Power of Suggestion

POWER OF SUGGESTION CHAP 4

Darla rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she shuffled into the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker. She'd gotten everything ready to go the night before, like she usually did, and now just had to wait for the pot to brew. She glanced out the doorway – Mike was still asleep. She'd bring him a cup of his own when she went back upstairs.

She shivered a bit in the cool morning air and felt her nipples harden. She'd taken to sleeping nude, but never remembered to throw on a T-shirt before coming downstairs.

While she was waiting Darla headed down the hall to the bathroom and peed quickly. She stopped in the doorway and looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. She'd dropped a good ten pounds since she'd moved into Mike's house six months ago, and was happy to see none of that weight had come off her chest. All the fucking had something to do with it, but not having to worry about money was just as much of a factor. She still had a job, but being a nasty slut wasn't any work at all, she'd been one for thirty years.

Her tan was all over now, no lines, thanks to the weekly trips to the tanning salon, but she didn't want to get too dark, she didn't think Mike liked that. He liked the tongue stud, she was sure of that. She'd had that when she met him, plus the bellybutton piercing and the two tattoos. She hadn't gotten any more piercings since she'd met him, but the same thing couldn't be said about tattoos. She strode back into the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee before heading back upstairs.

At the top of the stairs she peered into Tits' room. Mike had wanted to return the girl to her family months ago but Darla had convinced him she was too much fun to send away. They'd been experimenting on her, seeing to what extent third-person control worked over her. It had worked perfectly that first night, the busty girl orgasming every time Darla called her a cunt, but since then they'd experimented with ever more encompassing commands. The last one she'd been given had been about as all-encompassing as they got – Mike had told her "You will believe every word Darla says."

He'd told her that over a week before, and the command still seemed to be working. Darla had pushed her in every direction possible, seeing if there was a point at which she wouldn't respond, but so far she hadn't found it. Mike, for his part, seemed to have forgotten Tits was as much under Darla's command as his, but Darla hadn't, not for a second. Tits was laying on her back, still asleep, knees spread far apart, the soles of her feet together. Her arms were outstretched above her head like her wrists were tied to the headboard, and indeed Darla had told her they were, just as she'd told Tits her knees had been tied down to the bed. She'd also mentioned to Tits that an eight-foot-tall horned, hooved, tailed Demon with red skin and an eighteen inch cock had risen from the underworld and was there to fuck her all night long. The show Tits had put on was amazing—it was obvious that not only did she believe what Darla had told her, but that in her own mind she could see the demon, feel him inside her, and had screamed with ecstasy at his burning touch.

Darla leaned over the still-sleeping form, exhausted from the night before, and pinched one of her nipples. Tits jerked awake and stared up at Darla with wide eyes, but didn't say anything.

Darla didn't know anything about psychology, but she had pretty much established to her own satisfaction that Tits would believe whatever she told her. How far that belief extended, however, was another question.

"You're not pregnant," she told the teen, "but sex with the demon will cause you to start lactating. Your tits will fill up with milk, lots of it," she told the wide-eyed girl. She decided she'd better give her a little guidance. "Within two weeks. First they'll get sore, then they'll swell up, then your milk will come in. When that happens you tell me. Understood?"

Tits nodded. Darla leaned down close, until her lips nearly touched the girl's pink ear. "Cuntcuntcuntcuntcunt," she breathed softly.

Tits' back arched up off the bed as she came, her namesakes flopping and jiggling wildly. A little smile curled Darla's mouth. If this little experiment worked….she could hardly imagine the results. The sky was the limit, not just for her, but for Mike, too. She turned and walked into Mike's bedroom, the room she shared with him, and set the coffee cups down on the bedside table. He was just waking up, stirring slightly under the comforter. She smiled happily and tugged it carefully off him. He was already sporting morning wood, and Darla quickly straddled him, facing his feet. That way, when he opened his eyes, the first thing he would see would be the tattoo on her back. She'd gotten it a month before, just a few simple words written on the stripes of a small American flag inked between her shoulder blades, something he'd called her when they were fucking.

DIRTY

CUM FED

COCK BRED

PREMIUM GRADE A

WHITE TRASH AMERICAN

FUCKMEAT

Mike looked out the windshield of his Hummer at the roof of the parking garage. They were far from the only car up there on a Sunday afternoon, but that hadn't stopped Darla from burying her head in his lap just as soon as he'd found an empty space.

"Jesus." Mike reclined his seat a little and watched her head bob in his lap. She'd always been good, but lately she'd been fucking amazing, the oral sex equivalent of Mozart, a Tasmanian devil in his pants. In less than five minutes she had him gasping.

She took her mouth off his cock with a loud PLOP! and kept stroking him with her hand. "Yeah? You gonna come? Come for me, baby. Come on my face. Come all over my face." With a grunt he did, and she directed his spurts with an expert's aim. Thick white globs landed on her nose, across her cheeks, on her chin. When she could get nothing more out of him her pistoning hand slowed and she licked the head of his cock clean and tucked it back into his pants.

"You ready to do some shopping now?" she asked him with a smile. He smiled back.

"You gonna clean up first?" he asked her, thinking it was a rhetorical question.

She looked him right in the eye. "Nope," she responded.

Surveillance Team 2 had pulled their van into a spot across the aisle from the Hummer less than a minute after Mike had parked and began filming him as best they could through the tinted glass.

"Another blowjob? Jesus, I can't even believe I'm saying that," the bearded man working the camera said.

"You know, if someone had asked me five years ago what I thought I'd be doing now….." his partner said, listening to the audio feed from the bug they'd planted inside the Hummer's dash. He got on the radio. "Foot Team, get ready, it sounds like he's getting close."

"Ten-Four," came the reply. "Lucky bastard."

"Oh my God."

"What?"

The audio tech could only shake his head. "Just get a closeup of her face when she gets out, this I've got to see."

After about fifteen minutes Darla got bored with the looks she was getting and used her fingers to wipe off her face as she and Mike walked around the mall. Some of the come had already dried and she had to use a Kleenex to finish the job. Then she ate the Kleenex, having made a promise to herself to never let a drop of Mike go to waste. She was sure he'd noticed.

Darla was wearing a jean jacket over a black leather bustier and jeans so tight she'd had to lay down to slide into them. She'd picked up on his thing for high heels and had on black leather pumps with near four-inch heels.

Darla wanted to hit Frederick's of Hollywood and Victoria's Secret to pick up some slutty underwear, and Mike wanted to grab a few DVD's at the movie store, so they split up after wandering around aimlessly for a while, watching the reaction of passing shoppers as they saw Darla's face.

On the way back from the movie store Mike came across the children's play area in the center of the mall. It was walled off, so the kids couldn't easily escape, and filled with rubberized pieces of food big enough to climb on. Enough dads were standing around the periphery watching their kids running around inside that Mike didn't stand out as a potential abductor. Nervous moms herded toddlers stumbling this way and that like drunks at last call, and Mike eyed them appreciatively. Motherhood took a toll on the female form, but there were usually some benefits to be realized, usually in the form of bigger, perhaps still milk-filled tits. He'd been fantasizing a lot about nursing women lately, he wasn't sure why, and coming across the play area unexpectedly seemed almost serendipitous.

A huge-cheeked blob of fat on two legs, presumably a girl since it was dressed all in pink, attempted to dash by Mike out into the mall proper. He took half a step to the side and the girl bounced off his shin and landed on her padded butt. A frazzled-looking young woman, presumably the mother, came jogging up. She had a little extra fat around her middle, but what Mike enjoyed the most was her D or perhaps DD-cup breasts jammed into a bra at least a cup size too small for their bulk, shaking like crazy as she ran up.

"Thank you, thanks," she said breathlessly. "Michaela, don't run away from Mommy," she said in babytalk to the toddler. She bent down and pulled the dazed girl back to her feet, and the girl promptly took off toward the giant bunch of grapes.

"Stay and talk to me," Mike said quickly, as the young mother went to chase her daughter. Her daughter really had nowhere to escape to with them standing by the only exit. "Tell me, what's your name?" he asked her.

"Kayla," she said, not taking her eyes off her daughter as she bounced from rubber food piece to rubber food piece.

"Kayla and Michaela?" Mike said. How white trash , he thought, but kept it to himself. "You married?"

"No." She shook her head. He looked down at her chest, tightly clad in a V-necked pink blouse. Definite sweatermeat.

"How old is she?"

"Michaela? Sixteen months."

"You still breastfeeding?"

She looked up at him, a frown on her face.

"Don't look at me, look at her," Mike told her. "Don't get an attitude, just answer the questions. I'm your best friend."

"I'm weaning her right now," the young mother told him. "It's a nightmare."

"Why?"

"Because she doesn't want the bottle, and my boobs are swollen and sore from the milk. I keep giving in to her when she cries and try to nurse her just a little, but then she just cries harder when I stop. I've got a breast pump, but unless it's coming straight from me she doesn't want it, even if I put it in a bottle."

"Are you working?" he asked her.

"No, I'm on ADC and food stamps. I just hope they last until she's old enough to put into preschool, then I'm going to go back to school."

Mike dug around in his coat pockets and found a pen and a scrap of paper. He scribbled his address on it.

"Don't give her any more of your milk," he told Kayla. "A little crying won't kill her, or you. But use that breast pump, I don't want your milk going away. This is my address. Come on over tonight, you're going to nurse me. You got any diseases?"

"No."

"Good. If I like it, we'll make it a regular thing. Come on over about seven. You got a babysitter you can use for a few hours?"

"Yes, but I don't know what I'm going to pay her—"

"I'll give you money for the babysitter," Mike told her. "Just make sure you're totally shaved before you come over, and wear one of your bras that don't fit," he said, nodding at her chest. "I have to buy cow's milk, maybe you can make a little extra money out of this. Oops, better go get her, that looked like it had to hurt."

He wandered away from the play area, really excited at the thought of trying out real mother's milk for the first time. There was still no sign of Darla at the gourmet pizza place on the lower level, so he sat on a decorative stone wall enclosing a long planter and watched shoppers walk back and forth.

A trio of teenage girls paused a few feet from him and chattered and giggled, looking around the mall. Mike studied their clothes and was struck by how fashions had changed since he was their age. All three of them wore low-rider hip hugger jeans, one pair so low Mike figured the girl had had to do some strategic shaving before leaving her house. They wore tight, belly baring shirts, and all three girls had belly-button piercings. He looked at their makeup, and earrings, and ugly clunky expensive high-heeled shoes and shook his head. When he saw the tongue piercings he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Girls, get over here." They frowned at him curiously as they clustered around him still sitting on the low wall.

"Don't give me any grief, just answer the questions. How old are you?" he demanded of them.

"Thirteen."

"Thirteen."

"Twelve."

"Who's got a tongue piercing? Stick 'em out. All of you? Christ. Do you know what the original historic purpose of a tongue piercing is? It's to provide added stimulation to the male while you're performing oral sex, did you know that? You get what I'm saying? You rub that little steel ball on your tongue against the underside of his cock and the guy comes faster. I'm not that older than you but when I was your age the only women who dressed they way you're dressed now were hookers. Or total unashamed sluts. Were you trying to look sexy, or to look slutty?"

"Slutty," said the twelve year old. She was the one whose jeans were slung so low it looked like they were hanging on her pubic bone.

"I don't know. Like Britney Spears. Is that sexy or slutty?"

"Slutty," Mike told her.

"Ummmm." The third girl couldn't make up her mind. Darla walked up and stood next to the girls, looking on with a knowing smile on her face.

" Are you sluts?" Mike asked them.

"I don't know. What do you consider a slut?" asked one of the thirteen-year-olds.

"At thirteen?" Mike said. "Shit, if you've had sex more than once. That includes blowjobs."

"Well sure, if you include blowjobs," the tallest one said. She was one of the thirteen-year-olds, and had the long lanky body supermodels starve themselves for.

"I don't think it's fair to include blowjobs, that's not really sex," said the girl that asked the question.

"Not the way you do it," said the twelve-year-old, smirking under her eyeshadow. Of the three she had the most mature body, with B- or possibly C-cup breasts on a small frame. Her friend stared daggers at her, but she pretended not to notice, instead regarding Mike with an interested gaze.

"So that's three yeses?" Mike said. He shook his head, momentarily amazed. "You know what I think?" he told them. "If you're going to dress like sluts, you'd better act like sluts or it's just false advertising. Either that or stop wearing clothes like that. Here, I'll let you make the choice. You can dress in clothes your mother would approve of, or you can keep dressing like you are now, but if you dress like a slut you have to act like one, and that means a lot more than just giving the occasional blowjob." He looked over at Darla.

"Darla, you're a slut. Why don't you tell them what that entails?"

Darla did, giving the girls a very detailed account of not just what sluts did (everything) and how (eagerly), but how often (everyday) and with whom (anyone who asked).

"Now," Mike said, when Darla had finished, "if you don't want that to be you, stop dressing like that," Mike told them. "Or maybe you just can't stand the thought of not dressing like that because it's too cool. That's fine, just as long as you realize that if you dress the part you have to play the part. So," he said, looking the trio over, "who's going to be a slut?"