Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off. 

- Coco Chanel

"You're coming tonight, love."

Erin winced, having hoped to wordlessly bow out of the dusty theatre once rehearsals were done. She should have predicted that her peers were wise to her designs, the mouse in a den of cats. Erin felt anything but mousy, however, bulky if anything. Her body had always been a source of discomfort for her, no matter how many people would assure her she was wrong. In a sense, she was more comfortable around her haughty colleagues, who knew their own beauty like the back of their hand and never spared a second to contemplate Erin's figure. To be so self-absorbed seemed, in a way, freeing. At least, Erin's envy told her as much. 

"Er, was that a question?" A part of her knew that by simply acknowledging the other, she had sealed her own fate. Eleanor was just one of those types. When you treat your life as the starring role in an excessively cast stage play, it's simply a given that you get your own way. Were Erin to say she was skipping tonight; Eleanor would dismiss her rejection effortlessly. Were Erin to simply not show up, she could be ostracized. Ultimately, neither option seemed viable anyway, because Erin really wanted to go. At the end of the day, she could claim to be different to her peers and even sneer, but the longing to belong was a powerful one. Wait, was that a line from the show? This is not only Erin's first musical, but her first starring role. Her nerves were eating away at her, but she resonated with the lead more than any other and was miraculously given it to learn. Since rehearsals started up, Erin's usually quiet thoughts and gentle self-critique had become loud enough to drown out her confident, professional side. Sure, she was classically trained and had almost four years of professional experience now, but her internal monologue still read like that of an insecure teenager. Am I pretty enough? Are the others laughing at me behind the curtain? Can I really wear something so extravagant? 

Blink. Erin was resummoned into the empty hall by a waving hand. That's embarrassing... she had been spacing out more and more frequently, lost helplessly in her thoughts. Nerves were clearly getting to her. "So sorry! What did you say, Eleanor?"

The woman before her was a dazzling sight to behold, so much so that Erin had difficulty seeing this person as a supporting character. The moment Eleanor steps onto the stage, how can she not expect all eyes to leave herself for the remainder of the show? Her hair was radiant blonde, spiralling down in perfect curls. Erin's hair was a dull hazel, long and straight. Eleanor's figure looked cut straight out of a fashion magazine, everything she wears serves to accentuate her naturally perfect form. Erins figure, on the other hand, had a meek slump and a rounder shape. Where Eleanor's voluptuousness was perfectly supported with a tight corset and eye-catching dress, Erin's heavy chest just seemed to spill into her clothes and her thighs would seem to ripple with every step she took. Eleanor was prim and perfect, Erin was plain and pudgy. 

"There you go again, off in your head, this is why we need to get you out love." Eleanor was visibly amused, painted red lips curled into an impossibly reflective smirk, long eyelashes lowering into a knowing wink. "You're right on the money, I'm not asking, I'm telling. Come dressed to impress, okay hon?" The tall blonde blew a kiss, Erin was never quite sure if her oldest colleague was flirting with her or if she simply had a flair for the dramatic. Theatre people can be strange creatures, Erin herself was the exception, she thought privately with a wry grin.

"Very well, if I must... I mean, sounds like fun. But can we not drink quite so much this time, Elle?" She was conscious at all times to present herself as affable, lest she be the target of sorority level hazing. 

"Oh? What's wrong, are you watching your figure now that you're the star of the show?" Was Eleanor showing her mean streak? "Because you needn't worry your pretty head about a thing, silly, a stunner like you isn't going to ruin herself over a few glasses of champagne. Live a little, c'mon!" 

"Oh uhm..." Erin was taken aback, the idea of being complemented on her looks by the elegant and sumptuous Eleanor Lafite was more than she could take. Was the woman mocking her? "Thanks but, that's not what I meant. Last time we went out, I think I drank too much. My head was all foggy and I barely remember a thing, so I might stick to the one this time haha..." 

Eleanor's eyes sharpened and her practised smile broke into a genuine grin. Long, slender fingers with scarlet nails extended towards Erin and traced up her forearm. "You're soft, Erin!" 

"E-excuse me?" 

"Only a softie has one, but we love you for it. Sounds a plan, love, so seven sharp alright? In your best, on my doorstep." 

Erin rolled her eyes, pulling her arm away and nodding reluctantly. Where is she going to find a fashionable outfit to fit in with the sort of crowd Eleanor attracts? Maybe she could lift something from the costume room in the back?

"Oh and one more thing, before I let you go!" 

Eleanor stepped closer, looking down into the eyes of her startled colleague. Like a deer in headlights, or a bewitched thrall in their master's embrace. 

"Hmm?" Erin could barely move, let alone speak, feeling powerless and lethargic. Something in Eleanor's perfume made her head cloud, like it had the last night they went out together. The one where Erin had drunk so much she blacked out, even though she only remembered ordering a single glass of wine. They say one leads to another, but Erin was not the type to lose herself in the bottom of a bottle.

"Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off."

For some strange reason, Erin felt the importance of these words hit her like an epiphany, but then the feeling passed and was replaced by an incredulous stare. Why was Eleanor standing so close just to give her fashion tips? Because of her height, if Erin were to trip and fall she would be cushioning her face deep into the other's chest. Wait, what a crass thing to imagine! Get it together Erin, she thought to herself bashfully.

"Coco Chanel. Words to live by, you always overdress and cover up, it's starting to get depressing. Wouldn't hurt to show some shoulders or something, now would it?"

"I... guess not, I'm just not sure if I have the uh, shape... to pull off some outfits."

Eleanor rolled her eyes dramatically and turned on her heels to leave. "How about another Chanel? Dress shabbily and they remember the dress, dress impeccably and they remember the woman. It's not about whether you fit the clothes, love, but if the clothes fit you. Sometimes less is more, gals like me need something expensive to match our looks but you can draw the eye in ways I could only dream of." The older woman's eyes flicked up and down, seeing Erin as a present wrapped in ill-fitting coverings, held together by an untwining ribbon. Tonight would be the night. "That's why you're the star."

Without having the check, Erin could tell her face had quickly turned red. She could feel the heat on her cheeks, the unsteady breathing. It wasn't like she was crushing on the charming and attractive woman speaking such honeyed words about her appearance. It was more than that, like the woman's words had taken on an almost religious quality, like holy scripture. Despite her usual protests against any form of complement, she found herself too enamoured by those words to disagree this time. 

"Seven o'clock, my doorstep. There'll be a taxi to pick us up."

"Where are we going?"

"Less questions, just say you'll be there."

Erin chewed the inside of her cheek, before nodding, feeling powerless to resist the magnetism that Eleanor seems to wield like a social weapon. She really was the protagonist of her story, able to get her way in any given situation, but Erin was still blushing at being called the star. 

"You'll be there."

"I'll be there!"

"Wasn't a question, it's settled."

Oh, that was the same thing she had said at the beginning of the conversation, when Erin was spacing out. 

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck. What do I wear, what do I wear?" Erin was trying not to bite her nails, which she had just finished painting a light shade of pink. Her room was a mess of clothes, strewn over her bed and even the floor. Eleanor's instructions, no, suggestions... had been a little cryptic to say the least. The words of encouragement were like butter in her ears during their friendly chat, but now that she actually has to make herself presentable Erin began to realise that she had very little to actually go off. Body image affirmations and quotes from a late French fashion designer were enough to throw the woman's usual defeatist attitude to dressing out the window. If she disappointed Eleanor and her cronies, it could spell disaster. She may even lose her dream role, if not from their intervention, then from an overload of nerves and shame. As she paced back and forth in the nude, torturing herself over such a privileged concern, it slowly dawned on Erin that she may be just as self-absorbed as the rest. Fuck it, she thought, as she began to trial several combinations of cloth before her oversized bedroom mirror. 

The less skin the better, obviously. Form fitting? No thanks! Cleavage is far too much; my chest is hard enough to hide as it is! Puffy shoulders to hide how broad hers look compared to her slender, shapely co-workers. A large coat should keep her warm outside, while convenient for hiding in at the same time. Erin could walk in heels, but she couldn't bear to be seen doing so, not with her legs and flat feet. No, I would be better off in some comfortable and unassuming slip-ons instead!

Once Erin was finally dressed, she took a look in the mirror and remembered her pleasant conversation with Eleanor earlier in the day. She hated to admit it, but her co-star was completely right, she had covered herself up until the shape of Erin was an enigma none could parse with the naked eye. She sighed, eyes crawling up and down the vague semblance of a woman's figure before a softly spoken sentence echoed in her ear like a whisper in the room. 

"Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off."

Without even thinking, Erin watched herself shake off the oversized coat and smiled a little more confidently. She didn't need to lug that heavy thing around all night, especially given how mild it is outside. This is fine, she thought contently, admiring the restraint on her make-up. Just a little eye shadow, a dash of foundation and a lip gloss all too similar to the one worn by Eleanor. Erin usually only wore aftershave, out of pure function, but today had elected to open the bottle of perfume her mother had bought her for her birthday the year before.

All set, then. Feeling her nerves settling after following Coco's guidance, Erin exited her bedroom and made for the staircase. She began to descend the stairs carefully, before noticing what was sitting on the corner of the windowsill halfway down. A mirror reflected Erin's current state of dress and something seemed to click in her mind, like the snapping of fingers at a hypnosis show. Had she ever seen live hypnosis? For some strange reason, she was sure that she had, but failed to place the memory. 

"Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off."

With another automatic shrug of conformity, Erin found it so easy to remove the wide brimmed dress hat from her head and place it down beside the mirror. Had she more time to get ready, Erin would have made her plain, light brown hair flashier and more presentable, but in lieu of that she deigned simply to hide it. Strangely, however, she can now see a more naturally pretty side to her hair than she had before. Sure, Eleanor and her friends had perfect hair that looked expensive to maintain and colour, but Erin's was unapologetically her. 

Again, she continued on her way out of the house without really thinking about her sudden last-minute decisions, why should she dwell when they were obviously the right call? She would descend the second half of the stairs without a care before reaching the bottom and facing an unfamiliar set of eyes. They were, in fact, her own eyes staring back at her. Erin usually avoided looking into mirrors for too long, her eyes would cringe with displeasure at the times she had. These eyes, however, were calm and accepting. She knew what she had to do, as her legs guided her closer to the circular mirror hanging opposite the stairs. 

"Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off."

What was she thinking when she put these flats on? They look so plain and ugly, no wonder she barely had any arches. Erin grimaced at the insults to fashion hugging her feet, slipping them off by the shoe cupboard in front of her and bending over to hide them from sight inside the unit. She looked down and flexed her toes within the nylon, glad that she didn't spend all that time painting her nails just to stash them away in bargain bin shoes. Still, the red was a little hard to see from within her stockings...

Suddenly, Erin felt something soft brushing past her legs. Her cat ran past her into the kitchen, reminding her to feed the poor thing before leaving him to his own devices. With a smile, she stepped into the kitchen and prepared her beloved pet for a night of free reign, checking her make-up once more in the magnetic mirror on her refrigerator. Despite avoiding mirrors most her life, she was an actor at heart and had at least one in every room.

"Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off."

An overly modest dress fell into a heap on the kitchen floor and Erin rolled back her shoulders, enjoying the freedom of the literal weight off of them. Not only that, but Erin also now felt like her true beauty was beginning to show, dressed in just her underwear. This was of course, her most expensive set, the only lace in her wardrobe and the only lingerie she owned in general. The bra was very clearly strained, this had been bought as a gift and proved a tight squeeze for the spillage that Erin knew as breasts. She was once told, rather crudely, that guys love fat tits. Erin really didn't care what guys loved; they didn't have to carry them around. More than that, they wanted Erin's bust on a skinny girl, like something out of a comic book. It wasn't unheard of, to be fair, with implants usually. Fake breasts were often firmer and rounder like two beach balls cosying up together, while Erin's poured out like heavy jugs of flesh. Her large areolas were only half covered by the lace, which was semi-transparent in itself. Meanwhile, downstairs was another story. While she had thick thighs, Erin was definitely top heavy at a glance, and fit into the lace panties just fine. The black lace at the front just barely showed the short pubic hair around her labia, which was more of a returning stubble from when she was last convinced to shave... an online pornographic film had made her self-conscious, she had been viewing it for research. The lingerie also came with a lace garter belt and matching hosiery. Obviously, Erin had no intention of showing any of this when she chose to wear it, but Eleanor had told her to wear her best. Erin was simply acting as instructed.

Instructions she would continue to follow upon exiting the kitchen and glancing back at the round mirror by the shoe cupboard. Deja vu, anyone?

"Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off."

You know, she really didn't see the need for a garter belt. Erin knew that her thighs were on the larger side, so those stockings really didn't need the help staying up. Off it goes, falling to the ground around the woman's feet once she has it unclipped. Another victim of Coco Mademoiselle. Wait, that's what perfume Eleanor had been wearing. The one that made Erin feel light-headed and receptive. One of the few disjointed recollections of the night she no longer remembered. She was meant to have drunk so much she blacked out, yet in place of a hangover Erin awoke refreshed and invigored. Carrying the faint scent of Coco Mademoiselle.

"Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off."

Huh? Oh, Erin had been spacing out again in front of the mirror. Once she remembered she had places to be besides her thoughts, she dismissed her disquieting conspiracies in an effort to make the agreed meeting time. However, the first thing she registered once she snapped out of her subconscious was the same mirror that had already claimed two articles of clothing. That's okay, it was making her outfit better after all. Erin was more than willing to follow instructions yet again and removed her left stocking, sliding it down her smooth leg until letting it drop beside the discarded garter. 

Now where was she? So wrapped up in her head, what a dolt. Fortunately, Erin had anticipated a healthy measure of clumsiness and accounted for it in the time she gave herself. She was still more than set to reach Eleanor's place by the agreed time, seven o'clock sharp. Of course, the woman still has to leave her house by traversing the landing hallway. Only 15 feet from the front door of her home, how many more mirrors could there be?

"Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off."

The right stocking's departure was barely even registered by Erin, who tried arching her back in the rectangular framed mirror by the coatrack. Her chest jutted out even more like that, but at a much more attractive angle. It made her look confident, instead of retracting into a meek shell like she usually would. The only real obstacle was the unwieldy bra, which felt tight against her back and squished her breasts into an ugly shape. Erin knew there was a quick solution to this problem. Automatically, she reached for the compact pocket mirror before remembering she had removed her dress. With a light giggle, she made her way back to the kitchen and rummaged through her dress pocket before flipping out the tiny mirror. 

"Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off."

There. The restrictive bra is gone! Good riddance to bad rubbish, it may have been sexually gratifying and expensive, but Erin really didn't need the hindrance of lace impeding her natural beauty. She felt soft and light, a hand riding up her body as she moved to stand up from her crouched stance.

"Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off."

The mirror on the fridge door, in a shocking turn of events, had not budged an inch since Erin last saw her face through it. The lace panties fell down onto the bunched-up dress below, a bead of dew pressed damp into the front. Something about following instructions and liberating her outfit had the woman just a little flush. A dream she had flashed into her mind: Eleanor had her backed up against the wall of a cabaret well past closing time, Coco Mademoiselle filling up her nostrils with each deep inhale. It was strange, how Eleanor whispered in a hushed, husky tone, directly into Erin's ear. Like velvet slipping into her mind, each word was accentuated by a breath of hot air tickling the inside of her ears. Elle would alternate between them, around and around, spinning Erin's thoughts around until they marched to the beat of Miss Lafite's drum. How did they get to be there, against the wall of the empty nightclub? That part was not covered in the dream, because it was of little importance. All she knew was that the Eleanor in her dream had done something to her before their alone time, something to make her compliant and spacey. Be it slipping something into her drink, or maybe the easy-to-follow words she spoke through the night, making her so simple to listen to. Maybe it was the doublespeak, the rhythmic taps, or perhaps the glitter on her dress which swished and swayed this way and that way and--- 

Maybe it was simply Coco Mademoiselle. Who can say.

It was just a dream, wasn't it?

Eleanor never really made her focus on those sharp eyes until she could only think to follow and obey. That sort of thing is reserved for movies, slash fiction and sexually confusing dreams. 

...

Erin let out an airy sigh as she headed back out into the landing of her house one final time, eyes grazing the hallway mirror to find a perfect fit. Nothing left to take off. Perfect. 

Eleanor perked up at the sound of her doorbell ringing, excusing herself from the anecdote she was telling the small group in her living room and sauntering over to the front door. The chic thespian checked her wristwatch before opening the door, seven o'clock sharp. Her star really takes orders seriously, she thought with a wicked grin. The door swung open, and Eleanor was greeted with the sight of full-frontal nudity. Erin only lived a street over, so fortunately she had not travelled far in this state. Still, the woman had not intended for things to have moved this quickly! Sure, she planned to have Erin completely comfortable in her own skin (and at Eleanor's feet) by the end of the night, but the younger woman had really outdone herself. 

For her part, Erin simply gave a carefree smile from the doorstep and the occasional involuntary shiver. Once she saw her colleague's eyes begin to widen, she wondered if she had messed up her make-up. When she reached for the compact mirror to check, once again, she erupted into a dreamy giggle and remembered she wasn't wearing her dress. Erin was aware that she was naked, but it just seemed like the most normal thing in the world to her. Eleanor wanted her at her best, and this was clearly it. Dress shabbily and they remember the dress, dress impeccably and they remember the woman. Everybody would remember her tonight; she was sure of it.

"Oh my... we best get you inside, love. The taxi will be here soon, Limousine, I should say." Eleanor stepped out of her doorway with the click of a heel and placed her hands over Erin's cool shoulders. "We can get you warmed up till then, kay?" 

The familiar fragrance worn by Eleanor went straight to Erin's head, returning her to a dreamlike stupor. "...kay..."

Most living rooms or lounges in a person's home would arrange the sofas in a line or right angle to face a television set. Eleanor's home was an exception, live performance and hearty discussion proved far more entertaining to her than watching people inside a screen ever could. As such, her living room was laid out with two long sofas positioned to face one another, though it appeared that the second sofa had been against the leftmost wall until recently. Eleanor's friends had gathered on one side of the room, adorning the sofa like a peanut gallery while the opposite sofa had been cleared out entirely. Erin was guided to take a seat in the centre of the empty couch, lowering her weight onto it and sinking into the cool synthetic leather. Her posture had retracted a little due to the unfamiliar faces, feet close together with just a slither of a gap between her legs. Eyes rolled over every inch of skin, unashamedly enjoying her nudity, murmuring between themselves. A few moments of this went by, Erin a little confused but too comfortable to overthink it, before somebody from the crowd spoke up.

"Hey Erin, relax. You're stiff as a board, get comfy! Elle was just telling us about the new play, er, musical?" Their voice was laced with an emotion Erin struggled to place, even as a professionally trained actor. Not amusement... excitement? Disbelief, maybe. It clung to their words like a fragrant perfume wafting over to her side of the room. 

Her posture relaxed and she laid back against the sofa cushions, her legs widening to fill the room while not registering the newfound view the party guests have of her pretty pink labia. "Well, yes, it's new for both of us, we've done a little singing in past performances but the amount and craft here is on another level. I think I can speak for everyone when I say we're just a little daunted! Just a little..." Erin found herself getting comfortable now that they're talking about the show, crossing her arms under her chest, heavy breasts pushed up into the air and billowing over her arms with a jaunty bounce. The guests appear mesmerised, Erin was shocked at how interested they were in her show.

Eleanor swayed her hips as she re-entered the room with a tray of drinks, handing them out before planting down on the centre of her side's sofa and bouncing her leg over the other. "Erin, love, you look drop-dead gorgeous in that. Why don't you give us a twirl, hmm?" 

"Oh, sure." Erin was slightly annoyed, having just gotten comfortable, but she likes doing what Elle suggests. With some effort, the woman rose to her feet from the now warm seat and gave the crowd a curt little spin. She was pleased with her outfit, so was happy to show it off.

"How did you fall upon such a bold and inspired look, Erin dear?" One of Eleanor's cronies choked on their drink after she asked this, which resulted in a sea of titters.

Erin was enjoying the jovial mood, so pushed out her chest like she'd practiced in her hallway mirror before answering. "Well, I was really moved by the words of fashion legend Coco Chanel! I think it was her who once said, before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off. I almost turned up in an entire dress, that would have been excessively modest right?"

"Mmmhm, I concur, how Victorian." Eleanor clapped, before finishing off her drink and handing a champagne flute to Erin. The centre of attention took it gladly, it was finally dawning on her that all eyes were glued to her outfit. She was the star, after all, so this is how it should be. Right?

"That's right, love!"

Erin's face turned beet red, she had been spacing out again as she so often did these days, but this time she must have been mumbling aloud. 

"A toast to our new star, everyone. Come on now, grab a glass!" 

At that, everybody in the room clinked glasses with the nearest person before taking a healthy gulp of bubbling champagne. Erin was feeling lighter than ever, even though her head was suddenly starting to get heavy. 

"Give us another twirl!" 

And she did, turning a full 360 degrees on her feet and looking over at the pleased gazes from her peers. Is this what it feels like to be the object of everyone's desire? It felt like an addictive substance, a potent aphrodisiac. Erin felt slick between her thighs, and she looked it too. 

"Oh my, you're really dizzy after spinning so quickly." Another of Eleanor's statements that should be a question. She's not asking Erin, she's always telling. 

"I... am?" Erin wobbles, even though she felt completely normal after the twirl had ended. 

"That's right, love. Really dizzy, maybe even tipsy. You should lay down, right now." 

Erin blinked rapidly; she was starting to feel a rush to her head. She could barely stand, teetering back and forth on the spot like a cartoon character who was just bonked on the head. Eleanor was right, like always, so Erin decided to heed her sage advice and laid back across the sofa lengthways. It was comfortable and soon warmed up from her radiating body heat, but her position was quickly criticised by the crowd. 

"Turn towards us a bit, would you?" 

"Mmh." Erin did as she was told, even though she didn't place the owner of the voice, turning over until she was laying on her side. Her long brown hair draped over the armrest and her breasts followed gravity down in a pleasant droop, giving a slight sway to their captive audience. The heat in the room felt like it had turned up several tens of degrees since she had first entered, Erin was not the only one feeling the heat. It was so hot, to watch and to be watched. 

"You can get comfortable, remember. We already said you can relax here, so if you need to scratch an itch..." 

"H-huh?" A flash of confusion in Erin's eyes was fleeting, for a second she felt a gnawing sense of wrongness, like this situation was entirely abnormal. 

"Go ahead, love, touch yourself. We can see your need, plain as day."

"We can smell it!" Another voice added in a clearly mocking tone, but they were all too out of breath to appear purely facetious."

"Touch... my... wait, no... wait what? This is... this isn't..." Thinking objectively became like navigating an ever-shifting maze, every time she tried to keep her thoughts strung together, they would collapse in and return to square one. Erin knew she should be protesting something, this was all too strange, but when separating it all into individual aspects not a single one seemed noteworthy or out of line. Everything they said was making sense to her, so why was she shaking her head and sitting up? 

"Erin's having stage fright?" 

"I thought you were a professional."

"Don't think too hard, sweetheart."

"Elle, should we be worried?"

Eleanor rolls her eyes at the melodramatic nature of her guests, Erin most of all. What a drag, to get cold feet right at the climax of the show. Save it for the curtain call, at least. With the nonchalance expected of a serial mind controller and the confidence of a natural performer, the woman waved her arm out into the centre of the room and---

Pssht, Pssht--

Something began to mist over the air between Erin and the other guests, spreading through the air with grace and hitting Erin's sobering mind like a hypnotic freight train. The woman slumped and took a deep breath of the sweet air, all of her resistance and confusion starting to melt into giddy bliss. She had vague memories of the perfume in the air being rubbed against her wrist in slow circles, guiding them to her neck while she listened intently to each and every word from a pair of impossibly reflective lips. Dazzling lips, intoxicating, heady fragrance. The emptying of a cabaret club, the owner being tipped generously. Another memory connects to the next with a gap that becomes infinitely more vast and empty each time. Erin understood immediately, she was being hypnotised. She was hypnotised. Ever since that night, the cabaret club induction, she has been a slave to this scent. Just like her present nudity, this felt as natural and mundane to her as the need to breathe and drink water. A function of her body was to obey Coco Mademoiselle and the truth of her beauty was quite literally skin deep. Accepted constants, the laws of nature, matters which Erin had no reason nor right to deny. 

"Good girl, just lay back down and start masturbating. Do you remember how we met, love?" The room fell silent, each head enraptured by the current scene.

But it seems that Erin had forgot her lines. "Nnhh... no, I, wait... how did we meet? You were... were you in the other shows?" 

"Awwwh, she's so confused. Don't try to think too hard, silly, just focus on pleasure and I'll take over the rest." 

"O-okay." Erin felt that was a good deal, it meant she could do a better job masturbating, give a better show. She took a deep inhale and ran two fingers down her lips seductively, pushing into the plump sex with an unsteady breath and pushing it open to expose her dripping lust. She curled her toes against the other armrest and tickled pink with her recently manicured fingers. Erin hadn't touched herself like this since she bought her wand, and never to such a turnout. 

"I'm not really in your little theatre troupe, Erin. I mean, that place was way past shut when I had you let me inside earlier. I wanted to see where my newest pet worked, after all." Eleanor hummed, switching her crossed legs and gesturing one of her many pets to go fetch the others more drinks. The only person not under any form of trance or hypnotic conditioning in the room, was Eleanor herself. "And now we're reviewing your ah, skillset. There are roles under me that need careful consideration, a hierarchy." 

"Wh-what... hhah..." Erin's laboured breaths filled the room, her heavy chest rising and falling with increasingly unsteady tremors. "...no but, we... you're my... you're... not in the play?" Erin was so confused, but she tried to do as she was told and let Elle do the heavy lifting, she just needed to listen passively and focus on masturbation. It was just difficult not to react to such reality shattering information, was her mind just putty to be played with? Why did that thought make her heat up even more?

"Tsk, tsk. Musical." Mistress Lafite laughs, the crowd around her matching her instinctively with their own vacant chuckling. "No, love, but I'd love some front row tickets for the opening night. You can get those for us." Another statement in place of a question, it was so much less complicated to be told the answer instead. Erin just nodded, too busy masturbating to bother worrying about the details. "But I am a performer, a stage performer like yourself. You had the pleasure of front row seats at my show, in fact. It's how I picked you out, invited you up. You fell into trance like butter on a pan, melted rrriiight down into your chair like good slave material always does. You really didn't disappoint, love."

Erin's arousal was palpable, electric, contagious. She was masturbating loudly, not just her heavy grunts and moans, but the sound of sticky fingers filling and stroking her needy box like she was running out of time. 'Free trial expired, please remove your digits from the slippery cunt between your legs.' 

Vulgar language and analogies aside, Erin was subsumed entirely by unconditional obedience to Mistress Lafite. Could anybody blame her? She was finally comfortable, even proud of her body, imperfections and all. She was free from the burdens of thought and control, with the responsibilities and hardships that come with them. Most of all, she was blissed out of her fucking mind with arousal. She was perfect, she was complete. Another pet for the stage hypnotist with a penchant for taking exactly what she wants. 

"Oh, hold the phone. Our limo has arrived. Erin, you can keep touching yourself, just grab my coat while you do and try not to make a mess on it."

What a ridiculous situation. Is what the old Erin would have thought. The old Erin thought a lot of useless things, self-depreciating and hyper-critical. Pets don't have to think about complicated things, she thought with a lazy grin, idly sloshing fingers into her snatch while stumbling over to the coatrack. Obedience made her feel needed, she just had to follow the scent. The next thing she knew, she was in the back seat of a luxury vehicle with hands resting all over her from satisfied audience members. They decided to help her finish the show, fingers dancing deep into her spread thighs and over her aching sex. The last think Erin remembered before her first orgasm rocking in was one of the hands pinching at her sensitive clitoris. By the third, she was a sweaty mess, plain brown hair matted to her hot forehead and a thick line of drool spilling out from the corner of her smeared lips, down the chin and over her fat breast. Her hips were bucking like a skipping record and her nipples which usually pointed inwards were stiff and sore from all the attention. 

Erin was drifting in and out of consciousness for the next half hour, before returning to a partially coherent headspace with slow, fluttering blinks. She was too interested in where they were headed to not ask, they say that curiosity is what killed the cat but Erin's pussy had already been obliterated. "Uhm... Muh-mistress..."

Elle flashed her newest pet a pleased grin, impressed that the young actor is still conscious. "Yes, love?" 

"...hnngh..." Erin shifted in her seat, feeling her hypersensitive body twitch with pleasure involuntarily. "...where-"

"Where are we headed? Home, silly. I want to give you aftercare in my own bed, much better that way."

"...but... huh?" Confusion, that's what you get when you try to think independently. Erin should just focus on looking and feeling as good as possible.

"That place was just somewhere I was stopping at, I liked that they didn't own a TV or computer, the homeowner was a doozy to wrap around my finger. Great with her mouth too, but you already know that, she's the one who just ate you out." 

See? That made total sense once she explained it. Erin giggled breathlessly, deciding to just let Mistress Lafite think for her indefinitely.

As the limousine ride neared its end and Erin drew closer to her new home, the city streets started to fall dark. Erin was slumped comfortable against her new playmates, before meeting a pair of eyes she had never seen before. Her own, glazed eyes, staring blankly ahead into their reflection. Erin remembered the words...

"Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off."

...one last time, before she stopped thinking entirely and started smiling blankly. She was just like the others now. 

She was a perfect plaything for her mademoiselle.