tagMind ControlController 12

Controller 12

byFru©

Author's note: The fireworks show HG talks about is in reference to a 4th of July flash I wrote for the Hot Flashes page, and can be found there. If it's too much trouble to sort through, drop me an e-mail and I would be happy to send it to you.

This story is the intellectual property of Frustrated, not to be duplicated, copied, or reproduced without the author's express permission. Please e-mail me at the address in my profile with all complaints, comments, criticism, and naughty propositions.

Based on a true story.


*

Sheila left the cash register and started walking aimlessly about the store. Only a summer hire, she thought that if she kept the shop clean during her shifts, they might rehire her next year when she came home for vacation. Jenny was in back, wrapping some glass bowls to be shipped out. People did strange things on slow days.

Sheila wandered, seeking some task to assuage her boredom.

Ah! she thought, this floor is gross. OK...I'll pick up all the big pieces of trash. She knelt, looked at her toes, wiggled them against her sandal's straps, sighed, and calmly picked up a candy bar wrapper.

Her slacks loosened around her thighs as she stood. She trudged over to the wastebasket and then headed out in search of more trash.

She fetched three more. The store was still devoid of customers and she was ready to give up. The floor wasn't so bad, really, and she would still have to vacuum after they closed. No point in doing anything now. She headed back to the register to windex the computer. In the back, Jenny started humming.

A flash of white caught Sheila's eye. It was a scrap of paper, rectangular with serrated edges. Curious, she turned it over.

Controller 12

"Controller 12?" She smirked. "What is this shit?" She strode purposefully over to the trash can, balled up the little scrap of paper, and put it into her pocket. It tingled a minute, and then got hot. She was fairly sure that wasn't right. Oh well, what did it matter? This was just a job, right? They couldn't pay her to care, not about trash.

She flipped a curl back over her shoulder and stepped into the register area. She reached for the phone. Maybe Mark was free tonight. Sure, personal calls were forbidden, but the store was empty, right? The boss was at the bank, and even if she did some back today, Sheila had caught her making some outlaw calls of her own.

Just the thought of Mark, of his big hands pulling her underneath him...Sheila fanned herself, trying to force the flush off her face. She couldn't do anything about the other flush until her break.

Her right hand picked up the phone, and her left started dialing. She froze. Her leg started tingling underneath her pocket. The feeling spread, down her leg, up to her stomach, down her arms and other leg, up through her chest, turning her whole body into a mass of tingles and sensations before rushing through her head in a haze of giggles. She turned hot, blindingly, blisteringly hot. All at once, it subsided. Shaken and blinking, Sheila put down the phone. Mark had been a bad idea. Maybe a girl's night out was the answer? She could call some people when she got home.

Recovered from her episode, or whatever it had been, she reached under the counter and brought out the windex and the paper towels. She spritzed some of the blue liquid onto a square of towel and wiped down the counter, and then the computer monitor. The smell of industrial cleaner notwithstanding, cleaning was soothing and restful.

Ow! She rubbed her arm furiously, and then turned it over and looked at it. It felt like she'd just been stuck with a needle! There was nothing there; no blood, no mark. Eh, maybe she'd hit the counter or something...

She squeezed the bottle's trigger into a new square, and started scrubbing the sides of the computer. Sheila liked watching the dirt come away into the cloth. It felt like she was accomplishing something. Maybe she should have gotten a job as a maid this summer, or something. She laughed at that and leaned an elbow on the glass counter.

I would be a maid in the house of a really rich guy, she thought, really rich and really handsome, too. I would be dusting, in just my jeans and a t-shirt but still really sexy--The tingles swept through her. --in just my little French Maid's outfit, and incredibly sexy. I would be bent over, and he would come up and turn me around and kiss me, gently-- The tingles turned into heat again, white hot heat, and subsided. Oh shit! What was tha-...I mean, she would come up and slap my ass, and then swing me up and kiss me, hard, I mean really hard, and all passionate, and--

"Sheila, you OK?"

"Oh, uh, yeah."

Jenny looked at her quizzically, but accepted her answer and shrugged. "Anyway, didn't you hear me?"

"No, I guess not. What did you say?"

"I said, I finished the three bowls, but there's a big order that just came in and the lady wants it wrapped and ribboned, and it's fine china, so I'll be back there the rest of the afternoon. If there's a rush you can call me in, though."

"OK, will do. Like that'll happen, though."

"Yeah, it's been way too slow around here." She pouted, wrinkling her friendly freckles. She gave Sheila a grin and trotted back into the wrap room.

Sheila turned back to the computer and resumed her wipe-down. She cleaned the monitor, hands running in parallel stripes. Then she went for the counter, moving the cloth in lazy, circular swipes.

The circles made her think of laundry going around in a dryer, all of the colors swirling...That made her think of her new underwear, the lacy ones. They covered things, but they hid nothing. Sheila had giggled madly the entire time at the store. The other people in the changing room must have thought she was nuts, but had been thinking she should have a real "grown up" pair or two.

In a small part of her mind, Sheila knew she had a great body. She knew her breasts were big, her waist was small, and her legs were shapely. She knew her eyes held an innocent sauciness that no man ever wanted to resist. That part of her wanted to wear wicked things like the new lacy underwear, wanted to show herself off and get dates and try things with her body that were all the rage for her age group.

Most of her was more practical. She dressed conservatively, if elegantly. Her sandals were chunky, strappy, and black; nothing flashy, no spikes. Walkable. Her pants were thin and clung to her well, but discreetly. No one would say it looked as if she was trying to be seductive. It just happened to turn out that way a lot of the time. Not that Sheila ever knew it, except in that one lurking part of her mind.

Sheila bent her head over her task, wiping the glass counter past dry. Back to the fantasy...what was it again? Oh well, new one! She re-spritzed the blue liquid and rubbed until the glass shone. OK, let's see...I'd be at the beach like last week, only this time, when Shaina covers me with sand, a guy would come over. I would be able to see his muscles, and it would get me all wet-- Huh? Her fantasies usually never included--she started to tingle, all over. I would be able to feel the wet sand pressing down on me, on my vagina and breasts-- The tingle grew in magnitude. I mean, on my pussy and tits, the pressure caressing me like a lover or a gentle stream-- The heat started. It felt achingly good this time, pummeling her pussy and kneading her breasts in a way that the innocent sun had never done. OH! The sand would press down on me like a lover's touch or a corset, binding me in and down. I would be stuck, completely stuck. Only this time, instead of having to wait until Shaina comes back with ice cream and eats it into front of me, taunting me-- The force of Sheila's hatred for her little cousin made the heat subside. It re-invaded her with a vengeance. --Feels so good, where is this coming from, I don't even-- Her knees buckled for a short second. She yelped and caught herself on the edge of the counter, fingers slipping and sliding.

"Sheila, what's going on out here?"

She blinked and focused; Jenny was staring at her, hands on hips. Her eyes were concerned. "G-going on?"

"You've been moaning for the last minute, and then you yelled. What have you been doing?" She licked her lips.

Unconsciously, Sheila copied the gesture. "Oh, just, um, cleaning the counter. Sorry if I made noise, I didn't know I did. Maybe the counter was squeaking?"

It was a flimsy excuse, but Jenny took it; the wrapping room had a TV that showed what every security camera saw, and she hadn't seen anything inappropriate or illicit. She had work to do and excused herself back to the wrap room. Her eye glanced up at the monitor every few seconds.

F-fantasy. OK. But no more cleaning things; I think the windex fumes are getting to me. She started a circuit of the room. Where was I? OK. The sand is pressing down on me, and this time, he comes up to me and starts flirting even though he hasn't seen my body. She reached the carpeting area, and started checking that the rugs were straight. The tingles blasted up her legs. Her eyes shot open, and then fluttered shut. The heat felt so tasty this time, and gentle, like a dozen kittens rubbing their way up her legs...and higher. Up and up and up... Urg...I hope I'm not moaning again...oh hell...the hottie in the tight suit flirts with me, and I say I can't get up, I ask for help. When hot stuff gives me a hand up-- The heat intensified around her sensitive parts. Thank goodness for that thick bra, or she'd be showing her nipples to the whole thank-god-still-empty store! But instead of giving me a hand up, the hottie just pounces on me and kisses me, hard, and runs long fingers through my hair--

Ding! Hurriedly, Sheila pulled her arms out of the rug rack and power walked over to the counter. The lone customer perused the garden section; too far to shout, and too close to walk over and give unsolicited advice. She was stuck standing there.

She hadn't been able to see any of his features, but he was tall and stout. Maybe he's really really hot, and he'll buy something really expensive and then-- Sheila let out a soft moan, conscious of it this time. She ducked down and reached for a tissue; if he'd heard, she could pretend it was a sneeze.

The next one was decidedly not a sneeze. It was a guttural wail of pleasure that shook the silence of the shop. She just couldn't help herself; the heat was using her bloodstream like a race track, running around and through her heart and mind and limbs and lungs, tainting her oxygen, her thoughts, her--The man smirked, but that traitorous blood wouldn't even do her the courtesy of rushing to her cheeks; it was busy elsewhere. Besides, Shelia was no longer permitted to be embarrassed, at least on the outside. She could no longer deny that something was seriously wrong.

She'd never been a moaner or a screamer or a wailer before; she barely breathed heavily when she came. That was what came of starting on masturbation. All of her previous pleasure sessions were silent and private. What could cause something like this? She had a hundred ideas, but they all felt like fiction. Stroke fiction. Her science teacher would not have been proud of any of her hypotheses.

Ok, she thought, in the stories, how do these things happen? She leaned forward on her elbows and chewed on a knuckle. Well, I'd say about nine times out of ten, the culprit is known to the victim. A friend? She felt ice cold. Could one of her friends be doing this to her? All of this moaning...it was sure to get into public spectacle later today. The tingles started. Well, not that public humiliation would bother her. It was just that...oh, the heat! Blazing, dancing a tango in her temples! Damn, what had she been thinking? Never mind. Oh, the customer, coming this way! Straighten up!

She did so slowly, as if her body hoped the stranger would get a glimpse of something he shouldn't.

"Yes sir, may I help you?"

He looked around imperiously. "I'm here to buy the store."

"Wha-what?"

He stuck out a meaty hand. "Hugo Greenaugh. The fireworks this weekend were...profitable...for me, so I decided to go out and buy something." He chuckled deeply.

"I-I'm not sure...I, I mean, the owner isn't in right now. You'd have to talk to him. He should be in on Thursday."

The man cursed, spat, and trundled out of the store. He had a determined look in his eye.

Had she just said NO to Hugo Greenaugh, the most powerful man in town? Sheila shrank back. She'd be fired for sure now, once he bought the place...She sniffed and tried to choke back her tears. She willed the tingles to start now, but nothing. She cursed; what good was it being mentally manipulated when it didn't work when you wanted it to work?

A thought occurred to her; maybe his first act as owner of Palm Fronds Gift Shop wouldn't be to fire her; his daughter, Emily, was in her graduating class. Wait, that was no good. They weren't friends. Oh well.

Mildly recovered, Sheila started wandering around the store again, looking for mindless tasks to keep her occupied, something that would allow her to think about all of this and still look busy.

She rearranged the purses and tried on some big-brimmed hats. How does this go in the stories? It happens when--the pink one goes over there, yes--when the girl has done something, usually, hurt someone. Have I hurt anyone? Well, usually--small green one with the big green one, even if they're not exactly the same color--usually, it's a nerd she's pissed off. Ah, nice, done with that...let's try that blue one! OK, have I pissed off any nerds? She tilted her head and stared quizzically at her posing reflection. I don't think so...at McCallow HS the nerds and geeks and stuff all kept to themselves; they were all friends, they had that club, they even dated inside it I think...Hmm, this one doesn't look half bad. So, no, it couldn't have been a nerd. Definitely not; I've never seen one staring at me or anything, no mysterious glances or wistful sighs or hung-up phone calls. No notes in my locker. Those are what the popular girls get. If I was popular in high school I'd be worried about it...except that it wouldn't be in my nature to question admiration if I was popular because I would expect it, if I was popular I would be a different person, it takes a different personality...Anyway, without getting into all the arguments, I think I can safely knock off the nerd possibility. Blech, this red one looks horrible.

Sheila tossed the offending hat back onto the stand and hastened over to the other side of the shop. She went over to the rack and started reading the new birthday cards. OK, so, what else? Have I shown off for the boys, have I worn anything skimpy or tight that would cause them to, you know... The promise of a tingle danced along her shoulders, the afterthought of the heat sat dangerously low along her waist. ...You know, jack off wildly about me, shoot all over, and do something to me to live out their fantasies? To control me?

She put back a card delicately painted with irises and started over to the gardening section. A thought occurred, suddenly, and it froze her. Does this tingle and heat thing, does it have something to do with that piece of paper I picked up? Controller 12? Barely breathing, she reached into her pocket. Her fingers delved and probed, first easily and then frantically. There was no piece of paper. Sheila gasped.

There was a rip in the side of her pocket. Sheila sighed. The hole was a perfect rectangle. Sheila choked. She pressed a finger through the tear; the edges weren't ragged, they were sealed. Her flesh, it was--The tingles shot up her spine, followed closely by the heat. She collapsed onto a birdbath, futilely stuffing her hands into her mouth to stop up the sounds.

In the wrap room, Jenny glanced up at the monitor. God, that Sheila, she thought. Her hand flittered in search of somewhere nice to land, but her clothes denied her access.

Sheila lay on the rough carpeting, gasping and panting. It was through. She flopped onto her back, still wheezing, and stared into the fluorescents above her. Those tingles, ah, the heat! I...want more? I want more. I need more. More, more, more!

"More!" she shrieked.

Tingles cascaded through her mind like confetti on the breeze. She braced herself for the heat. It didn't come. She pressed her legs together. She needed the heat! Where was it? She, she--wanted it. She wanted it! She WANTED it! Needed it. Her hand slid downwards.

No, no, no, can't, mustn't, not in the store! Sheila looked around in a haze of need. At least, not in the front...

With tiny steps, Sheila zoomed into the back room, the wrap room. Her discretion did nothing but make her full breasts bounce.

Jenny, carrying a bubble-wrapped glass bowl, stared fixedly at the monitor. Her breathing was ragged.

Trotting too quickly, scatterbrained Sheila smashed into something hard, followed by something soft. The soft something was Jenny, and she felt groaningly good.

The bowl bounced to the floor, but neither girl gave it so much as a glance. They were too busy staring at each other; Jenny, her wild curves tucked into her stock-boy apron and her freckles pulsating with lust, and Sheila, prim clothes awry as her hair, hands already squeezing her breasts as hard as her hands would let her because she needed to feel the pressure.

Watching Sheila moan and writhe on the security camera had stung Jenny's core, a condition which neither of her bathroom breaks had cured. She needed more, it had been so long...

The two girls panted and stared. They edged an inch closer. Jenny's hand, shaking, reached out to Sheila and touched her lightly on the neck. She leaned in.

It was during the middle of that first kiss, that sweet, soft kiss, that the heat slammed her down and sideways like a tidal wave, like a riptide. She was washed out to sea.

Sheila tore and pulled and wept; she had to get at the sweet, soft, juicy girl inside the clothes, behind the employee badge and the apron.

"Please, please! Let me, I have to, have to see--oh!" Jenny's blouse fell open. "Holy..." She stared in wonder. How had she never realized it before? Women were so beautiful!

Momentous passion slowed but not slaked, the two girls undressed each other in a dream of silence. They ran their hands over soft curves and pressed their bodies close, breaths and breasts quivering. Grazed by the skin of the other, their nipples filled and rose.

The girls embraced, and Sheila's hips slid against Jenny's stomach. Both sighed. They wrapped their arms around each other and kissed, deeply and softly, melting into each other.

Their kiss went on for an eighth of infinity while their hands roamed and their pussies dripped and ached in agonizingly delicious anticipation. Jenny played with Sheila's soft bits, than her soft, aching bits, and then her hard, quivering, pulsating bits. Sheila did the same in reverse. Their skin sang.

"Jenny, this is so..." Sheila breathed. 'Magical' was what she wanted to say. Who would ever have thought it would be like this with a girl? Why had she ever wasted time on boys, those stupid, clumsy things? Jenny knew. Such was their new found lover's empathy that they met the other's every need without a word.

They wanted each other's thighs, breasts, stomachs, cheeks...anything to get their fingerprints on smooth expanses of pale skin.

Gasping and whimpering, Jenny could stand the wait no longer. She shoved Sheila to the counter, dropped to her knees, and proceeded to erase every boy in Sheila's memory with her tongue.

Together, they lived in white hot bliss.

Forty-six minutes later Jenny stroked Sheila's hair, and she sobbed.

"Oh, it's you, it was you all along, sweet Jenny!" She grinned wickedly through her tears. "Really sweet Jenny." Catlike, she licked the last drop off her knuckle. "It's OK now, it was you!"

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