Lie Berries

She thought about it - undoubtedly taking into account how wonderful and natural it suddenly felt to wear something sexier - my clear approval was merely icing on the cake. "I think I'll do that!"

"Good - it will make me feel closer to you that it will be our little secret."

I could only assume her frown had to do with who else would be enjoying the delightful visuals, but then she plastered on a paper-thin smile.

***

In the following weeks, I took a slow and delightful revenge. A few sly suggestions per week. Just little, seemingly-random things; I couldn't really know if they would come into play. There were some moments which were priceless - like the time she called me, embarrassed, because she'd told her book club that she thought Danielle Steele was the best writer of the 20th century. I had to hit the mute again - but this time it was to hide the laughter.

I also chose to make her hot for Her Meal Ticket. Why not? After a few weeks, I was bored watching her fake it. There was something delightful about the expression on her face as she genuinely came hard at his ham-fisted fucking technique. Even from seventy miles away it was priceless. After he left, she curled up in a little ball and wept. There's no understanding women.

I took away her interest in serious literature, and then I erased her memory of the books. What good would the words of the greatest minds ever be to a whore? It was really my way of correcting a wrong; it was lamentable that her love of reading had blinded me to her true nature, but it would never happen again to another sap.

Instead, I gave her a more useful interest in sex manuals, and a photographic memory when it came to her new favorite topic. In short, she became an expert on dick as long as it was not preceded by the word "Moby."

I made her voice more girlish, and most of her sentences soon ended on a higher note - as if everything was a question. "My name is Alyssa, and I'm the head lie-berrian? You want to check out *Great Expectations* - who wrote that?" She had to be pretty adamant about a matter to overcome that tendency.

Her slab of meat on the side didn't seem to notice a change in her demeanor, but the even-more-frequent visits showed he noticed - and liked - her taste in unmentionables. Soon, I was as surprised as he by the specific details of her lingerie choices. Lyssy seemed to have a strange new interest in buying sexy little nothings. I knew it had to be hell on her credit cards, but since she was such a sensible girl...It was a treat to see what she came up with next.

It was a shame that the best parts of her outfits went unseen by most people. Fortunately, Lyssy became careless - and somewhat clumsy - as she went about her job; it must have been because she was lost in contemplation about the wisdom of Masters and Johnson. She seemed to forget the routine lessons which are drummed into girls from a young age concerning sitting with her legs closed, making sure her skirt had not ridden up, and being careful about what she revealed while climbing ladders. Within a few weeks, the whispers began that she was immodest – which was absurd since she didn't become "immodest" until the third month.

I surprised her at the library one day, finding her up a ladder and wearing a perfectly sedate white linen dress. My greeting startled her, causing her to drop books as she spun around, almost losing her footing and slipping down to the next lower step. The only thing which caused her not to fall off the ladder completely was her dress catching on something - perhaps a rung of the ladder. Her startled yip called attention to her, giving the nearby table of teenage boys enough fantasy material for years, as her dress lifted to reveal long, stocking-clad legs.

Soon Lyssy found herself prone to daydreaming, since reading no longer interested her. Even when she tried to read for her book club, her mind wandered. "Jeff," she'd share with a giggle, "you know who I was thinking about today? Cindy Weiss? She's really pretty and smart? And I found myself wondering if she thinks I'm pretty too?"

Yes, my fiancé found herself wondering often if Cindy Weiss - or any number of attractive women – found her attractive. It began to preoccupy her. She had much better taste in women than in politicians - I made sure of that.

Lyssy's interest in women went back to college, if not earlier, but it was clear that without a little help she'd never act on it. Now, my anger for her had yet to completely wane, but it didn't take long to decide that she might be my best chance to design the perfect toy. So the push toward Sapphic Sex was not revenge, but an early Christmas present to myself. And more than she deserved.

One night, I picked her up from work, telling her I had a surprise. She asked if she could go home to change first, but I told her that her look was perfection. And it was - at least for my purposes. Honey-blonde hair in a loose bun which had allowed locks to escape and curl naturally around her face and the nape of her neck, a white blouse with one button too few for decorum, cleavage threatening to escape the top of her scarlet bra (which was clearly discernible beneath her blouse) a black skirt which showed ample leg, and her new obsession: black stockings and red garters. Oh, and her glasses, since she'd had a sudden, mysterious problem with her contacts bothering her eyes.

We drove to a bar fifty miles away, and I asked her if she noticed anything unusual. She gazed around, scrunching up her face in concentration. Finally it hit her.

"Jeff, you're the only guy? Does that mean? You want me to...? I don't know if I can..." I took her hand across the table. "But do you want to, baby? If you don't, we can leave. It just seems that, lately, you've been hinting at an interest."

She worried her lower lip beneath straight white teeth – thankfully, her lipstick was the new kiss proof/drink proof kind you could only remove with a blowtorch. Finally, she sat up straight, looked me right in the eye and said, "I want to! Thank you for being so understanding?"

*Sweet*. "I just want you to be happy and, as long as I'm your only guy, I'm fine with letting you play." I pretended not to notice her guilty look. "I'm just here to keep you safe, babe. Consider me your bodyguard - and looking like that, you'll need it."

"Okay, but I think this is just a phase? Maybe I can get this out of my system tonight?"

"Sure."

She was nervous, at first, refusing to let me move to another table even as I explained she'd do much better if I were less conspicuous. She sat there demurely sipping on a drink and looking a little panicked. At last she allowed me to move to the next table, and it wasn't long before the women started swarming her. Who could blame them?

Even though I knew she had excellent taste, I was still concerned that tonight would be a washout. If she picked a bull-dyke, she'd be minus a bodyguard – and could find her own way home.

I believe we both saw her at the same time – a woman with hair about two shades darker than Lyssy's honey-blonde curls. She was thin without being too thin, and tall without being too tall. She wore faded jeans and a leather jacket which she slipped off to reveal a wifebeater. She was easily the second-hottest woman in the place. She was soon offering to buy the first-hottest woman a drink - at least I assumed that to be the case, being only able to hear the husky timbre of her voice, but not the actual words.

The woman walked up to the bar, returning with one beer and one drink the color of glass-cleaner. She could've sat across from Lyssy, but instead chose a seat to the right of her, moving in even closer to the newly-minted airhead. I also moved closer, seemingly unnoticed by the woman (I put it down to not being her type), and could now hear them better. They were cozy in no time, and I was having the time of my life. Soon she would be screwing someone I actually wanted to see nude; it was a nice change.

There was a tense moment when I heard Lyssy's new friend say, "I *know* what your costume is supposed to be, but what do you really do for a living?" The poor thing just didn't get that perhaps she no longer resembled Marian the Librarian so much as the X-rated stereotype, so she kept trying to convince the other woman. Of course, she couldn't discuss literature, and she couldn't pronounce her job or where she worked, and her tits were hanging out, but she didn't want to give up. It would have been amusing, except that I really wanted to see these two screw, and I could tell her potential playmate was not amused.

"Okay, Lyssy, you can be a librarian if th- "

"I AM a lie-berrian!"

"Honey, I don't suggest you ever interrupt me again. As I was saying, I just want to fuck you, and I'm willing to play along."

"You do? Wanna fuck me?"

"Yeah, sure - and you want it too. I knew it right away. So I played the game and bought you a drink, and made small talk, and I'll pretend like I believe you graduated high school, and that you don't probably think that Dewey Decimal refers to one of Donald Duck's nephews. But the next time you interrupt me, it'll be a toss-up over leaving or slapping the taste out of your mouth. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Lyssy said in her little girl voice, "but Gina?"

"Yes?"

"I really do know all about Do-Me Decimal?"

I couldn't help it - I started to laugh. Bimbos say the funniest things – makes you wish they stayed twenty-four forever, doesn't it? Seriously, there was nothing better than one of my suggestions bearing fruit at a random time.

Gina still hadn't looked at me directly. "Maybe now would be a good time for you to introduce John Wayne here - Stacy behind the bar said you two came in together. It's my turn to share: I'm a Very Good Catholic. While others eat fish on Friday, I eat it anytime I get a chance. You know how some people give up meat for lent? I went one step further and gave up dick for life. And if you're a librarian, I'm a nun. When you're with me, you're a nun too, which means that if you want cock tonight just let me know - I'll get the strap-on."

"Chill," I said, "I just want to watch."

Finally, she looked at me - I hoped she really didn't have an in with God, because I don't think she liked me too much.

"Yeah, good, because lesbians only exist for your viewing pleasure." She turned her attention back to Lyssy. "To put it in simple 'lie-berry' terms, if you want to have fun with this Jane, you'd better tell him to 'Run, Dick, Run!' Am I being clear?"

Lyssy looked embarrassed and confused - I loved it.

"Gina, why don't we stroll over to the bar for a second? Beer's on me...and we can get the lady another Formula 409."

I walked on ahead, knowing she would follow. I'm not saying that she was about to call David Crosby and ask him to be the father of her and Lyssy's babies, but she wanted my fluffy new doormat pretty damned badly all the same. She probably saw the look on her new potential bedmate's face - how her brain was about to fry - and knew she might be losing her chance.

"Look," I said. "I've known Alyssa – Lyssy for years. She's a submissive at heart, and becoming more submissive all the time. I'm her lifeline - she trusts me, and this is her first time with a chick. Stacy has gotten at least two really good looks at me, so I would be a dumbass to try anything, and I really just want to watch. If you want to take her home and have the time of your life, let me tag along. You want me to leave - fine - just promise to get her home in almost one piece. But I'd hope you'd see the advantage of having the little moron feel safe. Hey, you want to make a date with her after this, that can be as private a party as you'd like."

She thought about it for a minute. "You'll stay out of the way?"

"So far away that I'll almost need binoculars. And you can play it anyway that you like – I'm there for her to *think* I'm her bodyguard."

She shook her head and laughed. "You really are a prick."

"Ain't I, though?"

When we got back to the table, I leaned in close to Lyssy and whispered, "It's okay, I told her that if she was too rough with my girl, she'd have to answer to me."

"What if I want her to be rough...just a little?" she whispered back.

"It's your night! Tell you what, if it gets to be too much just say the name of the guy who wrote *Grapes of Wrath.*

"A...a guy wrote that?"

"Can we move this along?" asked Gina. "Lyssy, you ever ridden on a motorcycle?"

"No? I don't think so?"

"Looks like it'll be a night of firsts for you." She looked at me and smirked. "Try to keep up."

"Aren't we going to finish our drinks?" Lyssy asked.

"I'm not thirsty anymore," Gina said, "but go ahead and slam yours."

"Oh, I don't really think I sho..." she saw Gina's expression harden. "Okay."

They probably made a better-looking couple than Alyssa and I ever had, but they had the clear advantage of being two women. I'm still unclear on why all women aren't lesbians. If only the mayor had looked like Gina...Yes, I know that shouldn't matter, but Alyssa screwing the circus fat man makes her a disgusting whore, while Mayor Gina makes perfect sense. The former makes me worry that I accidentally came into contact with bodily fluids, the latter leaves me *hoping.*

Soon, the two of them were straddling Gina's motorcycle. I wished I had a camera. Lyssy's arms around Gina's slender waist, her skirt hiked up even more to reveal a perfect expanse of nylon-clad legs giving way to smooth flesh. Knowing the cycle was vibrating against soft, secret places. Bet you wish I'd had a camera too.

Gina's house was surprisingly nice, but who cares? I only got a whirlwind tour anyhow as Gina pulled Lyssy, with her still-shaky legs, toward the bedroom. It was rather prehistoric. Lyssy gave a look over her shoulder to make sure I was still behind her.

The woman pointed out a chair in the corner, walking over to it with me. "Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe."

"Why would I? I mean, what is it about watching two women going at it that would make me want to move?"

"Shit! I especially don't want to think about you possibly doing *that.*" Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you hate her? You do, don't you?"

"I have my reasons, so don't try to analyze it. I'll be quiet as a kitten." I realized she was no longer looking at me, but was instead focused on Lyssy perched on the edge of the bed with her legs parted, staring at a picture on the nightstand of Gina with another woman. I sat down: it was show time.

Gina walked over and sat next to Lyssy, looked down at her partially-open legs, and asked, "Trying to tell me something?"

"I...I just can't seem to keep my legs shut anymore?"

"That doesn't seem to be a bad problem for a pretty girl like you to have."

"I..." Lyssy seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "I didn't used to be like this...I've *changed.*" She sounded like the woman I'd fallen in love with - there was no question in her voice. For the first time in a long time, and just for an instant, I allowed myself to love - and miss - Alyssa.

What a fool I'd been to assume she hadn't noticed.

Gina's expression softened. She put her hand on Lyssy's cheek and gazed into her eyes. "My favorite song has a line about that - *No it isn't strange, after changes upon changes, we are more or less the same. After changes we are more or less the same..."*

A smile broke across Lyssy's face. "That's true, isn't it?"

Gina nodded, cupping my fiancé's chin in her hand. "Very true."

I watched, fascinated, fully sentient of what I was seeing. I've been remiss in not explaining why it had been so easy to hypnotize Alyssa. It had regrettably little to do with me, and much to do with her. I'd been fascinated with the topic as long as I could recall.

I can't begin to tell you how many women I'd tried to hypnotize, with little success - including a humiliating incident with a babysitter. It remained a favorite fantasy - I even frequented a few discussion boards - but the reality was never the experience I'd wanted it to be. Until Alyssa.

There were many things which attracted me to her, but foremost was how she seemed to be more susceptible to persuasion than your average person. Her focus when a topic or speaker interested her was absolute. If an argument made sense to her, she remembered it and incorporated it into her own belief system.

I had semi-drunkenly explained my interest on our third date. She'd listened intently and said, "That's absolutely fascinating!" She had meant it - although I was never sure if it was truly a pre-existing interest or one I'd just implanted.

I'd asked if she'd be willing to let me put her under, and she gave me a non-committal reply, but I'd seen the answer in her eyes. On our sixth date, she'd allowed it. I was already in love, and so I had been as responsible as possible. It wasn't easy, but I'm sure my tale makes that abundantly clear already.

So much of Alyssa's life and decisions were a direct result of this quirk in her nature. Her mother had traded her body for a trailer, her mentor was a librarian, and both were persuasive, so she took on traits of both. As she'd begun to move in more educated circles, and as she spent less time with her mother, the more acceptable qualities had risen to the surface.

Now, Lyssy had a new influence. Gina was persuasive, and I knew that look on Lyssy's face all too well - the rapt expression, eyes blinking slowly as she gave the speaker her complete attention. I could only wonder how she would integrate those words.

Lyssy took Gina's hand into her own smaller hand, placing it on her thigh. "I guess that means I've wanted this forever?"

"Good," said Gina, "because I've wanted you since the second I saw you, and it seems like forever." She leaned over and kissed Lyssy, then. There's a reason they played the clip of Britney Spears and Madonna kissing repeatedly - you can't see enough of two women making out. You want to see it repeated in slow motion, in black-and-white, sepia tone...on the silver screen, on a big-screen TV...in the privacy of your own home, in bars across the country...Well, you get the idea. It's good stuff.

Gina's kiss became more insistent, more open-mouthed, and Lyssy melted into her arms with a moan I could hear across the room. And then Gina pulled back.

"Look, Lyssy, I just wanted to fuck. No attachments or sharing personal details. No being sad. Maybe this isn't a good idea."

Lyssy reached up and undid the loose bun. Blonde curls spilled around her shoulders. She began to unbutton the few fastened buttons on her blouse. "Gina, you need to punish someone and you can't punish her directly? I know how I sound, and I'm not as smart as I used to be, but I'm not dumb yet either? You can be as angry with me as you need?"

"What makes you think I'm looking for punishment? Does this look like a dungeon to you?" Gina gave an unconvincing laugh.

Lyssy slipped the blouse off and began unzipping the skirt. "I have some experience with the subject? I'm not expecting you to pull out whips and chains, but I knew right away what you wanted? It's okay - I want it too? Sometimes it's the thing which hurts the least?" The skirt fell around her ankles and she kicked it across the room.

She fell to her knees at the foot of the bed and laid her head in Gina's lap and she waited. Blonde hair against denim. The black of stockings and the red of garters and bra contrasted with pale flesh. Someone once said that the reason blondes are sexier is that they somehow look more naked clothed than other women look completely nude. Lyssy had never looked more vulnerable or beautiful.

I couldn't help but be aroused, even though I'd just heard as-good-as-a-confession that she was aware of what I was doing to her. I pushed that all away, for now, and focused on the beautiful women before me. One woman was soft, fragile, easily molded, and willing to be broken. The other woman was thin, leanly muscled, and filled with an anger she couldn't outride or outrun.