Good Little Girl

posted in: Mind Control, Stories | 0

Mind Control

Part 1: Pretty in Pink
by Tantha

My name is Anne, well, it was until a short while ago, and since I’m a good
little girl, I’ve begun writing this. Derek told me to, you see.
Oh dear, I seem to be getting a little ahead of myself! giggle oops, I
guess I should describe myself.

When our story begins I have long blonde hair, down past my shoulders. I am
a little on the shortish side, with a nice figure, if a little dumpy,
although I have nice breasts, about 32B. Feisty little blue eyes (so I’m
told, and Derek is always right).
I was the queen of the world, I was lt. I hadn’t once been laid either,
but at the time, it didn’t bother me.
Oh well, always room to change for the better. Now I’m just a good little
girl, and good little girls ALWAYS get laid, which is lucky for me, I guess,
‘cos I always want it.

Derek, now, he is tall, and dark and handsome, I’ve known him for years, we
were great friends since high school, we were in the same class (oh, I’m 19,
by the way).

Anyway, now that the introductions are over. Let me get on with my story.

A friend of my mother’s had asked me to housesit for them. They had a
remote house, up on the hillside, it was a nice sunny summer, and I asked
Derek along to keep me company. He accepted (naturally) and so we went up
there to stay for a few weeks until they got back. Derek took an unusually
large amount of luggage, I thought, but then, I always travel light, so
maybe it was just me.

Anyway, we got there on a nice Sunday afternoon, and stared at the house in
amazement. I recalled that the owner had children, although I never had
seen them, which probably explained the jungle gym and sandpit out the back.
They must be very rich, I thought.
The house was large and luxurious, bigger than any I had ever stayed in.
Derek immediately dumped his luggage in the parents’ bedroom, and after a
brief sulk, I chose another room.

It was a room that seemed to belong to the daughter of the woman, because it
was frilly and pink, a little girl’s dream. There was a big wardrobe in the
corner, a chest of drawers in the other, and a dresser with a mirror. On
one of the drawers, and on the wardrobe doors, hung a small sign that said:
“Good little girls only”
I resolved that they were really none of my business. So anyway, we settled

After a couple of days, Derek came in from the front yard, shouting “Anne!!
There’s a letter for you!”

“What? I’m having a bath! Come upstairs, I can’t hear you!”
I heard him climb the stairs.

“I said, there’s a letter here for you!”

“Alright, come in and give it to me.”
Derek had seen my naked body before, and I had seen his. We were completely
platonic anyway, so I never gave it much thought at times like these.
So Derek walked in, handed me the envelope with a bemused expression on his
face, and left.
After he had left, I inspected the envelope. It had no stamp and no return
address. But it was addressed to me, and so I opened it. Inside was a
large pink card with frilly black writing. It said: “I’m a good little
I read it out loud.

“I’m a good little girl”
A tingle ran through my whole body, and centered in on my pussy, where it
“I’m a good little girl”
Another tingle charged through my body, and buzzed in my pussy.
“I’m a good little girl … oooohhhh”
I was getting aroused!
“I’m a good little girl – ooooohhhhhh”
“I’m a good little girl – oooooohhhhhhh”
“I’m a good little girl — ohh ohh ohh”
“I’m a good little girl — ohh, and I’M COMING!!!”
I collapsed in the bathtub, exhausted.

I spent the rest of the day in a daze; I was constantly aroused, because
those words wouldn’t get out of my head. And yet, I couldn’t come like

I don’t know if Derek noticed, but I was red in the face most of the day.
Every so often I would go to my room, and finger myself for a while, but I
couldn’t come, no matter what I did. I merely managed to drive myself to
even higher levels of arousal.
All day, I was thinking.
“How come these words have such an effect on me? Its not like I’m a slut.
I’ve only masturbated two or three times before, and I’ve never had sex,
only once gotten further than second base, and that was a mistake…
What is the meaning of this? How come I just came from reading words out

“Should I tell Derek?”
“No, I mustn’t, what would he think, I’m not a nympho slut, and I don’t want
him to see me in that light!”

That night, when I went to bed I read the words from that gorgeous pink card
until I came! I had never come that hard in my entire life! It felt so
goooood, I was hooked.

The next morning, I woke up, and I tried to reach orgasm again by reading
from the card, but I couldn’t. I just got a tingle. After a quarter of an
hour repeating that beautiful phrase, I gave up. I hadn’t come but boy, was
I hot. I wandered the room, naked, looking for some underwear. I looked at
the clothes I had brought. They all looked so drab and dull, and I was so
hot, my pussy and nipples were burning!

I looked around, and my eye fell on the chest of drawers. I rummaged
through it, but I couldn’t find any underwear. Then I remembered the drawer
with the sign. I looked at the sign. I read it once more: “Good little
girls only”
“Well,” I thought, “I was a good little girl, the card had said so.”
My pussy throbbed.
“My pussy agrees too,” I said out loud, “I must be a good little girl”
And so, that fact established, I opened the drawer.

There lay the most beautiful pair of underwear I had ever seen in my life.
They seemed to be made from this strange shiny plastic-latexy material I had
never seen before. The bottom was a shiny pink pair of hot pants. They had
a zipper in the crotch (pink, of course) and a zipper behind as well.
Underneath the hot pants was a bra the likes of which I had never imagined.
It too was a hot pink, from the same material, and it looked beautiful, all
shiny and sexy….

“Mmmmm, just right for a good little girl,” I said, not realizing I was
vocalizing, “oooh, and here’s a card!”
It looked just like the one in the letter, and said: “All good little girls
wear pink.”
As I repeated the phrase, I felt a stronger tingle down in my pussy.
“Well, if my pussy agrees, then it must be right,” I thought.

So I went to the bathroom, eager with anticipation. One can’t wear that
sort of underwear with a hairy snatch. It just isn’t right.
So I lathered my pussy up, and proceeded to shave it completely. I had
never done that before.
As I was toweling off, the towel brushed my sex, and I barely strangled a
moan. It was so much more sensitive! I had to stop myself from touching
myself right then and there.
“Later,” I thought, “the underwear awaits,” and I went back into my room,

I gently eased the hot pants up my legs, the material caressing my calves,
and then my thighs. It felt so nice and soft. As I pulled the pants up
over my hips, I realised that they fit perfectly. They were snug and tight
against my newly shaved pussy. I wriggled my hips, and felt the pants stick
to them like a second skin even. Next, I picked up the bra, and eased it
on. I did up the clasp, which closed with an ominous click, but I didn’t
care. I was in heaven. I snugly fitted my breasts into the cups, and it
seemed the bra fit me perfectly. My breasts seemed very amplified from my
vantage point. I looked in the mirror and fairly squealed with delight!
I was gorgeous!

The bra did wonders for my cleavage, pushing my breasts up and out, and the
pants were divine, they were so wonderfully tight and the little zippers
were so cute! No more need to remove one’s underwear ever! Now I can be
sexy 24 hours a day!
I strutted around in my room for a while, feeling sexier and sexier. If
this was how sexy a good little girl was, then I definitely was one.

But then I stopped. I couldn’t let Derek know I was taking stuff from this
house, or that I was wearing underwear like this. I put on my jeans and
cast around for the baggiest sweatshirt I could find. Thus attired, and
hoping he didn’t notice my amplified bust, I went out to have breakfast.

At breakfast, I tried to act nonchalant. I felt very desirable, however,
and couldn’t help putting a little saucy sway in my hips as I fixed
breakfast for the both of us (Derek had just roused himself from slumber).
Maybe I was naughtily hoping he would notice, but he didn’t seem to have
noticed anything. It didn’t matter though. I was being sexy for me, and
that was all that mattered. The morning’s events weighed on me at the same
time though. Here I was wearing clothes that didn’t belong to me… hot pink
slutty sexy clothes … which weren’t what I usually wore… but felt so
goooood and sexy and wonderful …
And I resolved not to think about it. It just made my head hurt.

Throughout the day, I was up in the clouds. Somehow, those tingles in my
pussy stayed and amplified.
“It must be my good little girl underwear” I thought. I was a good little
girl, the card had said so, my pussy had said so, my head was confused,
listen to my pussy, it knows.

I couldn’t keep my mind on any of the work I was meant to be doing for my
philosophy course, my mind kept returning to the pink underwear I was
wearing. When I was alone in my room, I removed my clothes and reclined on
my bed in only the underwear. I had never felt so sexy in my entire life.
When Derek came to talk to me I would quickly throw on the clothes. I’m
sure it made him suspicious.

In the afternoon, I had exhausted all the things I had planned to do, having
abandoned them from lack of ability to concentrate. I now had no excuses
for not thinking about my looks. I realised that my legs were disgustingly
hairy, and so were my arms. I resolved to do something about it, so I went
to have a shower.

I threw off my clothes the minute I walked into the bathroom. I didn’t take
my underwear off, of course, didn’t even think about it. Besides, it was
made of plastic, and wouldn’t get damaged. I felt nice and clean underneath
anyway. I got in the shower, and luxuriated in the hot water coursing over
my body and my figure-hugging lingerie. I opened both the zippers and
washed inside, and then closed them. The pressure on my sex of opening and
closing made me squirm with pleasure. I then grabbed a handy bottle of Nair
and proceeded to lather myself with the stuff from the neck down. After a
few minutes, I washed it off, and as I watched the froth go down the
plug-hole, I realized that I was hairless from the neck down. It felt much
better. Having finished, I got out and dried off, not giving a thought to
the fact that my pussy and underwear were already dry the minute I stepped

Hiding myself under a large towel, I picked up my clothes and ran, in my
underwear, to my room, where I whipped the towel off and proceeded to admire
myself in the mirror. That was much better. My skin felt smoother, and my
thighs seemed to be trimmer. There seemed to be fewer blemishes on my skin
than before.
“Must be the Nair,” I thought.

Having not much else to do, I paraded around the room in my underwear,
admiring myself, an practicing a sultry hip-swaying walk. However, there’s
only so much looking at herself a girl can do before she becomes tired, and
pretty soon I was. So I went downstairs (being careful to put my hiding
clothes back on) and prepared myself a light dinner (and practicing with my
hips at the same time, when Derek was out of the room). Then I went
upstairs and began to prepare for bed.

I removed my clothes, but kept my pants and bra on (a good little girl must
wear pink at all times, even in bed).
I slid under the covers and pulled out the cards from under the pillow where
I kept them. If I didn’t come now I would never get to sleep.
I read them out loud:

“I am a good little girl, all good little girls wear pink.”

Again and again I read them, getting hotter and hotter until at last I came,
and collapsed exhausted into sleep, in my bra and hot pants, which never
seemed to get wet, even though I know I did.

Part 2: A Change of Clothes

The next morning, I got out of bed and went to look at myself in the mirror.
I inspected myself, and made sexy poses in front of it, and I noticed that
my waist had shrunk overnight a little. The fat was just…gone! Also, my
arms were whiter, my face whiter and blemish-free, and my legs were smoother
and tighter. Also, it might have been my imagination, but I could have
sworn my breasts were a bit larger too. I soon forgot about this though. I
was sexier than before and that was all that mattered. I looked around, and
noticed that thrust under my door was a note which said:


I’m going of to take care of some business, I’ll be back in 2-4 days, oh,
and this came for you.


Under the note was another envelope like the first one. I opened it up and
read the pink card I had expected:

“All good little girls must dress their best”

My pussy throbbed in wordless affirmation.

So how do good little girls dress? I looked around the room. From some
criminal oversight, I had forgotten to bring any clothes a good little girl
would wear. This wasn’t like me.

“I always dress like a good little girl, don’t I?”

Then, I remembered the wardrobe. I examined the sign:

“Good little girls only”

“I’m sure they won’t mind if I borrow some of their clothes, after all, I’m
sure they understand that good little girls must look their best.”
And so I opened the wardrobe, and gasped in astonishment.

It was a large wardrobe, and full too. On the racks hung dress after dress,
all of them were pretty and various shades of pink.
I flipped through them quickly, and chose one that I liked. It was a lacy
little girl dress, sized for an adult though. It was all pink and white,
with frilly lace decorating the low-cut bodice, and a small waist. It
looked like a pink Alice in Wonderland dress, except of a decidedly sluttier
sort, and it had a gorgeous pink bow at the back. The sleeves were very
short and tight and frilly with lace too, and it had a little pink apron on
the front. I guessed that the hem would come down to mid-thigh.

I pulled it out and held it up against my body in the mirror. Wow! Panting
with anticipation, I struggled into it. The waist was a bit tight, but
apart from that, it was wonderful. The bodice pushed my breasts up and
together, making them look much larger and rounder and sexier. The skirt
flared out, and barely covered the top of my legs. Another few inches
higher and it would have shown my underwear to the world. I fluffed the bow
at the back, and turned around to inspect it. I looked all nice and cute,
just like what a good little girl should be wearing.

I felt deliciously naughty. However, I had still not finished dressing. I
looked around for some leg-wear, and my eyes fell upon a pair of long white
socks. I eagerly put them on and rolled them up my smooth hairless thighs,
until they ended just below the knees. I inspected myself in the mirror
“That’s much better! But still something is missing. Hmmm… Oh I know!
I rummaged around in the bottom of the wardrobe, and selected a pair. They
were pink (of course, a good little girl must always wear pink!), and
had nice high pointed heels, about 5 inches or so, with a strap, and a
little opening for my toes to show through. They were so cute! I sat down
on the bed and proceeded to draw them onto my feet. I fastened the straps,
and stood up. I almost fell. I didn’t know how to walk in these shoes. So
I started walking backwards and forwards on the carpet, until after about 10
minutes my feet became used to the shoes, and I could walk without too much
difficulty. The fact that that sort of thing usually requires hours didn’t
pop into my head. I was too high up in the clouds).

I then looked for something to do with my hair. I had selected a nice pink
bow for it, when a thought popped into my head.

“All good little girls have their hair in pigtails”

I looked around, and found a pair of gorgeous pink hair ribbons, with which
I proceeded to tie my hair into beautiful pigtails.
Having done so, I once again inspected myself in the mirror. The effect was
amazing, I looked 5 years younger, but with a figure to die for.
But something was still missing.
“Ahh!! Makeup!”

I looked on the dresser table, and saw that there was a large collection of
makeup, all pink of course.
I pulled out a tube of hot pink lipstick (I’m sure they don’t mind that a
good little girl must look her best), and began to apply it with a seemingly
instinctive skill which I didn’t think about at the time. I made my lips a
hot shade of pink, and used some pink blusher on my cheeks to give them a
nice glow, and bright pink eye-shadow to highlight my eyes. I also curled
my lashes (first time for everything)
I looked in the mirror and was amazed by the transformation. I looked (and
felt) like someone’s wet dream dressed like a primary schooler. But then, I
thought, that’s how good little girls are supposed to look and feel.

Now that I was looking my best, I had to decide what to do that day. I knew
Derek was away, so I could walk around the house wearing my good little girl
clothes. I felt so sexy.

I went downstairs to prepare breakfast, humming as I went. I practiced my
hip-swaying walk all day, and soon had it down pat in my high heels. As the
day passed, I found I could walk more and more easily in the heels. I
couldn’t concentrate on any of my studies, so to fill in the time I began to
clean the house, top to bottom.

I spent most of the day very aroused, of course, a good little girl is
always aroused, and those words buzzed around in my head. Repeating the
phrases from the cards made me come, and I repeated them often. I needed to
come, I had to, and the only way I could was to repeat those phrases, those

I WAS a good little girl!
All good little girls wear pink!
All good little girls must dress their best!

And I came, many times, and the more I came, the more those truths became a
part of me. I was a good little girl. To be otherwise was unimaginable.

I no longer even bothered to look at my studies. Good little girls don’t
have to study.

It never once occurred to me that my underwear was never soiled, and never
had to be taken off. It also never occurred to me that I might try and make
myself come without repeating those facts. Why use my fingers when all that
coming required was an acknowledgment that deep down inside I was and would
always be a good little girl.

After cleaning the house and making myself dinner, I got bored, and so I
went to have a bath. I decided against a shower in order not to disturb my
hair and makeup.

So I disrobed and slid into the bath, and relaxed, letting my mind flow free
and empty, letting those words sink deeper and deeper into my very
consciousness. They just made life so much easier! A while later I slowly
came out of my reverie. Good little girls must avoid pruning at all costs.
I stood up and proceeded to lather myself with Nair again. Good little
girls must have smooth skin all the time. I was once again free of those
evil body hairs.

I got out of the bath and toweled myself dry. After wandering the house
undressed for a while (with the hot pants and bra on of course. A good
little girl never took her pants and bra off by choice), I had dried off
sufficiently to get dressed again, and so I put my outer clothes back on. I
let go a small sigh of relief. How wonderful it was to be a wet dream good
little girl in all my pretty clothes.

It was evening by then, and since all good little girls go to bed early, I
decided to call it a day. I returned to my pink little bedroom and removed
my dress, and my shoes and my pink hair-bow. I left my makeup on (too tired
to remove it), as well as my socks and pigtails. I slid into bed and
relaxed, repeating my ‘mantra’ until I came again, and finally drifting off
into an exhausted sleep.

I awoke the next morning, jumped out of bed, and looked at myself in the
mirror. Strange. My arms and legs, and my face were now entirely
blemish-free, and were a smooth pale colour. My hips were smaller than
before, starting to tend towards the hourglass more, and my breasts were
definitely larger than normal. My makeup was a mess, though, and I quickly
wiped it off and reapplied it, just like it had been the day before. I
rearranged my socks and pigtails properly too, and looked in the mirror
again. I looked like a super-sexy little girl. I stuck my thumb in my
mouth, experimentally and began to suck then stopped and pulled it out
guiltily (good little girls don’t suck their thumbs).

My mind flashed suddenly:

“What am I doing here like this? This isn’t me?”

Then my pussy answered with a tingle.

“Yes it is. This is the real you. You were born to be a good little girl
like this.”

After a brief argument, my pussy won, and my mind was free and open once

I went to dress, but I found that there were no other pairs of socks, so I
wore the heels on my bare feet, having been careful to paint my toenails
(pink of course!) and my nails to match. By now I was walking in my heels
like I had been born to them.

I did my chores, a delightfully thoughtless activity (which therefore
carried not very much strain) which allowed my mind to be free and clear.
However, I soon ran out of things to do.
I found that whenever I sat down and fidgeted, my thumb instantly crept up
to my mouth, and my pussy itched horribly. In an effort to find something
to do, I went out and played on the jungle gym.

I spent the whole afternoon swinging on the jungle gym in my good little
girl clothes, until I was able to do all manner of things, even with my
heels (especially with my heels). I quickly became very limber.

In the evening I again took off my costume and inspected myself. The skin
on my arms and legs and face was now completely flawless, all the little
imperfections gone, although I still recognized myself easily. My feet were
less awkward, and smoother and, well, cuter! My waist was thinner, and my
hips more rounded. I could have sworn I had gained an inch or two on my
bust, and my hair was also finer. I hadn’t changed my underwear yet, but
felt no need to do so, and quickly put it out of my mind. I was sexy all
the time, and that was all that mattered.

That night I went to bed, a happy good little girl.

Part 3: A Chance Meeting

I woke up feeling refreshed, and got up, removed my good little girl clothes
(I had slept in them for some reason) and went to have a shower. I kept my
underwear on of course. After my shower, I went to get the mail, oblivious
to the fact that I was only in my cute bra and hot pants. There was another
letter for me. Upon seeing the envelope, my body was wracked by a series of
powerful orgasms. I staggered back inside, and took it into my room. I
resolved not to read the card until I had complied with all the rules a good
little girl must follow. I dressed back up in my clothes and heels, made my
face up like before, and turned back to my letter. I picked it up and
kneeled down on the floor, repeated my instructions:

“I am a good little girl!
All good little girls wear pink!
All good little girls must dress their best!”

I came hard, and feeling ready to receive further instructions, I opened the
This time there were two cards.
I read the first one. It said:

“All good girls are obedient and respectful to their elders.”

As I read it I came, again and again, as I ran the instruction over and over
in my head.
I was a good little girl, and all good little girls are obedient and
respectful to their elders, and so I must be obedient and respectful to my
In a post-orgasmic stupor, a lightning thought arced its way through my

“Derek is my elder, therefore I must obey him and treat him with respect, I
am a good little girl.”

And again I came.

A few minutes later, fantasies of obedience out of my head, I had recovered
enough to read the second card.
It said: “Good little girls like Barbies.”

Well, I thought, that’s certainly true. I got up and looked around the
room, to see if they had any. In the bottom of the wardrobe there was a box
full of them. I grabbed the sexiest ones, and began looking for a place to
play with them.

I remembered that there was a sandpit out the back, and so I went down to
the pit and started to play dolls. All the Barbies were good little girls
of course, and I thought, “All Barbie dolls must be good little girls.” I
came explosively at that.

“Barbies are perfect in body and mind. They are the utmost pinnacle of
femininity. Barbies are good little girls, and to be a good little girl is
to be the most beautiful desirable feminine creature.”

Suddenly, a voice sounded behind me:

“Just exactly what do you think you are doing missy?”

It was Derek, and I remembered: “Good little girls must obey their elders
and betters and treat them with respect”
I hung my head in shame.

“I’m playing with my dolls, Sir” I said.

“Stand up at once”

“Yes Sir” I said, and I got up at once, my face a hot shade of red under the
pink makeup, I felt so sexy, I was obeying, like a good little girl.

“Turn around”

“Yes Sir.” I turned around, eyes downcast, heat building up in my pussy at
this treatment.

“Look at me!” he ordered.

“Yes Sir,” I replied, and looked up meekly into his face. I was acutely
aware of my sexy good little girl looks, and of the itching in my pussy. I
was being obedient. A good little girl must always be obedient. I batted
my eyes at him and arched my back, displaying my breasts unconsciously for
his pleasure and inspection.

“Good little girls must always stay clean and pretty! You are not to go
near the sandpit ever again!”

“No Sir.” Every time I said it I became hotter and hotter.

“The sandpit is little boys territory. Are you a little boy?”

“No Sir.” I felt so ashamed that I had behaved in a manner not of a little
“I deserve to be punished” I thought.

“Lift up your skirt.”

“Yes Sir.” I lifted up my skirt, exposing the shiny pink panties underneath
for his inspection. I felt so sexy. I gave my ass a sultry little wriggle.
Derek saw my indiscretion and became angry.

“Turn around”

“Yes Sir.” I turned around, still holding my skirt up, presenting my
derriere to him in an inviting way.

“Spread your legs, bend down and touch your toes.”

“Yes Sir,” I moaned. I was so hot. I parted my legs wide, and bent over,
running my hands down my smooth thighs, over the strap of my hot pink
platforms to my cute little toes in their pink prisons. My butt protruded
enticingly into the air. I was so wet, I thought my juices would be running
down my thighs from the arousal, but apparently the panties stopped that
sort of thing.

“I’m afraid you’ve been quite naughty. I shall have to punish you. I want
you to count them out.”

“Oh yes, yes Sir, please Sir!” I moaned, babbling incoherently. I was so
turned on, but then good little girls are always hot and ready all the time,
aren’t they?

I braced myself for his hand to come down, thrusting my sexy pink-encased
butt out to tempt him.


I felt his hand slapping my perky little ass. First one side then the
other. My pussy and ass tingled and itched like crazy, and I moaned out

“One! Oooohhhh!! Thank you Sir, may I have another?”

“Two! Ahhhhhh!! Thank you Sir, may I have another?”

When my lust-crazed counting reached Ten, he stopped.
I moaned and squirmed. God, was I turned on. I was following my
instructions. I was a good little girl and good little girls always
followed their instructions.
I was still bent over, as ordered, my ass squirming and thrusting back,
seeking eagerly for his hand, but not finding it. I wanted to, needed to,
had to come.

“Please, I need it Sir!” I whispered

“Alright then,” he replied, “You’ve been a good little girl.”
I moaned wordlessly at his affirmation of my identity.
“COME!” he snapped, and I did, like an obedient little girl, I came harder
than ever before. My body quivered and squirmed all over in the throes of
ecstasy, but, like an obedient little girl, I stayed in my sexy bent-over

“Now get up!”

“Yes Sir.” I stood up straight to attention, back arched to present my
assets to him. I was in a daze, unable to think. Doing what I was told was
so much easier.
“But then”, I reminded myself, “for a good little girl doing what she is
told is always easier than thinking.”

“Go to your room at once! Don’t come out until I tell you to!”

“Yes Sir.” I turned and strutted towards the house. He had said to go to
my room, but he hadn’t told me to be prim about it, so I sashayed and swayed
my hips, keeping my skirt up as I had been told. I brought the full
devastating effect of my swaying pink cheeks to bear on him. Good little
girls are always sexy.

“And let go of your skirt!” came his yell as I entered the house.
Thank God, my hands were beginning to get tired. Even though every order is
a pleasure to obey for a good little girl, there are some that one is
thankful for when one can stop.

Part 4: Time for a Decision

I went into my room and closed the door, as ordered. My mind was whirling.
I knew I was a good little girl (my pussy throbbed at the thought) but to be
a good little girl for Derek?

I looked at my slutty clothes. Did I really want to wear this? My pussy
said yes, but what did my mind say? I began to cry, my makeup running down
my face.

As I cried, I felt a hot flush of embarrassment travel from my face down my
body, but then I felt an even hotter sexier flush spread upwards from my
pussy, and, after a brief battle, defeat the embarrassment. My mind began
to tingle, and it was filled with thoughts of obedience, and feeling sexy
and slutty. Was I a good little girl? Yes I was. Was I a good little girl
for Derek?

Yes, I was.

As I made this decision, my pussy overheated again, pushing me into the
throes of a long hard orgasm. This must be right. This must be good. My
pussy said so, and good little girls always listen to their pussies.

Having recovered a bit, I looked around. I was to stay in my room, so what
was I to do? I looked in the mirror. I was a mess! Good girls must never
look a mess. I quickly reapplied the makeup that had dribbled down my
cheeks, a light pink blush on my cheekbones, a hot pink lipstick, and soft
pink eyeshadow. I was once again a vision in pink. All good little girls
must be beautiful and pink.

Getting a bit bored with standing around, I looked in the box of Barbies in
the wardrobe, pulled out some more. Dressing them up, I began to play with

Just then, the door opened. I stopped moving. I was sure it was Derek, so
I didn’t want to be disobedient.

“Get up.”

“Yes Sir.” I got up, and stood to attention where I was, eager to obey and
eager for anything he would give me.

“Turn around and face me.”

“Yes Sir.” Meekly I turned and stood at attention, as before, eyes ahead,
back arched, breasts out, in what had become my “attention” pose, waiting
for an order, like an obedient little girl. My pussy tickled with

“Lift your skirt.”

“Yes Sir.” I lifted my sexy pink skirt with alacrity, hoping for something
more. I wanted him, needed him, but I knew I had to obey.

“Unzip yourself.”

“Yes Sir” I breathed. I had been waiting for this. I slowly and teasingly
pulled down the zipper for my sex, presenting it, dripping and hot, for his
inspection. As I pulled it open, I felt a rush of cool air. My snatch
opened up like a flower ready to accept anything it might be given,
“Good little girls are always hot and ready,” I thought.

So there I stood, my skirt lifted up, my cunt dripping for him, every detail
of my shaved pussy exposed for his perusal, at his leisure. I felt so sexy!
I wanted him so much. It felt so good to obey!

He slowly walked around me, inspecting every detail. I stood stock still,
trembling eagerly for his next command.

“Bend forward and touch your toes,” came the order.

“Yesss Sssirrr,” I sighed, and bent over, as before. This time, with my
pussy hot and available, I felt even sexier. I hoped he would take me right
there and then.

He stood behind me for a second, then grabbed my buttocks, and, as a moan of
desire escaped my mouth, slammed something long and cold and smooth and hard
into my pussy. I almost overloaded right then, but barely held on. He
hadn’t ordered me to come, and somehow instinctively I knew that good little
girls weren’t allowed to come in their elders’ presence without being
ordered to.

He then roughly zipped my sex up, which made me shudder with ecstasy, and
stepped back.
“Stand up straight.”

“Yes Sir,” and as I stood I felt the object inside me move, and send me to
an even higher level of arousal. But still I refused to come. A good
little girl does not come in public unless ordered.

He held up a little object for me to see.
“This is the remote control unit for the vibrator I have just put in your
slutty little snatch. It’s what we use on little girls who have been

I felt my face grow red.

My embarrassment at having been naughty faded away in the huge orgasm that
washed over me. Good little girls always come on command.

“From now on, you are not to come until ordered.”

My heart sank at this. It was an order, and I must obey.
“It must be my punishment for being naughty,” I realized.

He pressed a button on his little gadget, and I felt the intruder begin to
hum and vibrate inside me. This was going to drive me to distraction, I

“You may get back to what you were doing. When the vibrator stops, you may
come out of your room,” he said, as he left the room.

I sat down on the bed, dejected. The little vibrator humming inside me.
I got up and looked at the mirror. I was perfect, of course, I noticed the
hot pants had shrunk my waist still further. I now had a model’s waist and
hips. I was perfect, good little girls are always perfect. I was a perfect
obedient good little girl.

I got back to playing with my dolls. I found an outfit for the most
beautiful Barbie that was just like what I was wearing, and so I began to
dress her. When I finished I looked at the Barbie thoughtfully.
She looked just like a Barbie version of me, and she looked perfect.
“All Barbies were good little girls” I remembered. This Barbie was just
like me. She must be a good little girl. I was a good little girl. I was
just like that Barbie doll.

On a sudden impulse, I rummaged around in the bottom of the doll box. Sure
enough, at the bottom was another envelope, with three more of those
gorgeous little pink cards, of the kind I had gotten to know and love so
well. Eagerly I read the first. It said:

“All good little girls are Barbie dolls.”

As I repeated that, I became incredibly aroused.
“Of course all good little girls are like Barbie dolls. Is she is just like
me, then I am just like her! I am a Barbie doll!”

I got up, and strutted around, imagining me as a Barbie doll. It was so
easy! It made so much sense!
I eagerly put the card aside and read the next one. It said:

“All Barbie dolls have an owner.”

“Of course they do!” I thought, “that doll over there is owned by the good
little girl who lives here. Who am I owned by?”
I thought this over for a while.
Then realization hit me.
“I’m owned by Derek!” I said out loud.

For some reason this brought me a great feeling of relaxation. I was a good
little girl. I was a Barbie doll, and my owner was Derek. This made things
so much easier. No more need to worry, no need to think, I was a Barbie,
and Barbies existed to do what they were told. Barbies were always hot and
ready. Barbies were always dressed their best, a vision in pink. Barbies
want it all the time.

With that earth-shattering realization, I still felt somehow incomplete.
Remembering that there was a third card, I eagerly read it:

“All Barbies wear collars.”

I felt a pulse in my pussy at reading those words.
I rummaged around at the bottom of the wardrobe, and sure enough I found a
small brown paper bag. I opened it, and inside was a black choker, with a
ring on the front and on the back. Also in the bag were a bunch of name
tags. They all said:

“Property of Derek” on them, but each had a different name. I looked
through them, trying to choose the right one. There was Candy, and Cindy,
and all sorts of slutty names, but in the end it was no difficult choice.
I picked the tag out, and affixed it proudly to the choker at the front, and
put the choker on.

I got a rush in my pussy. I stood up, and went to look in the mirror.
There, sitting proudly on my smooth white neck, was a collar, a good little
girl collar, with the words I was so proud of:

“Barbie, Property of Derek, please return if found”

I was so proud of myself. I was no longer Anne. I was Barbie, and I was a
good little girl, and I was property of Derek. All good little Barbie girls
are property. All Barbies are sexy for their owner’s pleasure.

Now that I was Barbie, I had to decide what to do with myself until next
called for. Barbie was a doll, and therefore I was a doll, and so what did
dolls do between times they were ordered to appear. They stand to

And so I stood to attention. It wasn’t so hard, being a Barbie. I was
built to stand to attention. It was my pleasure to stand to attention
whenever off duty, and so I stood to attention, while the vibrator buzzed
away in my hot little Barbie pussy, shaved like all Barbie pussies, until I
was given another order.

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