Kiss On The Neck

"So what do you think?" Josephine asked, weaving her way through the crowd back to Megan's side. Megan smiled tightly, her chubby pink cheeks crinkling in what she always thought of as her 'work smile' while she tried to find the right words for the older Filipino woman who brought her here. She instinctively bit back her first few responses-Josephine wasn't exactly her boss, but the older woman was very clearly in a position to help or hinder Megan's fledgling career in engineering, and it was equally obvious that she had invested a lot of emotional energy into this particular networking organization. She might not appreciate Megan's acerbic humor in this particular circumstance, even if snarking about the men at their company was one of the things that drew them together.

So Megan diplomatically set aside 'It's like a cult, without all that boring god stuff!', and 'You know,

The Circle

wasn't intended to be an aspirational story...' and 'If you'd told me it was Elizabeth Holmes Cosplay Night, I would have touched up my roots,' before finally deciding to go with, "It's a bit more crowded than I expected. When you talked about it at work, I was picturing a group of fifteen, maybe twenty women. but... there's got to be at least a hundred people here."

"One hundred thirty-seven," Josephine replied, a trace of smugness in her voice. "And a further twenty-two that couldn't make it due to professional commitments. We're definitely growing something here with Women Supporting Women, Megan. Every single one of these women is talented, ambitious, possibly among the best in her field. As we succeed, we help to lift each other up. Find the cracks in the glass ceiling and widen them for each other, that's our goal."

She put her hand on Megan's shoulder, looking Megan squarely in the eye. "I see something special in you. I know I'm not that much older than you are, but believe me when I say that ten years in Silicon Valley is a lifetime anywhere else. I want you to be able to achieve more in your first ten years here than I did in mine, and I believe we can help you do that." It was an obvious hard sell, but Megan couldn't deny the logic behind Josephine's pitch. Even in her first year out of college, she was all too familiar with having to work twice as hard for half the pay to get the same amount of respect as any man in the STEM industry. Being able to make an end run around that, pitching herself to someone who didn't automatically think that a Y chromosome and a penis made someone a better engineer... it was tempting.

But then she looked out on the sea of women, all of them looking disturbingly identical. Not physically-she had to admit, Josephine had done an amazing job of finding women who reflected the wider world and not the insular culture of San Francisco's tech district. Megan hadn't exactly done a head count or anything, but she was pretty sure that she was at that rarest of all things, a STEM gathering where Caucasians were in the minority. She even saw a few women wearing little trans flag pins on their name tags, which eased more than a few worries about Josephine's group right off the bat. The really creepy groups she'd bumped into back at MIT hadn't exactly been inclusive about that.

But no, it was something else about them that gave Megan that weird Stepford feeling she got when she glanced around the room. The unofficial dress code didn't help-Megan counted all of about three women not wearing turtlenecks and dark slacks, and that included herself. It was more than that, though. They all seemed to have the same expression on their faces, the same bright and cheerful gleam in their eyes. They were all happy to be here tonight. Really, really happy. Disturbingly happy, if Megan had to be honest with herself. Engineering was a haven for misfits, weirdos, introverts, the socially anxious and the deliberately eccentric. She'd been to a few get-togethers like this on campus and at work, and she couldn't imagine finding 137 people who all looked happy about going to one if you put a gun to their heads and told them to fake it.

Josephine must have taken Megan's long silence as interest, because she squeezed the blonde woman's shoulder and said, "If you have any questions now that you've talked to some folks, I'm happy to answer them. Our dues are purely nominal-we rely mostly on volunteer contributions from some of our more successful members." She managed to sound modest, but Megan knew that Josephine was mostly talking about herself; the short, unassuming woman in the black turtleneck and off-the-rack slacks was making close to seven figures as a consultant to some of the top firms in the industry. It made Megan's head swim a little when she thought about it, so she tried not to. It was easier if she thought of Josephine as a friend she made working on a project at work instead of a millionaire with the power to make or break Megan's whole career.

That was probably why she let out a little bit of her natural snark, almost accidentally. "Do I have to wear the uniform?" she asked, gesturing at Josephine's turtleneck with a slight chuckle in her voice. It was covering embarrassment as much as anything else; when Josephine invited her to a work gathering, Megan had made some assumptions about the occasion that turned out to be entirely unwarranted. She felt a little overdressed in her classiest cocktail attire, and she stood out from the crowd in a way that made her more than a little uncomfortable. Megan liked being the nerdy wallflower on the edges of the room. Being the center of attention felt decidedly awkward.

Josephine didn't seem to take offense, but she didn't act like she got the joke, either. "What do you mean, dear?" she asked, favoring Megan with a smile that straddled the line between 'sweet' and 'condescending'. It was times like this that Megan got a little frustrated with her friend's deadpan demeanor; looking into Josephine's deep brown eyes, she honestly couldn't tell if the other woman was kidding or not. She had to be, right? Nobody could fail to notice the sea of be-turtlenecked women, looking vaguely like a conglomeration of Beatniks that all simultaneously forgot their sunglasses.

But Megan couldn't be sure. So she risked looking a little bit foolish. mumbling, "Um... the turtlenecks?" convinced that at any moment Josephine was about to burst into laughter and tell everyone to go get changed into their real outfits. Which would be absolutely insane, but no crazier than 135 women all spontaneously deciding to wear the exact same clothing to a professional networking event. Even with all the different colors on display, it seemed unlikely at best.

But instead of laughing, Josephine's face fell a little. "You don't like turtlenecks?" she asked. "Personally, I've always found them rather... cozy." Megan's expression must have betrayed her skepticism, because the older woman quickly added, "No, really! Just think about it for a second. Close your eyes and imagine that dress you're wearing replaced by a long-sleeved turtleneck, fresh out of the dryer. Picture the nice, soft fabric, all warm and dry and hugging every single curve of your body so comfortably..."

Josephine had inadvertently described one of the exact problems Megan had with that particular item of clothing-she already had enough body issues without wearing something that clung to every single contour of her form with embarrassing accuracy. But the older woman was already looking at her with just a touch of impatience in her expression, and Megan could tell that she couldn't get out of this particular verbal minefield that she'd stumbled into without at least humoring Josephine's whims. She closed her eyes and arranged her face into an expression of beatific contemplation, hoping to get this over with quickly.

"There you go," Josephine said. "And as you feel that warmth seeping into your skin, you can enjoy the way that the cloth feels so nicely taut against your body-not restrictive, just tight enough to make you aware of it as you move around. It's not too light, and it's not too heavy; the fabric breathes to keep you cool and comfortable, but it also keeps those chilly breezes off of your arms. You can always relax wearing a turtleneck."

Megan could still feel Josephine's hand on her bare shoulder, lightly squeezing in a gentle, patient rhythm as though keeping pace to some unheard tune. "And every inch of you feels that warmth, every inch of you feels that gentle relaxing heat melting down through your shoulders and down through your arms and down through your chest and down through your belly. It's just like going to sleep in a warm, soft bed, just like cuddling up under soft cotton sheets fresh from the dryer and letting that happy sleepy feeling relax your mind into slumber. Only because you're wearing it, you can experience that feeling all day long."

Megan opened her mouth, trying to work up the nerve to point out that a) this wasn't really an attraction of turtlenecks so much as it was an attraction of wearing clothes right out of the dryer, b) the constant squeezing of her shoulder was getting a little weird, c) also getting weird was the way that Josephine's voice was getting breathy and throaty and low like she was talking dirty all of a sudden, d) Megan didn't understand where the soft bed and the sleepy feeling came into it, and e) this really felt like it had gotten uncomfortably intimate very quickly and Megan didn't quite know how to cope with that.

But before she could get out a single word, Josephine put a finger to Megan's lips and kept right on talking. "And they're so wonderfully versatile," she continued, steamrolling Megan's objections before they could even take shape with a stream of measured, calm speech. "If you want to look sharp and professional, they have such clean lines and crisp, solid colors that everyone who sees you will look at you with undeniable authority. It's so hard to argue with that sober, serious look that it's almost like you don't even want to try. Objections simply dry up in the face of that immaculate, smooth style, until the audience listens quietly and respectfully."

Megan wanted to explain that it wasn't the turtleneck, it was the difficulty of arguing with a multi-millionaire who she respected, liked, and ever so slightly feared in front of over a hundred people who all worshiped the ground she walked on... but whatever the reason, her objections dried up just as completely as Josephine predicted they would. She had no idea how to exit the situation gracefully, not without yielding to every second of Josephine's endless droning monologue and her overly familiar touch. The squeezes had become a series of gentle rolling shoves, pushing Megan's body lightly back and forth and side to side until she began to sway dizzily on her feet.

If Josephine noticed, she didn't let it show. She simply kept talking in that low, breathy, weirdly soothing voice of hers while Megan felt her body struggle to stay upright. "And if you want to look pretty, well... that's so easy for a woman in a turtleneck to do. Because the fabric is just thin and stretchy enough to cling to all your curves, you can always draw attention to your body whenever you want to. Anyone who wants to look can follow the line of your hips, your belly, your big beautiful breasts as you shift and move to pull their gaze along. You can always feel sensual and confident in a turtleneck, darling. It's so natural to feel sexy and desirable wearing something so concealing and revealing all at the same time."

Megan wanted desperately to explain that she preferred her clothing to reveal as little as possible, and that her ideal personal attire outside of formal occasions would probably be an entire blanket fort. But increasingly, she felt like she had to devote all her mental energy to keep the waves of dizziness from swamping her so totally that she fell face-first onto the floor, making it harder than ever to contemplate interrupting Josephine's seemingly endless monologue. Her head wobbled on her shoulders, barely managing to keep up with the rhythm of Josephine's hand as it swung her body in wider and wider circles. She could only imagine what it must look like to the rest of the gathering, but nobody seemed to be interested in them right now.

"Even the long neck clings so sensually, so soothingly," Josephine continued, her voice painting a picture Megan no longer had the energy to deny. "It's so easy to keep noticing that constant embrace against your skin and let it remind you of the sleek, sexy outfit you have on. Once you're wearing it, the collar keeps your mind tightly focused on all the ways that your pretty clothes make you feel so relaxed, so happy, so gorgeous and desirable and warm and drowsy... doesn't it, Megan?"

Megan's eyes fluttered for a moment, the pause in the conversation almost feeling like a chance to take back some of the control that she realized she'd ceded far more completely than she ever intended... but then Josephine pulled her forward hard, and Megan's whole body slumped forward into the other woman's surprisingly strong arms. The moment was lost. Megan felt all the energy drain out of her with a sudden whoosh, as though she was a runner who'd just crossed the finish line of a particularly exhausting race. She couldn't imagine moving. She couldn't imagine standing. If not for Josephine, she would have collapsed right down to the floor.

"Of course it does," Josephine cooed into Megan's ears, answering her own question as she guided the younger woman's loose, limp body into a nearby chair. "The collar around your neck always makes you feel so good and so happy, every time you feel it stretch and pull against your skin. It reminds you over and over, every time you notice it, of just how good it feels to wear something so beautiful and sensual that makes you such a pretty girl. You want to be a pretty girl, you want to make yourself look so hot and sexy, don't you?" Josephine stroked Megan's long blonde hair as she spoke, guiding the dazed woman's head into a drowsy nod with her fingers over and over until Megan's mind simply decided to accept the truth of Josephine's words.

"It's just like a kiss, a kiss that never ends," Josephine murmured, leaning in and gently placing her lips against Megan's neck over and over again as if to emphasize her words. "Every time you put on a turtleneck feel that long, tight collar sliding into place against your skin, it's going to feel so good. So sexy. You're going to notice every curve of your beautiful breasts, the fabric clinging to them and outlining them and making you so wet every time you imagine a stranger's eyes drawn to the way they sway underneath your clothes. It's going to make your nipples hard, make you so aroused that your mind can't stop thinking about how good it would feel to play with yourself."

Josephine's hands were rubbing and pinching Megan's nipples through her dress, almost like she was demonstrating exactly how it would feel to wear a turtleneck and think of nothing but having her tits played with. "But of course, your turtleneck also makes you sober and respectable and professional, doesn't it? All those feelings that the collar brings into your mind, you won't think about them. Not consciously. Your deep self, the part of you that's listening to me right now, it's going to notice exactly how you feel whenever the collar reminds you how horny and sexy and aroused you really are. But it's going to keep those feelings away from your waking mind so you can concentrate. Only I can bring them out."

Megan struggled to parse the confusing, elliptical explanation, but her brain felt strangely foggy and distant. It was almost like she was floating outside herself, watching Josephine kiss and nuzzle her neck and hitch up her cocktail dress so that the older woman could rub Megan's cunt through her panties. "You understand, don't you? Turtlenecks make you feel so good, so hot and sexy that you want to wear them every day. They make you feel so horny all the time, so wet and aroused that you can't think about it or else you would have to play with your pretty pussy. You can't stop wearing them, but you can't do anything about the way the sensual embrace of the collar makes you feel. So turned on. So helpless to release it. Isn't that right, pretty girl?"

Another loose, lazy nod. Megan's head felt like it was bobbing at the end of a string now. "But I have the answer. Collars remind you of arousal, but they also remind you of obedience. Good, sexy girls always wear a good sexy collar for the woman who owns them, don't they?" Megan didn't really know-her experience of kink was limited to three extremely awkward and unannounced swats with a hairbrush from a soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend back in her freshman year at MIT-but Josephine's fingers had worked the fabric of her panties deep into her soaking pussy, and she was so fuzzy and foggy and horny that she was happy to agree to pretty much anything Josephine told her. She nodded again, a tiny whimper of arousal escaping her lips.

"And there you go, pet. The collar reminds you exactly who you belong to. Every time you feel it move against your neck, your deep, unconscious mind remembers that you're horny and obedient and you belong to me. It feels so good and so hot and so sexy that you have to wear turtlenecks every single day, and wearing them every day keeps the reminders flowing into your hypnotized subconscious." Oh. Megan was hypnotized. Of course. That was why she felt so strange and sleepy. She wondered for a moment if she should try to wake up or struggle against the smooth, coaxing flow of Josephine's suggestions, but then Josephine's fingers found her clit again and the bubble of resistance popped and she forgot why it was important.

"And because you're such a smart, professional girl, your conscious mind keeps all those feelings pushed deep down into your unconscious, where they won't get in the way of your hard work. Where they just keep eroding away your will and your resistance and your identity until all you want to be is my good, obedient girl. You want to be my good, obedient girl already, don't you? You want to wear my pretty collar every day and let it fuck your thoughts deeper and deeper into compliance?" Megan's head bobbed up and down, up and down in time with Josephine's thrusting fingers. She couldn't even think about what she was agreeing to anymore. She only knew it felt too good to stop.

"That's my good girl. It all makes so much sense when I explain it like this. The collar kisses you into obedience and reminds you that I'm your Mistress, your controller, your owner. Your deep self is always focused on becoming more compliant and submissive to me. Your waking self doesn't even notice. All it knows is that you want to wear your new favorite outfit every day and that it makes you so happy to feel that soft, stretchy fabric around your neck. Tell me I'm right, pretty pet, and feel yourself cum around my fingers as you accept every word I say as true."

"y-y-you're right, Mistress!" Megan squealed, her head lolling back on her shoulders as her thighs squeezed tightly around Josephine's questing fingers and she came so hard that her world went red with pleasure. She'd lost track of her surroundings, she no longer cared or even remembered that there must be a whole crowd of people watching her cum her brains out against Josephine's precise, confident touch. All she could perceive was a collar around her neck, a collar of tight fabric more real than the dress she was half-squirmed out of. A collar that reminded her, now and forever, that she was owned.

"Good girl," Josephine murmured, pressing hard on her clit to extend the climax into what felt like an eternity. "Good girl, good, good girl. Let it all drain down into your deep self, now. You're a bright, professional, respectable good girl and all you need to remember is that we talked and you agreed to join our little group. Everything else slips away into the place in your mind where all the obedience goes, until I tug on the collar around your neck and remind you who you are. Do you understand?" Megan whimpered affirmatively. Even if she wasn't deeply hypnotized, she couldn't imagine wanting to face up to the implications of getting fucked so publicly and openly. Amnesia was an escape she welcomed.