Well, go on, Dummy.”

She lifted her skirt half-way.

“Come now, Dummy, haven’t I just seen you in a far more embarrassing position?”

Sally lifted her skirt up as high as it would go. She stared at the bookshelf, breathing short and sharp through her nose, as Barbara pursed her lips at Sally’s white panties. They really were plain. Clean was all you could say for them.

“Lift up your sweater – NO! Don’t drop your skirt. Bra and panties are a set.”

Sally had her skirt lifted to just below her breasts, and her sweater bunched up under her chin. She was cold down her bare ribs and belly. Barbara appraised Sally’s D-cups, her cleavage, and her oh, so boring white bra.

“This won’t do,” said Barbara. “Take it all off.”

Barbara would have no ifs, ands, or buts from Sally. Eventually, Sally’s sweater, skirt, bra, panties, socks and shoes lay around her feet. She squished one arm over her nipples, and slid the other hand down over her shaved cunt. Even her breasts blushed.

“You need to let loose, and you can’t let loose looking like that.” From one of the hip-height pouches in her bathrobe, Barbara took out a phone and made a call. “Come to my study.”

In just five minutes, there were frantic footfalls in the corridor. In the doorway was a woman, lean, with short, greying hair, wearing only a light-pink camisole.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, mistress.” The woman carried into the room a little briefcase. “I was sleeping and had to get my equipment.”

If Sally cared about fashion, she would have recognised Dorothea. She was a fashion designer featured in all the top magazines. Recently, she’d shocked the fashion world. After publicly condemning how Barbara Jones’ fashion line used sweatshop labour, Dorothea suddenly accepted a role as Barbara’s lead designer and live-in tailor.

Barbara snapped her fingers. “Take my niece’s measurements.” Her tone softened as she looked at naked, shivering Sally. “I need my darling, straight-A, abstemious niece outfitted like a bimbo slut tonight.”

“Tonight?” said Dorothea. “But you’re fall line–”

“Whatever it is, delay it. Your only priority is making my niece a bubbly whore.”

“Why… do I need to look like a… wh… who…”

“You really are a dumb-dumb, my darling Dummy,” said Barbara. “Do you think a nineteen-year-old can go clubbing looking like a librarian.”

“But… I don’t really like clubs–EEP!” Sally yelped when Dorothea pressed the cold tape measure against her naked thigh.

“You need to blow off steam, Dummy, so you need to go clubbing. To go clubbing, you need to look like a bimbo slut.”

That made… sense… Sally was lucky her aunt was there to give her advice. Never in a million years would she have thought of dressing like a slut and going clubbing.

“Now, masturbate.”

By now Sally realised that she wasn’t mishearing anything her Baba said. Whenever Baba said something outrag– something a bit odd, Sally knew Baba had really said it.

Her hand was already covering her shaved cunt. She just slipped a shy finger between her lips. She was dry. She rubbed a little, up and down, trying to get moist but… but… it was no use.

Dorothea paid close, unerring attention to her tape measure as the girl masturbated.

“Why do I need to masturbate, Baba?” Sally asked. Her finger often slipped out from between her dry labia.

“Because you are a very smart girl… for an undergrad I mean. You have the biggest brain of all the college students I know. You’re almost as smart as one of my graduate hires.”

Sally’s eyes glowed. She had almost forgotten there was a middle-aged fashion designer trying to ignore her masturbating.

“But to let loose, Dummy, you need to be really dumb. Not just dumber than your wise, mature aunt, but really, very dumb. A slutty little bimbo. There needs to be only one thing in that big, big brain of yours – your moist, sopping, hot cunt.”

That made perfect sense. Sally kept playing with herself, willing herself to get wet… but she just wasn’t feeling. She moved her finger faster, lighter, swirlier, but she just wasn’t getting horny.

Barbra could see the detective was having trouble. Barbara strolled to Sally’s scattered clothes. She prodded the skirt with her dark toes until she found a hard, rectangular lump – Sally’ notebook in her skirt pocket.

“Detective’s Diary, the night of February 23,” Barbara read out loud. “Infiltrated Barbara Jones’ warehouse. Workers get a bare-bottom paddling if late to work.” Barbara flicked her eyes towards Sally. “Now, why would you be writing such awful things about your Baba?”

Sally’s pussy somehow got even drier. “I… I…” Why would she write such awful lies about her Baba. Yes, the media lied about Baba, politicians lied, all her dumb, college friends lied about Baba, but shouldn’t Sally know better?

“I know why, Dummy.”

Oh, please, Baba, say why.

Barbara snapped the notebook shut and waved it in Sally’s face. “These are your fantasies.” Sally was confused so Barbara said it more firmly. “You get off imagining your kind, generous, philanthropic Baba is actually a cruel billionaire bitch.”

“I’m so sorry, Baba!” It was awful. Her pussy was already soaking just thinking of her Baba forcing her warehouse workers to toil eighteen hour days. And sending a union-breaker to get her workers to vote against their own interests! Oh, her fingers slipped right in! But it was shameful, shameful, that thinking of her beloved Baba doing these things made her horny.

“It’s entirely normal and healthy to have sexual fantasies, Dummy,” said Barbara. “I’ve known for quite a while. I’ve seen you zoning out when you talk to me, and I know you're fantasising about me doing something dastardly to my underlings.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“I’m complimented! So long as you know the difference between your dirty, little fantasies and reality.”

Barbara picked up her phone again. “Come here. Now!”

In a few minutes, Emma was panting at the door.

“Yes, mistress?” She glanced at the naked masturbating Sally but immediately returned her attention to her mistress. 

Barbara pretended Emma wasn’t even there and said to Sally, “Sometimes you get so caught up in your fantasies that they can feel so real. Part of you might even think they’re really happening. Emma! Show me your tits.”

Emma obeyed as quickly as possible, but the maid uniform was unwieldy. She fumbled with the buttons every time Barbara barked at her impatiently. Eventually the top of the one-piece dress hung down from her hips.

“Bra off!”

As Emma removed her bra, Barbara turned to Sally and smiled, “But of course, you know I would never abuse my underlings, Dummy. Hands behind your head, Emma!”

Emma clasped her hands together at the back of her head. Barbara slapped Emma’s tits. Emma shrieked. Sally moaned. Barbara slapped Emma’s tits harder, from right to left, left to right, up and down. She twisted Emma’s nipples, and she squished her reddening boobs together.

Sally’s fingers plunged into her loosening, warm, moist cunt. Her beloved Baba had told her it was fine, but she still felt guilty as she fantasised about Baba slapping her maid’s tits.

“Admit it, Emma, admit you deserve this. Admit that uppity socialists deserve to be billionaire’s slaves.”

“Yes! Jesus! Yes, I deserve – OWW! – I’m a dumb, naive socialist! Shit! I need to be a billionaire’s slave!” 

Emma’s tits were rosy red and Sally’s whole hand was soaked in arousal. Her two middle fingers pistoned in and out of her cunt as she fantasised about her aunt doing something she would never do.

Barbara took her now lukewarm mug of coffee and poured it down Emma’s tender tits. Sally was so close to coming. She was almost there, just a little more–

Dorothea pulled Sally’s arm up to measure her.

“Oh, please!” she mewled.

“Emma, take a shower, You’re filthy.” After Emma was darted away, her coffee-sodden tits leaving coffee stains on the floor behind her, Barbara said to Sally. “I should have said before, Dummy, masturbate, but don’t cum. Your brain’s not going to fill up with sex if you cum now. You only get to cum when your Baba tells you to.”

Barbara came right up to Sally, her breasts squishing against Sally’s collar bone. Barabara bent her knees a little and thrust her long, slim fingers into Sally’s cunt, slowly, teasingly. “Trust me. You’ll become ever dumber than you are now, so delightfully dumb.”

Sally pressed her hot forehead into Barbara’s shoulder, moaning as those fingers slowly swirled around her canal. Sally was so lucky to have such a wise, mature aunt like Baba.