The Wolf in Sheep Dog Clothing
Copyright© 2026 by SummitMan
Chapter 1
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A man and woman go to his college reunion. There, the woman meets a man who breaks the veil of how the world operates. He is an Alpha.
Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Reluctant Cheating Squirting Tit-Fucking Big Breasts AI Generated
“Hey, the five year reunion is the weekend after next. I forgot about it. Let’s go together,” Peter shouted in excitement.
“Um, it’s your reunion, not mine. Mine’s next year. I won’t know anyone,” I replied, hesitant about spending three days with a group of people I barely know.
“Sure you will. There’s Charlie and Frank and Bob and Jim. I bet they’re all going. It will be great. We haven’t seen them in two years. I know you like them.” Peter’s enthusiasm remained.
“I probably have something on,” I said, quickly grabbing my phone and scrolling through the calendar, hoping with all hope that I would have something pencilled in that weekend. I was soon staring at a blank Outlook calendar, and a sinking feeling in my stomach. Damn. maybe I can’t get out of it.
“We are responding late; there is probably no room left in the hotel,” I continued to protest using my last objection.
“Nope. I just checked. Plenty of rooms. I’m booking one right now,” Peter declared with his typical enthusiasm.
“OK honey,” I said reluctantly, trying, but failing to generate positive energy.
“And be sure to take the Friday off. It’s a three day event so we’ll drive down Friday morning.”
We had both gone to Southwestern University, an hour outside of Chicago. It was one of the ‘potted Ivy’ universities, accepting those people who didn’t get into an Ivy League or just want a smaller environment. It had well recognized programs in engineering and business, though it was probably ranked lower in other disciplines. The small size was why the reunions were so important. Reunions were a big deal, very big. Southwestern put on a huge event, and friends made at Southwestern remained lifelong friends, and generally, even if you were not close, you remembered many people in your year, establishing life long networks.
Peter and I had met there my junior year, and he turned into my best friend, my social and academic savior, and my loving fiancé. I still cherish the way we met. I was a top student in industrial engineering but struggled with a class in circuit design. I don’t know why, but it just didn’t sink in. And as I sat in intellectual agony over a partially built circuit, a handsome and oh so nice teaching assistant came by and spent an hour with me filling in all my gaps and giving me the framework on which to build my understanding. He was a senior in electrical engineering, so I suppose the subject came naturally to him, but the fact that he spent so much time with me, not just helping me with the project, but ensuring that I passed the subject with an A, made me appreciate him for the excellent person that he was. Now most people who meet us today laugh when I tell them this story, because I am, to be honest, pretty hot. But this was not true at the time because of the way I dressed, so Peter was simply a good hearted person helping another.
The reason for my lack of hotness in college goes back many years. It started the summer after my junior year in high school. Until then, I was a high school goddess; I was on the cheer team, and very pretty with long blonde hair, thin, and in very good shape. I had a narrow waist, although with hips that were a bit too wide, but this only gave me a toned bubble butt from the running and the gymnastics of cheerleading. That, along with my high academic standing, kept me on a constant high. I had a boyfriend from my class, not a troglodyte athlete, thank God, but a good looking friend with whom I had progressed to heavy groping, but nothing more.
It started at the beginning of the summer before my senior year. The boob-a-pocalypse. My breasts started growing and growing and growing. My mother had large breasts, but they sat well on her somewhat large body. What I didn’t know was that my paternal grandmother was reputed to have an extremely large bust. I had inherited my body frame from my father, thin and wiry and strong. So, I ended up winning the genetic lottery of super boobs from my female ancestors and a thin frame from my Dad. After the first month of the boob-a-pocalypse, Mom said, “Oh, I forgot, I bloomed late also.” Thanks, Mom, for warning me.
After the first week, Mom said, “Let’s go shopping for bras!” So, we did and ended up with three bras that were too small by week three. Mom acknowledged defeat after week five and asked that we save money by me staying at home without support until my boob size settled down. And they did, after three months, with an H cup bra.
To my horror, the new me couldn’t do the things the old me could. My balance was gone, gymnastics impossible. For any who disagree, strap five pounds of weight to the front of your chest and try to do flips and cartwheels. Running was gone too. Even with a sports bra, it hurt too much to run long distances, even when strapped down tightly, and strapping didn’t help the back pain that was caused by two heavy cantilevers on the front of my chest.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.