Chocolate Milk

Hi, I'm Shawna Wilson, one of the sweetest women you've ever met in your life, hiding one of the most devious women you couldn't even fully conceive of. Full disclosure, if we've met before, I might've been responsible for at least one particularly brief moment of embarrassment in your life. Sorry, but not really. If we haven't met yet, yeah, be afraid, and let the halo fool you.

Why am I this way? Personal heroes, I guess.

Who are they? Smartest question my dumb guidance counselor ever asked me. Was lucky enough that I didn't recklessly come right out and say "the Joker." What a weird talk that would've been between him, me, and the folks back in school. And oh the questions...

"How long have you had these thoughts?"

"Has it been affecting your school work?"

"Which version of the Joker did you mean?"

And of course the one possibly on all their minds, but would never ask me

"Where are the bodies buried?"

Answering in that order:

"Birth?"

"You see any B's on my report card? Next dumb question."

"Mark Hamill from the animated series is my OG, but with a dash of Caesar Romero."

"Replace 'bodies' with 'egos,'...here and there."

Jim Halpert from "The Office" was my spoken answer - the most diplomatic one I could've thought up, and the truest answer over time. I guess the guidance counselor didn't expect a young, chunky, black girl to pick a skinny, white, ingenious prankster, hence the reactionary gut-laugh he had to contain the second some of it spilled out of his mouth.

I didn't take his laugh too well. Go figure.

Figuring out how to hack his computer and make him think he had messaged unflattering things to say about the principal's poor excuse for a toupee, was my reaction. Almost wished I hadn't skipped a few grades, just to watch things play out; apparently for the time he remained there, old hair rug never let him live it down, and never stopped checking to see if his hair looked "ok".

Ever-scheming and loving it, no one was safe from my wrath. Especially not Dane Brooks, or Danish as I saw him since kindergarten; destined to be muscle bound, dumb as bricks, with gullible innocence that altogether landed him on the right side of cute. Makes a girl lick her lips at the sight of him - literally. If I was Jim Halpert, he was my Dwight Schrute. Technically, everyone was my Dwight, but everyone else got off easy, as easy as I got off fucking with Danish.

Yeah, sick puppy and all that, with a bitch's mastermind streak.

I once got him once to think he was overweight, loosening the screws of his desk to make it wobble or collapse when he sat on it.

There was a stint to his believing his dead grandmother who he hated when living was haunting him; slipping notes from the underworld in his jacket everyday yielded fun results.

Or that time I told him someone had drugged his food at some point with something that would attack his insides if he talked a lot. Forgetful me was quite conversational with him that week. It took a lot to not fall out laughing at him sweating bullets.

Of course, there's no better mindfuck I could've made happen than making us close friends over the years, even enjoying the pranks. We were besties by high school, at least for him.

Okay, both of us.

It's lasted way longer than I expected, to living in the same apartment building, and up to a 28th birthday. I was on the couch, laughing at my favorite Office (US version) pranks when he walked in my apartment.

"Hey Shawna," Dane called out to his BBBW (big black beautiful woman) of a BFF.

"Hey Danish," I called him by his long-time pet name. He looked at me on the couch for a moment, strange smile on his handsome face like he'd forgotten about something pertaining to me, but like the other times they happened, he couldn't recall what made him stop in his tracks. My next question woke him up.

"Good day today?"

He shook his sandy blonde hair. "Been alright."

"It'd better be better than 'alright.' Which reminds me, your present is in the fridge."

His head peaked into the living room, looking like the happy lug I always knew him to be, that dumb boyish smile attached to that athletic, muscular body, watching him walk over and bend to open the fridge door. My lips got a good licking again at that stupendous ass.

"Aw cool!"

He reached in to pull out several different brands of chocolate milk, one of several things Dane never really outgrew, or tried to.

"Happy Birthday Danish!"

"How many stores did you have to go to to find all of these?"

"You'll get the same answer from me as if you asked 'how much did this cost' - not telling."

"Had to be like five, I've never seen all of these in the same place. You're the best Shawna!"

My cheeks heated up from the friendly kiss, and from seeing him happy. And from what was coming.

Danish opened the first bottle and start to down the brown liquid. He paused between sips, confused, taking a bit more, stopping by the time the bottle was half-empty.

"How was that one?"

"Good, it was good. Sort of like I remember, but..."

"But...what? Did it taste funny? What's the expiration d-"

"No, no, it's fine, really, it's just...hard to say what it is."

"Try," she looked at him purposefully.

"It's just...it's not chocolate milk."

"Are you sure?" the strange smile masked the evil, real one.

"Pretty sure. Just something about it, tastes good but it's also off."

"Well, I hope that brand isn't going to hell. Try another."

First came popping the cap of the second, then another grimace. Despite his taste buds enjoying what ran across his tongue, logic told him there was something unfamiliar about it. Shawna Wilson logic to be exact.

You might be wondering as well, what's wrong with the chocolate milk? That's a two-pronged answer.

The first, diabolical or not, I've tried to take comments about my race, weight, or gender in stride over the years; retaliatory mind-fucking for every perceived slight against anything making me a minority would leave me ultimately too busy to enjoy it, lest I become an actual Joker and try to destroy the city or some shit. Stride aside though, there are fun exceptions.

Dane joked weeks ago about someone, referring to them as a cow, with rancid chocolate milk. He tried correcting himself when he knew I heard about it. I gave him an sour stare at first. He wasn't talking about me, mind you; the woman he meant was also big and black, and rancid was accurate for how rotten she was. He knew I'd been called similar things over the years, so his apology campaign lasted a while as I let him think I was as offended as I looked. A bit was there, but so was a new idea. Danish never grew out of loving chocolate milk, so messing with that had sooooo much potential.

Danish downed the whole bottle this time, in part out of taste, and trying to figure out what was wrong with it.

"Again?"

"It's delicious, and...not chocolate milk."

"You sure it tastes fresh?"

That second reason can be summed up in one sentence: Google searches can yield some delightfully freaky shit.

A few years ago, I was looking up new pranking techniques, to keep my skills fresh. "Mind fuck" in the search bracket gave me just that, eventually leading to content I thought you'd get if you searched for "xxx mind control," or "erotic hypnosis" as it's known. A happy accident I thankfully didn't reflexively turn away from.

Watching hypnosis go from cheesy cartoon villain or corny stage show stuff to making the connection of literally getting into someone's mind and twisting it anyway you wanted put a real spin on decades for me. The more I read, watched, soaked up like a sponge, the more I was hooked, the more I wondered if all these years, what I'd done amounted to some kind of inadvertent mental control. And while I didn't think I was desperate enough to have to resort to it, I wasn't about to turn away from a whole new approach to explore and play.

Won't lie either, the erotic parts really got to me, in multiple ways after finding multiple fetishes that tickled my fancy. We've had sex before, casually, an arrangement that worked for both of us. Knowing I could simply snap my fingers and have him ready to do whatever I wanted, or make him beg to do whatever I wanted, shouldn't surprise you that such thoughts can really give a girl...initiative.

"It's fresh, and...something else."

"Ok, now I think you're playing me..."

"No, I'm not. I know how weird it sounds; wish I could figure this out too."

"Well, ok, which one tastes the best? The yoohoo?"

"Maybe..."

As he sampled some more, a feeling started stirring in him. In his head, the worry about the feeling turning into something like nausea went away quickly and was on the happier side of things, like his brain felt a sliver of wanton bliss. He never noticed the smile forming as he downed the bottle.

"Looks like it is the yoohoo."

My speaking caught his attention, and I let him center himself to make sure that nothing went down the wrong pipe.

"Yeah, think so. You know what, I was playing with you. Good chocolate milk, and a great birthday present from the best friend ever."

"Thanks sweetie!" I hugged and regarded him with equal enthusiasm, knowing his mind was trying to reconcile with his words, and failing.

"Thinking about getting a nap before tonight's festivities, hope you don't mind," I yawned convincingly.

"Sounds like a good idea, I can do a few things before tonight."

"I'll see you soon then."

Watching that tight ass walk out the door felt like Christmas Eve, and impatient me would get their Christmas morning that night.

***

Dane returned to my apartment a little later, for reasons his mind forgot to reveal, that common mind trick where you have to go somewhere to remember why you're there. Even though it was my apartment, his reason was obviously me. His mind probably rationalized that he'd left something there, and needed to pick it up before any celebrating was going to happen.

Then he found me, resting on my couch.

Anyone else walking in would just see a sleepy girl dressed in comfortable sweats, like they'd fallen asleep watching something on TV. Dane though, stopped in his tracks, looking at me like earlier, like always. One open eye scanned his looking at all of me on that couch, still trying to remember what made him so happy to see me there, forgetting what he couldn't remember.

The hidden memory was the first time I hypnotized him, on my couch. Weeks, months prepping for it felt surreal by the time I took him through some breathing exercises I told him I'd learned, that could help him with workouts. We went at that for a while, till he was like a calm pond, exactly the state I wanted. Before he knew it, I'd snuggled next to him with a friendlier than usual tone of

"Do you trust me?"

"Yeah," his automatic answer.

"Do you trust where I'm going to take you?"

"Where are you going to take me?"

I let his look linger over my face, taking in years of varied feelings for me, fear, attraction, excitement, and in that moment, peace.

"Where you already are," a soothing voice posed something of a riddle.

"A warm place, a quiet place, a safe place. A place made just for you, where nothing can bother you, and everything just makes you feel good and special."

My arm around broad shoulders, hand caressing his, breath in his ear and the nape of his neck, feeling my own warmth transferring into him, and his into me, knowing we were sharing that double-edged trance feeling both sides are often supposed to share, with me in-charge.

"This place is always present, just like you are, just like you want to be. You could close your eyes, and find yourself in this place, drifting off in a sweet nothingness, anchored to nothing except this good feeling. You believe in this feeling like nothing else, trust it above all, because it helps guide you to this place. The longer you think about it, the longer you see similarities between you and this place, as if you are absorbing the qualities of this place, as if you are this place. You are this place, Dane. You are warm, you are quiet, you are safe, you are calm. You are this place, just like Shawna is this feeling. Shawna helps you to feel good, Shawna guides you to this place of peace. There's no one you trust more than Shawna. When Shawna wants you to feel this good, you are warm, quiet, safe, calm, and happy. You trust what she wants, what she wants of you, and will happily participate and follow her requests, so you can feel even warmer, quieter, safer, calmer, happier, and mindless and obedient."

Hours reinforcing all the programming in him, binding him to me beyond the wildest dreams of my youth; I made sure the common sight of me on the couch where I took ownership of his mind be the key influential reinforcing. At least a few times a week, he'd come into my apartment, get stuck trying to remember being hypnotized, only recalling the good feelings linked to me, rendered ever so pliable nearly all the time.

Add to all that a few chocolate milk's in him, and his eyes and brain grew a horny brand of dreamy, watching me "sleeping" as he focused on his own fantasy.

He blinked a few times, unsure of why things were blurring around him, or why other things were alit with clarity. My couch looked less couch, maybe more altar to dreamy eyes. It probably looked weird for casual me resting on something so majestic, except he saw a Shawna dressed as majestic as Cleopatra, a little skimpy yet regal number, leaving a little and a lot to the imagination, somehow even sexier in eyeglasses, an expression that stated my awareness of owning every last thing in my domain, including the slave boy helplessly staring and his queen.

No hesitation when ushered over, taking in all of me, eventually centering on my breasts, beholden to them like an explorer beholden to the land he wants to trek explore to the hilt. He the explorer desired above all else to scale the mountains, the hard peaks that leave their adventurous hearts hungry, or in slave Danish's case, thirsty. The queen in me let him trek, but soon guided him straight to the mountain top, straps pulled down and letting him enjoy the peaks of victory, drunk on the success of a goal reached, overcome with bliss wiping out every other thought.

After months of working towards and hoping for the lactation fetish and output I always wanted sans childbirth, with breast pumps and many physical stimuli sessions, well-programmed hands properly coaxed well-programmed queenly, heavy breasts and nipples in giving nourishing, brainwashing milk. The tasty fruit of his labor was interpreted as perfection on his tongue. Interwoven love of breast worship and hypnosis grew even stronger when combined. He suckled with half-open eyes, and fully open ears as there were things to do that he should be aware of, yet not. The words made him smile, drink deeper, feel harder than he ever remembered he could be, and before anything could happen, he'd forget about...

Senses slowly let go of the blurry, peaceful sensations filling his head. The closer he came to full consciousness, the more he felt his senses clinging to the dream, gulping a pleasant taste on his tongue. Even with faculties informing of things to do and places to be, he struggled to keep hold of what he lost seconds later. Details cursedly evaded his memory, only left with how it made him feel good, whatever it was. He sighed even harder as memory fully kicked in for what was ahead.

***

He wasn't really opposed to birthday surprises, but he wasn't looking forward to potentially being pranked. And his friends were smart, ensuring last minute that he couldn't back out, and promising harsh birthday licks if he tried. By his guess, if they had their way, he'd be going hog-wild with someone's breasts soon. Some of his closer friends being women left him cold to that idea, including Shawna chewing him out if she ever knew, so he would hope to avoid whatever they were planning.

He made it to the pulsing, crowded club, unable to see any sign of them, hoping they couldn't see him at all. Sneaking inconspicuously from the entrance to the bar, he was set on avoiding their plotting. Dane waved to the bartender, and the frequent patron got a friendly wave back.

"Give me a milk. Chocolate."

Dane recited his usual pop-culture reference that they both were old enough to understand and laugh at, as his fresh bottled drink slid a ways across the bartop. He downed half the drink in one go, trusting the bartender with his choice his he only ever picked a few things. This time he tasted chocolate liquor, a delicious flavor to it, like a Yoohoo but with something else. He let it linger on his taste buds and the aroma on his nose for a moment before taking another sip. Nostrils honed in on that the bottle's rim something like a fragrance, a substance, stronger than from the rest of the bottle. He smelled and licked, and felt his brain light up with guesses.

"Chocolate milk?" went off in his head. Desperation for more grew immediately, while letting the little bit enhance what was already in the bottle. Dane thought about asking the bartender for more, but he decided to wait to see how strong the liquor was. He needed to be on guard for the coming prank anyway.

The full dance floor concealed his friends well, but highlighted their plan for him. About as much a breast-man as the next, knowing they were to be emphasized soon is what made him stare at the sea of cleavage. Which set might be used to tempt him the most? Which set might tempt him more than the rest? That first glass left him on the verge of tipsy, even horny, and he let himself enjoy it. Looking away proved difficult, worse if he got any more intoxicated. He tried excusing himself through the crowd to the wall to rest somewhere; terrible timing since the next song to start booming through the crowd was one of his favorites.

He let loose to the beat, shaking his head, then shoulders, then hips in time. His feet remembered with ease how silly dancing to the song was, and how of all songs, he really didn't care. The liquored capacity became refocused to the music, loving that a crowd opened up to give his body the space it wanted. He sang along to the song as if performing it. And at the refrain, most of the crowd sang it back to him.

"Play that funky music, white boy, play that funky music right. Play that funky music white boy, play that funky music till you die."

Ladies interested in the uninhibited man with broad shoulders and an obvious love for a good time started dancing around him, vying for attention. He danced along, part of his brain wondering if any of the perfumes they wore resembled the ones linked to his drink. Nice as the girls and their tops were, maybe one or two were anywhere close to the scent. Some tried being really suggestive, in his face, mouthing the lyrics. Women of all looks and shapes took their shot, with come-hither stares and accentuated chests, rating to Dane as 'nice enough.' Unbeknownst to him, he lingered on those with darker skin and wider busts. They incentivized him to dance on, writhing in the rhythm, bathing in the club spotlight, until he noticed it moved away to the booth section.

Everyone dancing seemed to look toward the woman the spotlight descended on. Dane' breath caught seeing his dream goddess; a sparkling champagne gold deep v-neck gown, shoulder-wide straps, gold-glittered skin, princessy tiara and gold wrap over an afro ponytail, custom-colored Converse sneakers to match, glitter shimmering mostly across her breasts. She shook her shoulders, rocked her hips, and swayed her sneakers to the song from the comfort of her booth seating, and Dane eyes were fixed on the golden goddess urging him closer with her aura, and a whiff of the scent he'd been looking for. His libido kicked into high gear as the song went on longer than expected, as if part of it was on repeat, and transitioning to a sensual remix of sorts.