Mellisa & Lisa-Ann

I guess the best place to start is the beginning. It's been a little over a
year now. I had just gone off to college, away from home for the first time. I
had had sex, with one guy. I wasn't easy by any means.

My name is Lisa Ann. I'll be 21 soon. I'm 5'7", with a good build (36c/25/35)
and red hair. I always knew I could turn heads, but until I met Melissa, I
didn't know how to use that.

When I got to college, I had to stay in the dorms. My family isn't really well
off. That's where I met her. She wasn't unattractive, but she had that certain
something, you know. She carried herself like she was a queen. And managed to
get treated that way.

We hit it off right away. It seemed like we were always together. She was
always so sweet to me, she complimented my clothes all the time. She always
joked that she was jealous of my breasts cause she was an A-cup and wanted
mine. 

To this day, I'm not exactly sure of all the details. My birthday is
Valentine's Day. If you think it's a bitch to be alone on Valentine's, add your
birthday to it. My folks sent presents, and a few friends took me out for
dinner, but that was my big 20th. When I got home, Melissa was waiting with a
present. It was a beautiful gold locket just like one that she had. She also
poured some champagne. I didn't normally drink, but I was feeling a little
sorry for myself so I had a couple. I vaguely remember looking at the locket
like it was the only thing in my world.

The next morning I woke up in Melissa's bed. We were snuggled together and both
of us were naked. To say I was stunned was an understatement. Especially when I
realized that her hand was on my crotch. And I was, well at the time I would
have said "not exactly fresh".

Somehow, Melissa and I had ended up in bed together and I was sure that I had
had sex. When I looked at Melissa, my fears were heightened by the fact that
she was wearing a strap-on dildo. It was bigger than my old boyfriend's penis
ever was.

"Want some?" Melissa said as she woke to find me staring at the fake cock. I
started to get out of the bed. "Come on, you know it gives you a tingle."

Suddenly, my vagina seemed to be on fire. I couldn't stand. I couldn't think. I
just had to have her cock buried in me. It seemed like one motion that had me
impaled on it. Apparently we hadn't been asleep long since both it and my pussy
seemed well oiled. My mind started to clear as I was bouncing up and down on
Melissa's tool.

I must have looked fairly confused because Melissa started to laugh. I just
kept impaling myself like a madwoman. 

"You'll find there have been some changes Lisa Ann. Your prudish attitude was
getting boring. Besides, a body like that was meant to be used." Melissa seemed
to be enjoying herself. "Your legs are now open for business. Anytime I want
you, or anybody else for that matter, you'll be juiced and ready to go."

"What ... have ... you ... done ... to ... me?" The cadence of my pussy
determined my speech pattern.

"I told you I wanted your tits. And now I've got 'em. And anything else I might
want of you. If I want you to orgasm, I merely have to say a word. If I want
you to fuck or suck anyone in sight, a simple word."

"Nooo." It sounded pathetic under the circumstances, but it was all I could
manage.

"Oh yes. In fact the great thing about this little experiment is that every
time you orgasm, your defenses break down a little more. Pretty soon, you won't
even remember not being my redheaded slut. You may not want to remember if your
performance last night was any indication. Now... tingle."

There was this explosion inside me. To that point I'd never had an orgasm (that
I remembered anyway). It turned me inside out. I felt like I couldn't go on,
but I couldn't stop. I just kept riding that dildo for all I was worth. Melissa
just laughed as she began playing with my tits, pinching my nipples, and saying
that word.

I ended up dropping out of school and taking an apartment in town. Melissa had
me working as a stripper for a little while, taking the more generous customers
home for private shows.

She was right, I have only vague memory of not loving sex. I've been diagnosed
as a nyphomaniac. But I hardly care as long as the only cure is more tingle.

Melissa and I have parted ways. But not before she gave me one last command.
The word "tingle" is all around me. On shirts, paintings, my license plates,
and that tattoo in my cleavage that can't be missed. I must hear it a dozen
times a day. In fact, I have to go take care of something right now.