Mind Fuck -- by lightswitch © July 2007 (Ft, Ft+, lesbian), (mc, mind control), (white female, wf), teen, dominance/submission, vampire (?) ================= I started skimming through the file of the girl sitting across from my desk. It was unprofessional, I know, not to have already familiarized myself with her case, but high school budgets were strained and school psychologists were typically seen as expensive luxuries. According to the report, her name was Camela Russo. She was a Junior with no prior disciplinary history. The reason she was in, today? It seems she had bitten another girl. Normally, I’d have written this off as just another high school catfight. But the girl’s appearance gave me pause. Hopefully I was just being overly paranoid, but something told me I’d better check things out further. Camela was sitting in the guest chair facing my desk. I moved to a nearby side chair, close to her. I knew that my coming out from behind the desk would be subconsciously perceived as “not wielding ‘authority’ as a threat” and “willingly removing a barrier to communication.” I smiled at the girl, and tried not to let my pity show on my face. The girl looked even younger than her stated age of 16. Pale, white skin, accentuated by whitish make-up … deep black hair … black lipstick and nail polish … heavy dark eye shadow … your typical Goth girl. She was slight of frame and stature … probably a bit under 5 feet tall and definitely under 100 pounds. Her expression was one of infinite sadness. I felt tears start to form in my eyes as I wondered what could have driven such a young thing to become so twisted, at so young an age. Teenage girls always seem to think their angst is unique and especially dark – naïve little things. They had no real experience with what it meant to know fear or pain. I caught myself and shook my head to clear those thoughts. I was the school psychologist. I was the adult. It would be up to me to set a positive, constructive tone. “Well, Cam,” I said, allowing a small, wry smile. “I hear you had a bit of an altercation with another girl.” “Camela,” she said. “My name is Camela.” I nodded. Was she insisting on this degree of formality because she wanted to maintain distance, I wondered? Or because she thought it sounded more “Goth?” “Camela,” I agreed. “So, would you tell me about what started the fight?” Camela was quite attractive, when you really looked at her. It was a pity that such a pretty girl covered herself up in such horrid black and white make-up. “Oh, there was no fight, Ms Spencer,” Camela told me. Her features softened slightly, giving an effect similar to an actual smile. “No fight?” I asked. “That’s not what I’ve been told. It says here that you were in a scuffle with one … “I scanned for the name … 'Kirsten Powers' … is that right?” The young girl regarded me with deep, dark eyes. She really was quite lovely, once one looked beyond the macabre make-up. “I didn’t fight her, Ms Spencer,” Camela murmured, softly. “I bit her.” I was a bit shocked, but tried not to show it. She denied the fight, but admitted to … biting the girl? To what end, I wondered? “You … bit her …,” I repeated. “But there was no fight.” Camela nodded. “OK, Cam … er … Camela, *why* did you … bite … Kirsten? Did she do or say something to offend you?” This still sounded well within the normal range of “dysfunctional teen behavior.” I was already pondering ways to confront her anti-social responses. Camela smiled slightly. “I needed to feed,” she said. That answer definitely took me aback. Feed?!? What could she possibly mean by … Realization hit. “Oh damn” I thought. “This chick thinks she’s a vampire.” I could only hope this was a simple neurosis and not a full-blown psychosis. “I see,” I said gently, maintaining a reassuring eye contact. “Tell me more about this need to … feed.” The young girl met my gaze and lowered her eyelids slightly. Was she trying to be mysterious? Seductive? Whatever effect she was going for, it was lost on me. “As you’ve probably guessed,” Camela said, “I am a vampiress.” I groaned, inwardly. Just what I needed. Out loud, however, I maintained my professionalism. “I see,” I said, concomitantly. “And how long have you been a … vampiress.” Camela gave a pretty little frown. “You don’t believe me,” she said. “No matter. That doesn’t change the fact. How long? Only for about the last six months or so.” I found myself intrigued, despite myself. “And how did that happen? Were you … bitten … by another vampire?” I was wondering if perhaps some kind of traumatic molestation event had taken place to unhinge the girl. “Oh no,” she smiled. “Nothing like that. It just … happened. It was a few weeks after I got my first period.” I was relieved – no apparent molestation trigger, probably just a “coming of age” trauma. Coping with changes to one’s body … burgeoning sexual awareness … I gave an inward sigh of relief, keeping my outward expression impassive. Now we were getting somewhere. “So,” I said, pretending to work at comprehending, “One doesn’t have to be bitten by a vampire in order to become one?” Camela nodded. “Oh, at first, I was amazed at how many misconceptions I had about vampires!” she confided. “For example, the whole business about daylight – we prefer night, but daylight doesn’t harm us, at all. We can walk around perfectly fine, in sunlight. It’s a preference, not a physical limitation.” I scribbled some notes as I listened. Fascinating … this girl seemed to have built up an elaborate rationalization to justify her imagined condition. I plucked my compact from my purse and opened it. “Camela,” I said, turning the tiny mirror to face her, “tell me what you see.” The young girl looked smug. “Nothing, of course. That legend is true: Vampires don’t cast reflections.” I turned in my chair and held the small mirror. The small Goth girl’s reflection smiled at me. “See?” she said. “You can’t see me.” I sighed. The girl was clearly delusional. How to play this …? From a realistic standpoint, I knew I should just make a referral to a non-academic psychiatrist and wash my hands of the matter – I didn’t have the time to take on a case of this complexity. And yet, I had to admit that her case intrigued me. Could she really be this delusional? Or was she merely playing at it, in a bid for attention? In any event, it was a lot more interesting than the usual adolescent belligerence and drug cases that typically came into my office. I made a decision – at least for now. “I’d like to see you tomorrow, Camela,” I told her. “Same time.” The young Goth nodded and left, gliding out of the room. She must have really worked at that walk, I chuckled to myself. She really had it down. I picked up the folder for my next client. To my surprise, I recognized the name: Kirsten Powers! I hurriedly started reading through the file. A soft tap came at my door and I beckoned Kirsten to enter. The file was disappointingly vague … Kirsten Powers, Senior, age 17. Decent grades, a host of extra-curricular activities … no history of problems … I scanned for the “Reason for visit.” The purpose was disappointing: Suspected drug use. Evidently, Ms Powers had been acting erratic, of late. She was on the cheerleading squad and the coach had reported disorientation, absenteeism, and apparent changes in personality. Also, there had been a marked decline in personal hygiene. All classic symptoms of drug abuse. I lowered the folder to find Kirsten Powers standing near the visitor chair, looking bewildered. She was a medium-sized, blonde girl with bright blue eyes. She was exceptionally attractive and I couldn’t help but notice that she seemed exceptionally … well-endowed … for her age. She was dressed in a scruffy-looking cheerleader outfit that looked as if it hadn’t been washed for a week. “Hello, Kirsten,” I said gently, walking around the desk to sit in the nearby chair. “How are you feeling today?” The beautiful blonde girl looked befuddled. She glanced about the room as if trying to determine who was speaking. After a while, her eyes settled on me. She smiled. “Oh, I’m fine, Ms Spencer,” she chirped. “How are you?” “I’m fine,” I told her. “Kirsten, I am hearing that you have been missing practices and classes, of late. Many people are worried; they don’t believe you’ve been yourself, for a while, now.” I paused, waiting for the girl to take up the thread. Sometimes, the direction they took from an open-ended question could be revealing. A look of confusion crossed the attractive blonde’s face. “Not myself?” she murmured. “Who else would I be?” She seemed to ponder that for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I have been missing classes. And cheerleader practice. But … none of that matters anymore.” I scanned the cheerleader’s exposed arms, searching for needle tracks. Her beautiful skin was unmarred and flawless. An envious resentment flashed through me, which I immediately corrected. Sure, this teenager was beautiful and privileged; but at only 26, I was far from washed up. I forced my mind back to the situation at hand. No apparent needle marks. That didn’t prove anything, of course – she could have injected a leg vein or some other less public place. Or she could be taking some oral substances. “Why doesn’t that matter, anymore, Kirsten?” I asked, taking advantage of the conversational handle she had provided. The girl positively beamed. “Because my Mistress has taken me,” she glowed. “She has marked me as her own!” The cheerleader proudly bent her head back, exposing her soft, white throat. I could see the mark, standing out boldly at the base of her neck, on her left side: A large, ugly purple … Hickey?! Several thoughts wrestled for primacy: That mark … was that the spot where Camela bit her?!? That was no “vampire bite” – it was … it was one enormous hickey! What in the world could some teenage “love bite” have to do with Kirsten’s dramatic personality change?!? I tried to sort my thoughts. “Your mistress?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “Who are you talking about, Kirsten?” A dreamy look crossed the cheerleader’s perfect features. “Camela,” she sighed. “My Dark Mistress!” The blonde’s face flushed as she seemed to slip into an almost trancelike state. I recognized the nature of that flush: The girl was sexually aroused. I was getting a bit creeped out. But now it was all coming together. Both girls were probably wrestling with transitions to adulthood, and the accompanying awareness of sex and sexuality. Both probably harbored some latent lesbian tendencies that they sublimated through this “vampiric roleplay” charade. This gave them a chance to experience forbidden intimacy without having to acknowledge their own homosexual desires. Maybe that’s where Kirsten’s cheerleader uniform came in. A fetish for Camela? “Kirsten,” I said, “I have to ask … I’m told that lately people always seem to see you in that same cheerleader outfit. Why do you always wear the same thing? Don’t you ever …?” “Wash it?” the young blonde laughed. “No. The Mistress is punishing me for being ‘an arrogant bitch.’ I must wear this uniform, continuously, so that I realize it is not some badge of honor, but rather a symbol of shame.” Kirsten seemed inappropriately happy about the situation. “Isn’t it getting a bit … gamey?” I asked. The cheerleader laughed again. “It fucking stinks!” she chuckled. “I mean … it *reeks!*” She laughed uproariously, though I couldn’t see the joke. “I’d like to see you tomorrow, Kirsten,” I told her. “Same time?” The young blonde nodded, dreamily, and left. I chuckled – it was amazing how sometimes you needed to see more than one person in order to discover all the pieces to their respective problems. I picked up the folder for my next client, confident that I’d be able to deal with both Camela and Kirsten, tomorrow. * * * * * * * The Russo girl showed up punctually. In fact, I suspected she had come a bit early and hung around outside my door until her time came. I invited her in and we took our seats. “Camela,” I began, gently. “Let me ask you … when you decided to … feed … why did you select Kirsten?” The tiny Goth considered carefully. “I guess because I sensed she had plenty of life force,” she said. More probably because she had an enormous rack, I chuckled to myself. I nodded. “I saw Kirsten, yesterday,” I admitted. “Her neck wound didn’t seem … typical … of what I’d expect from a vampire bite. There were no fang marks. It looked more like a …” “Oh, that!” Camela cut me off, quickly. Unwilling to confront her sexual orientation? “Yes, that’s another misperception about us vampires: That we always need to feed on blood. Most of us do, of course, but what we are really feeding on is the ‘psychic energy’ of our victims.” I nodded. Classic sublimated dominance issues, I thought. What she really seeks is the opportunity to exert control over others and to establish sexual dominance. I’d need to get Camela to recognize and confront her true desires. “Tell me, Cam … er … Camela,” I said, conversationally. “Do you think Kirsten is … attractive?” The small Goth girl seemed startled by the question. “Attractive?” she mused. “Kirsten Powers?” She furrowed her brows in thought. “I … I guess so,” she admitted. “In a common, slutty kind of way.” I suppressed a grin. The stereotypical response from every female who was ever jealous of another woman’s physical appearance or attributes. “Why do you ask?” Camela wanted to know, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Oh, no reason,” I demurred, repressing a chuckle. “So, tell me about what led up to ‘the bite.’ Had you two been talking …?” “Why did you ask if I found that slut attractive?” the pretty Goth demanded, standing suddenly. She reached out and grabbed my chin, raising my head so our eyes met. “Tell me what you suspect is the reason I bit her!” I was shocked, not expecting the session with the timid, slender girl to become ‘physical.’ I raised my hands to gently, yet firmly, remove her hands from my face. “Camela,” I said, in a firm tone, “it is not appropriate to …” Our eyes met and my world contracted. I was lost in the dark, limpid pools of the young Goth girl’s eyes. A pleasurable warmth spread through my body. “Tell me, Ms Spencer,” Camela insisted, softly. “Tell me what you are thinking about me.” My body felt as if it had been dipped into a warm sea. It responded sluggishly, if at all. A hot, almost sexual stupor washed over me. I felt a light, sensual touch caress my mind, before tightening in a firm, pleasurable grip. Then, a cold stab of intrusion. “I think you’re no vampire, at all,” I found myself saying. “More likely, you’re a neurotic little girl who is repressing lesbian tendencies. And that you’d be a lot prettier if you ditched the whole depressing Goth look and wore normal make-up.” The sensual grip on my mind disappeared and I was free again. I was mortified. Had I said that out loud?!? What could have possessed me … ?!? Camela’s hand dropped from my chin and she stumbled backwards, eyes wide with shock. We stared at each other, both too stunned to speak. The pretty little Goth broke the silence first, by laughing. It was the first time I’d ever seen her laugh, and I had to admit, it suited her. She was so much more attractive when she wasn’t sullen and moping. But I was too distracted by my unprofessional blurted confession, a few moments ago, to think straight. Camela sat down again, still chuckling. “I guess I deserve that,” she said, ruefully. “I did ask, after all.” I said nothing, still desperately trying to make sense of what had just happened. “Cam,” I gasped. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean …” “Camela,” the young Goth corrected, waving a hand, dismissively. “Sure you meant it,” she said. “And that’s OK. You’re a psychologist; I guess it is only natural for you to view the world through that limited lens.” She seemed lost in thought for a while. “And … it doesn’t mean you don’t have some … insights … that I may not have even been aware of.” I could tell that she was struggling with the implications of my assessment. “Me …” Camela muttered to herself, “…a … lesbian …?” She said the word as if it left a repugnant taste in her mouth. “I can’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it. I want to just laugh and tell you it’s not true. But …” Professional habit overcame my stunned disbelief. The pretty young Goth was on the cusp of a breakthrough realization. I could sort through the surreal episode later; right now, she needed my help. “But what, Camela?” I prompted. Camela looked at me with wide eyes, trembling softly. “But … if I am honest with myself … I guess I do find women attractive. I do want to … to be close … to them.” The pretty little Goth sobbed and fell into my arms and started to cry. I held her, making comforting cooing noises. She continued to cry, her body wracked with convulsive sobbing. This had been a major breakthrough. I wondered if it would be enough to break her of her vampire fixation. Slowly, she calmed, still clutching me close. I held her and rocked gently back and forth. I stroked her long, dark hair. Long, dark, luxurious hair. Her body was so soft. Warm. Desirable. With a start, I caught myself. What the hell was I thinking?!? Such thoughts were grossly inappropriate! Forget, for a moment, that this girl was my patient, and was at a vulnerable point in her treatment -- She was only 16! And she was … well, she was a girl! A female! I didn’t harbor any bisexual tendencies … why was I reacting like this? I wasn’t attracted to her! Except … I was. I could feel my face flush and my breathing become labored. My nipples stiffened and rubbed uncomfortably against my brassiere. And between my legs … I was slick and wet, throbbing with desire. I tried to push away, but the pretty little Goth girl held me fast. “I like you, Ms Spencer,” she whispered, seductively. “I like you a lot.” She gently pushed me back into my chair and straddled me. “I think you like me, too,” she whispered, slowly drawing her face close to mine. “A lot.” Her hot breath seared my cheek as she grazed her parted lips against my face, slowly trailing towards my mouth. That hot, heavy, sensuous pressure was again wrapped around my mind, dulling my thoughts. “Camela,” I gasped. “We can’t …” “We can,” the Goth girl whispered, slowly pressing her lips against mine. Warm, liquid pleasure engulfed my consciousness. Warm, wet, sexual pressure pushed gently on my mind, from all sides, restricting movement of my thoughts … engulfing me in its sensuality … I felt the young Goth girl’s tongue gently part my lips and enter my mouth. It was hot. Soft. Wet. It left a searing trail wherever it touched. I moaned softly -- partly in protest, partly in aroused response. I felt her small hands gently fondle my breasts, through my blouse. I wanted to stop her, but my body wouldn’t respond. I felt her undoing the buttons on my blouse. “No!” my mind railed. “Stop this! Now! She’s a female! You’re no lesbian!” My breasts were now fully exposed and her small hands were squeezing me and caressing my aching, erect nipples. I could feel heat coming off my little “vampiric” seductress. Her hot, wet mouth finally left mine and I gasped in ragged breaths of cool air. I could feel her lips trace a hot line down the side of my face. Across my jawline. Onto my neck. A slow, hot, wet trail of tiny kisses … leading towards ... “She intends to bite me,” I realized. The thought turned me on way more than it should have and I was disgusted with myself for that reaction. Her thin lips wrapped themselves around the base of my throat, on my left side and she started sucking. She was starting to leave a hickey. My pussy responded violently, throbbing with intense pleasure. “No!” I gasped, out loud. This was wrong. I couldn’t let this happen, no matter how good it felt. Camela was my patient! She was also a minor … although at 16 that seemed to be a rather arbitrary label. Still … the law considered her a child, and me an adult. I could lose my job. I could go to jail. These thoughts finally sobered me enough to pry the hot little Goth’s lips from my neck and push her away. She made little mewling noises of need and tried to latch back onto me, but once free of whatever force I had been under, I was back in charge. “No, Camela!” I told her, fending off her advances and clumsily rebuttoning my blouse. “That isn’t going to happen.” The girl was beside herself with need. “But why?” she whined, desperately. “I know you want me to take you! I could tell, when I was in your mind!” A cold fear gripped me. “When she was in my mind?” How had she known what I had been experiencing? Was it possible that she …? I felt warm tendrils of desire brushing my mind again. “No!” I said, resolutely. “I opened my office door and unceremoniously pushed the little Goth girl out into the hall, hoping she wouldn’t make a scene. Although she stood outside my door crying for another 10 minutes, to my relief, she finally left without further incident. I collapsed into my chair. What had just happened? I had been moments from a lesbian seduction by a 16-year-old girl. And I had been almost helpless to resist. That presence in my mind … had I imagined it? Was *I* harboring fantasies as bizarre as Camela’s vampire delusions? Or did the tiny Goth girl really possess some kind of mind influencing ability? Impossible! That kind of thing didn’t happen in real life. Only … it seemed it just had. I was shaken and needed a drink. I needed to sort through all of this … to make some sense of it all. Was it possible that some kind of “mind control” ability had manifested in Camela, appearing roughly in the time of her first menstruation? And if so, could Camela, viewing life through her Goth filters, have interpreted this as a sign of vampiric transformation? My mind rebelled at accepting anything so preposterous. And yet … how else to explain what had just happened? My breathing had calmed, but I could still feel the memory of her caress on the pleasure centers of my brain – hot … wet … insistent. It was difficult to deny reality. I wondered what the extents of her mind influencing powers were … what areas she could affect, besides pleasure centers … if any. Memory? Cognition? Learned skills? She had forced a truthful answer out of me, earlier, just by using her mind. Could her ability manifest in any other ways? Telepathy? Telekinesis? I found myself excited about the possibilities. This was a researcher’s dream come true! A subject with demonstrable ‘psionic’ abilities! I could get published in journals! I could get a tenure track at a major university, pharmaceutical corporation, or research hospital! Maybe a cushy government position! I could ditch Small-Time High, USA, forever! This was the opportunity of a lifetime! Rehooking my bra, under my rebuttoned blouse, I tried to achieve a less disheveled appearance. Glancing at my folders, I saw Kirsten was my next appointment. It was definitely an ethical breach, I knew, but there was too much at stake – I’d use Kirsten to find out more about Camela’s abilities. * * * * * Kirsten squirmed in the big chair, obviously delighted to be talking about “her mistress.” “So tell me, Kirsten,” I probed. “How is it that Camela … chose you?” “Oh, it was incredible!” Kirsten bubbled. “I’ll confess, initially, I was horribly misguided. I thought she was just an annoying little Gothic geek. But then, she reached out and touched my soul! Her caress was like nothing I’d ever experienced!” I nodded, scribbling furiously. “You say she ‘reached out and touched your soul,’” I prompted. “How, exactly did she do that?” Kirsten’s face flushed a deep scarlet with remembered lust. “Her soul touched mine. I don’t know how to describe it. She didn’t even touch me, at first, yet she … entered me.” I nodded. “Tell me about … the bite.” Kirsten shuddered and repressed a moan. It seemed all she could do to keep her hand from slipping under her little cheerleader skirt. “It was wonderful,” she sighed. “The Mistress’ soul caressed mine in a long and passionate embrace. Then she came to me, in body, and embraced me. She brought me to the heights of passion, with her fingers. Then she whispered ‘You are mine, now!’ At that moment, her lips closed over my neck and her fangs sank deeply into me …” I interrupted. “Excuse me, did you say ‘fangs?’” Kirsten nodded. “Did you actually see these fangs? Did you feel them?” Kirsten shook her head, and then nodded. “I didn’t see them, but the Mistress is a vampire, so she must have fangs. And I did feel them, I swear! I could feel her penetrate me … !” The young blonde moaned and lost her battle to keep her hand out from under her skirt. I pondered these revelations. Whatever Camela was, she was no vampire – at least, not in the classic sense. I had carefully inspected Kirsten’s bite mark. It had been exactly as I had expected: One hell of a hickey, but absolutely no actual punctures. I had seen the outline of teeth, yes, but it had been from a full set; no doubt the result of passionate sucking, more so than any actual vampiric biting. I suspected that any sense of having been “penetrated” was either a Camela-induced illusion or Kirsten’s imagined sexual transference of what had obviously been an extremely erotic experience. It seemed obvious that the little Goth girl did, indeed, have the ability to exert some kind of “mind control,” though. It was most pronounced in her ability to excite the arousal centers of others’ minds, as well as their pleasure centers. Camela also had some degree of influence or control on inhibition centers, as I recalled from how she had forced a truthful response from me, that I’d never have provided, under normal circumstances. I questioned Kirsten extensively and determined that she was completely under the influence of the dominant little Goth. I paused. Did Camela pose an actual danger? Was there a risk that she’d use her ability to control and manipulate others? Was *I* in danger? I dismissed the idea. Kirsten was a weak-minded, little teenage bimbo. Camela had already tried to seduce-control me and she had failed. Perhaps she could have her way with brainless blonde teenagers, but she couldn’t overcome a strong-willed adult. After extensive questioning, I finally dismissed the smitten cheerleader and start strategizing how best to proceed with my session with Camela, tomorrow. * * * * * I canceled all my morning sessions and spent the time preparing for my time with Camela. When her 2 p.m. appointment time finally arrived, I was disappointed to find that the usually punctual little Goth was nowhere to be seen. I fretted. What could have made her miss our appointment? Was it a reaction to my rejecting her advances, last night? Damn … ! I didn’t need these complications. This was too important. I waited, hoping that she’d show up, eventually. Unfortunately, the time passed and Camela didn’t show. With a pang of frustration, I realized I hadn’t canceled my afternoon appointments. Kirsten showed up at her regular time. In irritation, I called to cancel the rest of the afternoon. Since Kirsten was already here, I’d deal with her. Maybe I could think of some new angles to pursue in regards to her relation with Camela. I invited Kirsten to sit. Leaning back in my own chair, I considered what tack to take. “The Mistress is quite cross with you, you know.” My ears perked. Did Kirsten know where Camela was? Maybe I could use the young blonde to re-establish sessions with Camela. “Is she, now?” I asked, hoping to draw the cheerleader out. “Oh yes,” the young blonde nodded. “She wants you. And she’ll have you, you know. Nobody denies the Mistress.” I repressed a laugh. How melodramatic. “Is that why Camela skipped her session with me, today?” I asked. I had to be careful; everything I talked about with Kirsten would, no doubt, be dutifully repeated back to Camela. The cheerleader nodded. “The Mistress is hurt that you don’t believe her; that you think it is all in her mind. She is going to prove to you that she *is* a vampire.” A feeling of foreboding crept across me. That couldn’t be good. “Prove to me?” I prompted. “How will she do that?” Kirsten beamed with pride. “She is raising a coven,” she said. “She is gifting six other girls with the gift of vampirism.” My confusion must have shown. “Gifting six other girls with vampirism?” What did that mean? Camela was not really a vampire; she couldn’t turn others into vampires. Unless … Unless she used her mind control abilities to make them *think* they were vampires. A strong-willed adult woman could shake off the young Goth girl’s psionic influence. Weak-willed high-school girls, approached one at a time … they might prove less resistant. I felt a chill go through me. “What will Camela do with this … coven?” I asked. Kirsten smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “She’ll take what is hers,” the young blonde sneered, smugly. What was hers … Me. “I see,” I said, softly. The blonde gathered up her books and bounced cheerily out of my office. * * * * * I drove home, but parked several blocks away, in case Camela or any of her girls knew what my car looked like. Getting to my little townhouse, I went in and locked all of the doors. Camela might be able to find me at the school, but she didn’t know where I lived. Anonymity meant safety. As the evening wore on, I began to relax. I changed from my work clothes into a robe and poured a glass of wine. Then another. I tried to watch some TV, but couldn’t get into any of the shows. I had dimmed the lights and lit a few candles, paranoid that someone might be able to see my shadow through the blinds. I laughed at my own silliness, but didn’t turn on any additional lights. A third glass finished off the bottle, so I uncorked another and started to loosen up. I was feeling good. Relaxed. Aroused. Aroused?!? Sleepily, I wondered why I would be feeling aroused, sitting here, alone, drinking wine in my tiny townhouse. “You look lovely, Ms Spencer.” The voice, though deceptively soft, startled me. I leapt to my feet, looking around, in alarm. There, in the arched entrance between my living room and my tiny kitchen, I could see the shadowy forms of several girls. The one in front stepped forward. It was Camela Russo. That was why I had been feeling aroused! The little psionicist must have been tickling the periphery of my mind! The pretty little Goth girl had outdone herself. She was dressed in a tight, clingy black gown with ragged edges. The gown had a plunging neckline that would have looked stunning … on an adult woman with the bustline to pull it off. I suspected that Camela had padded her barely B-cup boobs and used an underwire bra. She actually looked quite the little vamp – a little like a mini-Elvira. It would have been a great effect, all in all … under different circumstances. Kirsten was also there, still in her filthy cheerleader outfit, keeping a respectful distance back. I could smell the unwashed blonde from where I stood and was amazed I hadn’t smelled her presence, sooner. Six other girls were also filed up behind Camela, standing in my tiny kitchen. They all wore black, hooded robes, so I couldn’t tell if I recognized any of them. “How did you find me?” I demanded. “How did you get in here?” The tiny Goth girl gave a small smile. Her face was pale in the candlelight and her dark eyes almost lost in shadow. “Mrs Jenkins, the office secretary, ‘offered’ us your home address,” she said. With a little mental prodding, I thought. “As for getting in … you let us in, Ms Spencer.” I had no recollection of unlocking the back door. Had I underestimated her power? I could feel sweat forming on the back of my neck. Resisting a young girl’s psychic seduction was one thing. Being exposed to her strong mental manipulations, while also having to physically fend off seven other high school girls in their physical primes … that was a completely different matter. A gentle wave of arousal washed over me. It was beginning. I steeled my will against her mental assault and sprinted for the front door. But the gentle wave of pleasure that surrounded my brain immediately tightened into a constricting steel band of lust. I gasped as my thighs became slick with my own juices. My legs trembled and collapsed from under me. Two of her hooded companions stepped forward and grabbed my arms. Camela glided forward, her raw, sexual aura pressing harder against me, as she neared. “Please don’t go, Ms Spencer,” she purred, huskily. One of her tiny, pale hands reached out and gently stroked the opening of my robe. “Stay,” she murmured, slowly running her hand down the robe’s crease, gently brushing the underlying skin with the back of her fingertips. Her touch was electric and I struggled to calm my body. “It’s an illusion,” I told myself. “Or mental manipulation. Either way, my body is only reacting because my mind is reacting. I set my will hard against her. It seemed to be working -- although she certainly had an effect on me, I sensed she was being effectively blocked. She frowned and took a step back. “Stop trying to resist me!” she demanded. Wheeling to face her coven, she screamed “Strip her! Then hold her down.” The four remaining robed girls rushed forward and tore my robe off. I had only a bra and panties underneath, which were quickly and unceremoniously ripped from my body. With the two girls clutching my arms, I couldn’t cover myself and stood, feeling naked and vulnerable. They forced me down to the floor and onto my back. The two that had been holding my arms moved down to sit on my arms. I could feel their bare ass cracks pinning my wrists, so I knew they were nude underneath their robes. Two more sat on my ankles. Camela’s black vamp dress slid to the floor, revealing her pale, lithe body. She glided towards me and tenderly draped herself over my prone body, resting casually between my breasts. She held her face over mine, our lips almost touching. “Give yourself to me,” she whispered, heavily. “Give yourself to me, willingly.” I struggled to escape. In normal circumstances, I could have easily shaken off the slight Goth girl and I believe I might have been able to escape the four girls pinning me. But with Camela’s incessant mind assault, I couldn’t muster the focus and strength to break free. “Ginger! Beth! Begin feeding,” she ordered. “When she breaks, I want you to cease immediately and leave the feast for me.” The two girls sitting on my ankles got up and grabbed me by the knees. The forced my legs open and dropped between them. Within seconds, I could feel their hot, hungry mouths licking my inner thighs. My groin throbbed in response, but I kept my resolve steeled. Moving up to almost where my thighs met my body, each latched her mouth onto my leg-flesh and began sucking in a gross parody of feeding vampires. It was obvious that, like Camela, neither of these two were actual vampires – just mind-controlled high school girls. But their hot, sucking mouths were having an effect. All of my will was focused on resisting the psycho-sexual assault of the young Goth girl lying on top of me – I had little left in reserve to resist the oral ministrations of her two thralls, suckling at my inner thighs. Periodically, one would accidentally press her cheek so that it brushed my pubic hair or would press momentarily against my sex, sending my mind spinning dangerously. The hot young Goth girl straddling me looked beautiful and radiated sexuality. I knew that this was, no doubt, an effect of her psychic assault – manipulating me into perceiving her as far more desirable than she was. But the effect was real, nonetheless. Smiling seductively, she lowered her mouth to mine. I gave an involuntary moan as she parted her lips and kissed me deeply. Red-hot waves of arousal lashed the very core of my being. “Open to me,” her mental command resounded in my head. “Submit!” I ignored the voice and tried my best to ignore the waves of lust that beset me. I knew that if I provided even the tiniest crack in my resolve, she’d burst through my defenses and I’d be lost. The tiny Goth fondled my exposed breasts and explored the recesses of my mouth with her eager, hot, little tongue. I couldn’t breathe as the little minx lustfully probed my mouth and down my throat. “So, still you resist,” she murmured, at long last breaking our passionate kiss. I could only gasp in lungfuls of precious air and try desperately to stabilize myself. “I’m going to have you, my love,” she whispered in a thick, lust-filled voice. “I’m going to have you even if I have to break you to do it.” Her deep, dark eyes drilled into the depths of my soul and I cried out in pleasure. But still I clung to my mental defenses, refusing to surrender. “Ginger, Beth …” Camela called, never breaking eye contact with me, “Shift down and make room for Kirsten.” I felt the two robed thralls release their remora-like suction on my inner thighs and shift down along my legs, to be closer to my knees. The two burning areas at the top of my inner thighs told me that I’d have two ugly, and hard-to-explain, hickeys there, tomorrow. “Kirsten, my sweet,” Camela purred. “Pleasure Ms Spencer.” “Make her cum for me.” The stinking cheerleader grinned lustfully and immediately dropped to her knees, between my widespread thighs. She buried her face deeply into my dripping snatch. The beautiful blonde’s snaking tongue sent me reeling. Young Kirsten Powers was no stranger to cunnilingus, it seemed. No one could have achieved such proficiency within six short months – it was obvious that the attractive blonde had been carpet munching for several years, at least! I knew I was in trouble. The cheerleader’s skilled tongue soon had me writhing in dangerously mounting pleasure. Camela sensed my weakening and signaled her last two thralls to suckle at my breasts. Fear flashed through my body – I couldn’t withstand both Camela’s psychic assault and her thralls’ physical assaults! “I’m going to wait until your blood reaches a boiling point,” the diminutive Goth girl whispered hotly into my ear. “That’s when it will be the sweetest!” Her hot, wet mouth slowly traced its way down to the side of my throat and clamped gently … waiting. I fought with all my might to keep my resistance up. But the sensational overload being inflicted on my body was too much – in spite of myself, I climaxed. It wasn’t a great climax, to be honest. I’ve had better. I am not into women. But even the most confirmed heterosexual woman will succumb to an orgasm if her body is subjected to enough stimulation. And mine had been. When the orgasm hit, my resolve wavered. Just fractionally, but it was enough. Camela struck. She punched through my wavering defenses and thrust herself, hard, into the breach. Once she was past the mental walls I had erected, I had no way to get her out of my mind. She had breached my defenses. The pretty Goth girl entered me and seized my arousal centers. She gave them a savage mental squeeze, causing me to cry out in wanton desire. It was as if she had entered me physically, and then multiplied the effect ten-fold. She plunged herself into my pleasure centers and began pounding them unmercifully. Time ceased to have meaning as she ruthlessly mind-fucked me. Dimly I was aware of a woman howling in mindless ecstasy, somewhere. Slowly, I realized that woman must be me. I was helpless to stop this psychic rape, as she savaged the very core of my psyche. With her complete control of the pleasure centers of my brain, I was caught in an eternal climax, far beyond anything even remotely possible, in the physical world. I could hear faint popping noises and the faint odor of burnt flesh. “I can’t survive this.” The realization dawned slowly, reluctantly. She’s pushed me to my limits. And then she surged beyond. Way beyond. I was frightened, but utterly helpless to do anything but submit to the pseudo-vampiress’ mind-fuck. My body had long since burned out and stopped responding. But my mind was still victimized as she thrust herself deeply into me, again and again, flooding me with her essence. As if from far away, I felt her hot, wet mouth close on my neck. She sucked. Hard. She sucked even harder. Her teeth broke my skin. Then I felt her fangs penetrate deeply, sucking out my life force. I knew this was just her mental manipulation – the culmination that allowed her to “penetrate” me and complete her sexual domination. But that did nothing to dull the feeling of those titillating teeth as they pierced my flesh and pounded my non-stop orgasm up even more intensely by an order of magnitude. It wouldn’t stop! I felt like a butterfly whose pain and pleasure centers had been reversed, pinned to a piece of cardboard, still alive. I writhed and screamed in ecstasy. “Make it stop!” I begged. “I can’t take anymore!” But it wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t stop screaming, caught in the throes of a mind-fuck climax that wouldn’t end. * * * * * * I came to slowly. Grudgingly. The transition from mental-rape trauma to oblivion hadn’t been obvious. I had no recollection of just when I had passed out. I still lie spread-eagle on the floor. Two thralls were dragging Kirsten’s limp body from between my legs. She must have been caught between my clenched thighs, as I was being ravaged in the throes of Camela’s mind-fuck. I must have smothered her. Or maybe I’d unwittingly snapped her neck. I had no idea if she was dead or merely unconscious. The pretty little Goth girl was squatting by my side, with a worried look on her face, giving me tiny, rapid kisses. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she moaned. “I didn’t mean to do this!” Confused, I tried to sit up. “You damned well *should* be sorry!” I snapped. Or I tried to snap. My vocal cords were raw and on fire. What came out was a croaked “Ooh arr ror!” I was still lying on my back. I thought I had tried to sit up?! I could feel drool dribbling from the corner of my slack mouth. Fear flashed through me. What had happened to me?!? I tried to get up, but found my body wouldn’t respond. When I tried to talk, all that came out was incomprehensible babble. My tongue seemed sluggish and far too thick. My lips could move, but I lacked the fine motor control to form words. My eyes shot to Carmela. She was rocking back and forth on her heels, stroking me and moaning. “I’m so sorry!” she kept repeating. “What’s happened to me,” I screamed, in my mind. “What have you done to me?!?” Camela must have picked up my unspoken mental cries. She stroked my hair, tenderly. “I’m afraid I … I broke you,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to! Really! It’s just … it’s just that it felt *so* good.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It was like the most intense, longest-lasting climax a person could ever possibly experience! I … I just couldn’t stop.” Tears filled her eyes. “I … I don’t know how to fix you,” she whimpered. Tears began to fill *my* eyes. The little bitch! Because of her, my body was almost completely non-responsive? My speech was incoherent? I was permanently incapacitated, looking to all the world like a drooling retard. And all because that little bitch raped my psyche – mind-fucked me! I could work my lips a bit and move my tongue, just not enough to converse, intelligibly. The rest of my body seemed to be pretty much non-responsive. “You’d better *find* a way to fix me, dammit!” I railed, in my mind. “This is your fault! You have to find a way to make it right! I can’t go through life suffering like this!” The pretty little Goth girl looked at me somberly. Then I saw a look of resolve cross her face. Resolve with returning hints of desire. “You’re right,” she said, at last. “I do have to make this right.” I started to relax. Good! There *had* to be some way for me to get back to normal. “I know how we can make this better,” Camela declared, leaning over me. “I know how to stop your suffering and make you happy, again.” She touched a finger to my forehead. Feeling relieved, I opened my mind to her. I doubt my shattered defenses could have kept her out, even if I tried, but I wanted to do everything within my power to facilitate her attempt to help me. I felt her mind probe into mine – gently, this time, with only a faint hint of arousal and lust. She probed and began gently caressing several areas of my mind. Cognition … perception … likes & dislikes … I was confused. What was she doing in those areas? None of these spots had been damaged in her recent, lust-crazed mind-fuck attack. A horrified realization hit. “No!” I screamed, in my mind. But at that instant, the world shifted. I had always thought the tiny Goth girl had been pretty, but now, as I stared up into her face, I realized that she had to be the most beautiful, stunning young woman I had ever laid eyes on! Her young age was meaningless. Her face was beyond beautiful. Her lithe, nude little body … exquisite! My heart ached with love for her. Love and … something more. Shocked, I realized that I desired her. Intensely. That meant … I was a lesbian? Had I always been attracted to women? The psychologist in me wondered if I might have repressed this realization, until now. Even as I wondered about this, unremembered memories came to me – a tryst with a college roommate … long nights spent lovingly between her long, slender legs … receiving pleasure by providing pleasure. Were these really my memories? Or merely “memories” my lover was planting within my brain? It didn’t matter. “Please,” I thought, gazing into my Absolute Love’s eyes. “Please, don’t discard me! It’s true that this body may be almost useless, but allow me serve you in the only way I can!” My gracious Mistress smiled, nodded -- and it was like light from heaven. Still nude, she squatted over my head with her exquisite body and gently sat on my face, where I could service her with my still functional lips and tongue. This was where I wanted to be. Forever.