I had done some thinking. Carrie had been her usual self until she had gone to a feminist meeting. I couldn’t imagine those feminists recommending that girlfriends please boyfriends. They were all about girlfriends exploiting boyfriends. Someone else must have been convinced Carrie to do this. Someone else who had been at this feminist meeting. Carrie had given me no indication of who had convinced her to do this.

I couldn’t help but notice something strange. This situation sounded like a setup for a mind control story. I liked erotic mind control stories. Controlling a woman’s mind was a turn-on for me. They were all fantasies, though, weren’t they? Weren’t they? I had always thought so.

Yet Carrie’s change was more than unexpected. It was unexplainable. Someone had convinced Carrie to radically change her attitudes at the feminist meeting. Yet she acted as if this was her own idea. What if mind control wasn’t fiction? Maybe a hypnotist had snuck in and secretly created this compulsion in Carrie. I wondered why it would happen at a feminist meeting. The answer seemed obvious: What if someone didn’t like what modern feminists stood for? If true, maybe some other attendees were also affected. I didn’t know what was going on. I knew I liked the results in Carrie. I silently thanked whoever had changed Carrie.

Friday afternoon we spent some time clothes shopping. She needed my approval for new clothes. I might never have another chance at making such decisions. I decided to be demanding before she obtained my approval. It took a while. She slowly learned to abandon her old style. She was now going to be showing a lot more skin. Her new skirts and dresses had hemlines no more than halfway down her thigh. Some were daring. Every top showed at least some of her breasts. She got several thongs in bright neon colors. The thongs would be obvious every time she flashed someone. Lacy push-up bras gave support while hiding little more than her nipples.

We made a special trip for the clothes she would wear to bed. I continuously rejected her proposals. She eventually got two new black nighties that covered little of her body. Their lace made it obvious they were for viewing, not for comfort. Their tops generously exposed most of her breasts and hardly covered any of her back. Their hemlines were barely below her ass.

We finally arrived back at her house. It was empty again. I asked her to try on one of her new outfits. I sat down in the basement family room couch. She changed in her bedroom. She returned to me showing off her assets. They were lovely assets. Her breasts poked out of the V-neck black top. A push-up bra emphasized her large breasts further. Her legs looked stellar, revealed by a short pleated miniskirt. When she twirled, her neon-blue thong made a brief appearance. The thong left her bare butt exposed.

I looked at her ravenously. “How about a little strip tease?”

She looked at me. She seemed to have a brief mental battle with herself.

She said, “I like you. I like pleasing you. I don’t have to take off my clothes for you.”

Fair enough. Her rules didn’t require it.

“Fine, then come sit down next to me. I really want to kiss you.”

She knew I could remove her clothing, step by step. She seemed conflicted. She eventually couldn’t resist my command. She sat down. We kissed. I slowly removed her clothing. Soon she was nude and I was hard. I stroked her nude body all over. I was fully clothed. The contrast in clothing suggested a fundamental difference in power.

After some time of me stroking her nude body, I pointed at the ground. She choked back a response. She wordlessly knelt in front of me. She pulled out my cock and once again gave me a fine blowjob. I spilled my seed into her mouth. She swallowed every drop, grimacing while she did.

Once I had recovered, I looked down at her.

“Thank you, that felt wonderful! Still, you’re my girlfriend. I didn’t like that squeamish look you wore while you were making me happy. I’d love it if you were enthusiastic about physical intimacy with me when we have it.”

She thought about it. She was obviously conflicted. I clearly needed to encourage this, so I kept going.

“It would really please me if you did.”

She looked up in self-debate. After a few moments she walked back to her bedroom.

I called out to her, “If you’re going to write down a rule, bring the list out and let’s talk about it first.”

She returned, list in hand. She knelt back down in front of me, holding the list and a pen. She said, “How about that I will always be enthusiastic about blow jobs?”

“That seems really narrow. Why limit your enthusiasm to only that?”

She paused in internal self-debate. “Okay, how about that I always be enthusiastic for any physical intimacy with you?”

“That sounds great!”

She wrote her new rule down in the list:

16. I will always be enthusiastic about physical intimacy with him.

I liked where this was going. I looked down at her nubile body. She was a delight to look at. I could see that her pussy was covered in hair, something I didn’t prefer. She often had hair stubble under her armpits and on her legs. If she was going to be naked often with me, I had preferences.

I said, “I love how your body looks, but I don’t like the hair that’s under your armpits, on your legs, or on your pussy. Would you be willing to keep yourself shaved smooth?”

She shifted, her exposed nipples jiggling in response. “Um, um, okay.” She wrote down:

17. I will keep my armpits, legs, and pussy shaved smooth.

This was going to be fun.