Amandla Stenberg

"Amandla."

The voice ... an unqualifiedly male voice ... woke Amandla immediately. Well, of course it did; it also shocked and alarmed her, as she'd fallen asleep in the bedroom of her girlfriend Mikaela's Brooklyn condo.

She rose rapidly to a sitting position, simultaneously covering her sizable breasts with a forearm. They were covered by her nightie, of course, but that nightie had been designed and cut to entice, not conceal. Amandla and Mikaela had had an ... interesting night. "Where are you?!" she demanded, whipping her head around, searching the room, "Where are you?"

The intruder's chuckled in her ear, close enough that she'd have been shocked not to feel his breath on her neck if she hadn't had more critical concerns at the moment. She whipped her head in the direction of the voice, finding ... nothing and nobody. "Where are you?" she asked, the anger she'd **** into her voice to hide her fear at this intruder's presence now overlaid by confusion.

Another chuckle and then, "Here I am," came from behind her and to the left, which would have put its owner inside either the headboard or the wall. Amandla's head turned in that direction anyway, purely on instinct. "No, I'm here," immediately came from in front of her and to the left, apparently out of thin air. Her head whipped around again, eyes widening at the sourceless voice. "I'm in here," emanated from the direction of Mikaela's walk-in closet almost immediately, followed by more laughter, this time seeming to come from all directions at once.

She leapt out of bed, ignoring the way her short nightie exposed her slender legs, and clapped her hands over her ears, also ignoring the way her sudden move made her big boobs jiggle. "Please, please stop it," she nearly shouted to be heard over the laughter, "Wh - who are you? Please, what do you want?"

The laughter devolved into chuckles and then stopped entirely. "That's better," the voice said, "'Please' and other basic courtesies will ... at least on your part ... be beneficial in our relationship. Or mandatory.

"As to who I am, that is none of your business ... yet. Just know that where I am is in your head. We'll be ... sharing headspace now and again ... for the foreseeable future. In fact, we already have been for some time. I must say, you're quite the screamer when young Mikaela is reaming you with that double-ended strapon."

Amandla shuddered, face burning. It had been weeks since Mikaela had used that strapon on her. In fact, it had been back at King Princess's ... Mikaela's ... mansion in L.A. Had this pervert been watching her since then? How long was he going to be spying on her like this? She shivered involuntarily. This was like having a stalker she couldn't even report to the police

Again, the chuckle. She could hear it despite the absence of any person in the room. "Oh, it's so much worse than you imagine," the intruder laughed, "Allow me to demonstrate. Get on your hands and knees, and crawl to your girlfriend's bathroom."

She didn't want to. In fact, it was probably the thing she wanted least in the world at the moment, to follow the orders of some ... disembodied stalker. Nevertheless, her body dropped first to it's knees, and then to all fours. She tried to stop herself, then to stand back up, and finally to simply "stand" in place, on all fours in her shortie nightie on her girlfriend's bedroom carpet, all to no avail. Her body acted, following the orders of the voice, moving as naturally as if she was doing this of her own will as it crawled across the bedroom and into the bath.

"Stand. Face the mirror."

Amandla did so, still struggling ... mentally, at least. Her resistance had no effect whatever on her actions. As she looked in the big mirror above the big double sink, she noticed that her face, rather than showing the fear she now felt, was nearly blank, only her wide, panicked eyes showing any emotion at all.

"You should consider cooperating," the voice said, "You will do as I want anyway, and I could make things much more pleasant for someone I thought of as a ... junior ... partner. Slide down your nightgown, now, and show me those big ol' tits. No? Ah, well ...

For just a moment, when she didn't immediately shrug her nightie off, Amandla thought her resistance was having some effect. But then she "heard" the intruder's offhand comment and her hands rose to pull her shoulder straps down her arms, and she realized she had simply been given an opportunity to "cooperate." But now, face burning, knowing some creepy man was watching while, hating every second of it, she displayed herself for him, she pulled her arms out of the shoulder straps and lowered the negligee nightwear to expose her big, firm, perky breasts. Her cafe-au-lait complexion might have been a tiny bit darker around her cheeks, but luckily her skin tone did not blush easily. She absolutely did not want to display any more weakness to the voice currently controlling her actions. "W - why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper.

"Please why am I doing this. Don't forget again. And though I won't require it, you might not want to speak aloud when communicating with me. Wouldn't want to be locked up as delusional, now would we? I'm sharing your brainspace; all you need do is think 'at' me. Actually, all you need to do is think, period.

"In answer to your question, well, since 'because I can' would be unsatisfactory to both of us, let's just say that I find your lifestyle choices undesirable, and I intend to change them. But now we have more immediately important matters to discuss. Lift those big, fat titties for me, Amandla. Show them off for me. Put them on display."

Once more against all her wishes, her body betrayed her and lifted her breasts to display the dark brown of her nipples and areolas. Her face burned even hotter as once again, under her unknown tormentor's orders, she displayed herself, this time in an overtly sexual way.

"I will never tire of looking at those funbags," he commented, "nor of feeling the burn of shame in your cheeks. Please do continue to resist my commands. Your ... emotional responses ... are exquisite.

"However, I believe one of the very first things I told you was that I expected basic courtesy from you. 'Pervert?' 'Stalker?' 'Creepy?' Hardly courteous. If you learn one thing here today, if it takes all day, it will be that I will always know if you are ... disrespectful ... and you will always be punished for it."