The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Some time around midnight, two lads walking home from the pub heard the sound of a railway engine as it clanked through the cutting that ran beside the road, One turned, and in a movement made fluid by alcohol, bent, picked up a stone and threw it at the carriage. It missed the glass but clattered off the edge of the frame with a noise that was loud enough to be heard over the rumble of the locomotive.

“Five out of ten,” he said, and his companion laughed and then the two of them turned and staggered off, and thought no more about it.

In the railway carriage, the noise made Chloe jump.

“What was that?”

Her companion shrugged.

“Just kids out looking for trouble.”

He was a short, squat man who seemed to be made out of bone. He was wearing a leather jacket and shoes tough enough to be boots. His hair was cropped to the texture of sandpaper and his cheeks looked as if they had been fashioned by a rather old chisel and someone who didn’t know how to use it very well.

Chloe said: “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Richard? About people in trouble.”

A smile slithered across his face like a snake across dry desert sand.

“Helping them, you mean?

“Exploiting them, more like.”

“You were glad enough to begin with.”

It was true. When Chloe first met Richard McGuyver she had thought he was the answer to her prayers. She had thought he’d get out of the mess she was in, give back her self-respect and control of her life. Just how wrong could you be?

The carriage was one of those ones which Chloe thought had been done away with years ago: the sort that is like a little box with seats facing one another across a narrow aisle. The sort where a corridor ran down the length of the train and sliding doors opened onto it from each of the little compartments. She and Richard McGuyver were the only people in this particular box. Just then, the door slid open and the ticket collector stepped in.

“Tickets from London” he said, running the words together as if it was too much like work to enunciate them separately. You could tell by looking at him that he’d always been off sick during the “Customer Pride” courses which the railway company advertised so loudly on all the station hoardings. His jacket was crumpled, with little specks of scrambled egg and stains of brown sauce scattered down his unironed shirt. His tie could scarcely have looked more sorry for itself if it really had been a piece of colored rag instead of just looking that way. He was a thoroughly unimpressive specimen, but Chloe still found herself cringing as she looked up at him. She had been dreading this moment ever since she and McGuyver had climbed onto the train. They made you pay a surcharge if you were were caught without a ticket. The first class fare and a ten pound fine on top of it. Of course, it was all Richard’s fault: he was the one who had insisted on marching past the ticket office, but it was she who was going to end up paying for it.

“Tickets from London.” the collector said again. “Can you have all tickets and rail cards ready, please?”

McGuyver just smiled. At any rate, Chloe supposed that it was meant to be a smile. From where she was sitting it looked a lot more like a snarl.

“Tickets?”

There was a note of polite puzzlement in McGuyver’s voice, as if he’d heard the word before but was unable to work out how it might apply to him.

“That’s right, mate. Tickets. You know, little paper things which show you’ve paid for the journey.”

“Oh, those. Sorry, can’t help you there. Don’t have one of those, I’m afraid. Neither of us do.”

Deliberately implicating Chloe in the crime of fare-dodging, making it clear that the two of them were together.

“I presume you are aware,” said the ticket collector, “that you are, in fact, required, to purchase a ticket before getting on the train. And I further presume that you are aware that failure to do so leaves you open to the payment of a surcharge.”

“If you say so,” said Richard.

“It’s not me who says it,” replied the collector. “It’s the company that says it. It’s the law that says it. It’s the signs that are plastered all over the bleeding stations that says it. What I say is: that’ll be fifty-eight pounds fifty, please.”

Chloe gasped, almost burst into tears. She had known that the fine would be steep, but she’d had no idea that it would be half as steep as that. She made a show of looking through her purse, but she knew it was a forlorn endeavor. After a night out with Richard it would be a miracle if she had as much as a tenner left to her name.

Richard would have money, of course. Richard always had money. It might even be that he would chose to spend it on her behalf. But if he did that, then it would be something else she owed him, something else she needed to pay back. She couldn’t let that happen. She really, really couldn’t.

Richard’s grin had deepened.

“That’s a bit fucking pricey isn’t it? For riding in a little metal box which hasn’t been cleaned in the past two decades?”

“Those are the rules.”

“Bollocks to the rules.”

“You’ve got to pay,” the collector insisted. “You get on the train expecting to travel, you’ve got to pay.”

“But of course,” said McGuyver. “We’re quite willing to pay. We’d just prefer not to do it in cash. How would you feel about an alternative form of renumeration?”

The ticket collector blinked.

“What are you on about?”

“Stand up for a moment would you, Chloe,” McGuyver said in an apparently casual voice. Chloe did what she was told. “My companion here,” McGuyver continued, now talking directly to the ticket collector. “Do you think she’s attractive?”

The man looked her over. Chloe got the idea that his eyes had had plenty of practice going over women’s bodies. A lot more practice than his hands.

“Very nice.”

He was trying to play it cool, but Chloe wasn’t fooled. She could hear the desire in his voice. She knew she looked a damn sight better that just nice. She knew that she was hot. She knew because Richard always insisted that she dressed to her best whenever she and he went out together. Didn’t matter how short of cash she was that month, she always had to make sure that he hair and face looked good, that her body was trim and her clothes would reveal it to advantage. Don’t want to be seen out with someone who looks like a dog, that was what Richard said.

“Would you like to use her?”

“You what?”

“I said,” McGuyver repeated, “Would you like to use her? Would you like to take advantage of her body for your own physical pleasure?”

The ticket collector blinked.

“You’re kidding me.”

“On the contrary, I am one hundred per cent serious. Rather than going through all the tedious business of paying your squalid little fine, a process that will do none of us any good, I am suggesting that, for the remainder of this journey you allow this young lady to keep you entertained.”

“By entertained you mean...?”

“Whatever you would like it to mean. Do whatever you want to her. She isn’t going to stop you.”

The ticket collector looked directly at Chloe.

“Is that right, Miss?”

Chloe glanced at Richard, who smiled and nodded once.

“You have my permission to speak. Answer the gentleman’s question.”

Chloe took a deep breath. She was perfectly well aware of what she had to say next. Perfectly aware also of the way that her breasts were pressing against the fabric of her blouse.

“I am under an obligation to Mr McGuyver. If he wishes me to do something then I am required to do it. He has offered me to you, which means the same rights and obligations now adhere to you.”

The ticket collector thought about this for a bit.

“You mean, if I tell you to do something then you’re going to have to do it?”

“Yes.”

“So if I told you to take your skirt off...”

“I’d have to take it off.”

“Take off your skirt,” said the ticket collector.

Chloe reached behind, fumbled with the catches and the zip. The skirt with a rustle of fabric.

“Fuck me!”

Chloe looked at Richard to see if she was required to interpret this expression as an order. Richard just smiled and shook his head. He wanted her to take her time over this. Richard was a connoisseur: there was nothing he despised more than crudeness.

The ticket collector looked at Chloe as she stood in the dirty little carriage with her pale blouse flapping around the tops of her long, bare legs. He licked his lips.

“You sure you don’t mind me doing this?”

Richard answered for her. She thought she heard a note of impatience in his voice.

“It not a question of whether she minds or not. That doesn’t signify one way or the other. She’s required to do what you tell her to. For the next half hour you can do whatever you want with her. Do you really need to bother yourself about how she feels about the matter?”

The ticket collector reached for her left breast. “That’s an interesting question. People would say that I probably ought to care. That’s it’s wrong to be able to use a woman just because you want to. That you shouldn’t just be able to command her....”

He was getting off on this, Chloe realized. He was deliberately saying these things, using these phrases to remind himself and her of the power he had over her. As if she needed reminding. And as if there was really any doubt that he was going to take advantage of the deal that Richard had offered. People were always ready to take what Richard offered. She knew that from her own experience. It seemed so easy, so desirable, so free of any cost. And it was only afterwards that you realized that nothing came for free.

“How did you get this way?” the ticket collector said.

Again, it was Richard who took it on himself to answer.

“That’s something else that you don’t need to know. Let’s just say that Chloe here made a few injudicious decisions, took on more obligations than she could really handle, signed a few pieces of paper without reading them properly or taking the time to understand what they meant. That’s as much as you need to know, and probably a little more. Now, are you actually going to do anything with this opportunity or are you just going to stand there?”

The ticket collector swallowed. He wiped his hand across the back of his mouth. “Take it off, he muttered, thickly. “I want you to take everything off.”

After it was done and the man was gone, Chloe sat on the rough, uncomfortable seat with fluid trickling down the insides of her thighs. She felt sore and bruised and used. She was still naked.

“Did you not enjoy that?” she said.

“Why do you say that?” said Richard, and his tone was more than enough to tell her he was badly out of sorts. It was dangerous to beard him like this, when he was clearly in a bad mood. But it was more dangerous to leave him uninterrupted. If she didn’t do something to snap hin out of it, he would sit there glowering, getting more and more ill-tempered until he had thought up some sufficiently unpleasant way of taking his feelings out on her.

“You don’t look as if you enjoyed it.” she said.

“Guy was a pig.”

You don’t need to tell me, she thought. I was the one he was fucking. She deliberately avoided speaking the words out loud, but the look which McGuyver shot at her was enough to make her think that he had heard what she was thinking.

“You don’t look as if you exactly enjoyed it either.”

There was something in his voice which sounded almost like sympathy. Chloe didn’t believe it for a moment. His only interest in here feelings was how best he could use them for his own enjoyment. Still, after all this time she knew better than to lie when he asked what she was feeling. He might be the most deceitful, deceptive human being she had been unlucky enough to meet, but he was damned determine that people would always be honest with him. He insisted on it.

“The guy was an animal,” she said. “He was ugly, clumsy, he looked and he acted like a jerk. The only good thing about him was how quickly he came.”

McGuyver’s expression tightened. “All those things might be true, but I can’t help noticing that he still had his free will, he still had the right to choose what he did. Don’t you think that makes him better than you?”

“It makes him luckier than me. It doesn’t make him better.”

She didn’t really know if this was true or not. But it was something that she told herself, something that she needed to tell herself to keep her pride together.

McGuyver said: “It’s an interesting point of view, but I don’t know that it stands up. Do you not think that free will, the right to make choices is a critical part of being human? Do you not think that if you give up the right to choose or to refuse, if you make it so that you can’t say no when a man like that tells you to undress, or orders you to open your mouth so that you can suck his prick it makes you into something less than human?”

“I’m still a person. I can still think and feel. And even if it’s right what you say, then it’s your fault, it’s you who has done this to me.”

“Bullshit!”

It was a terse word, but Chloe got the impression that anger was beginning to give way to enjoyment. She wouldn’t be too surprised if that was true. Sometimes she had the idea that he got more or a kick out of the psychological aspects of their relationships than from the sexual things he made her do. He continued: “The situation which you are in today is a direct results of decisions which you took. You and no one else.”

“That’s not fair. I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“Didn’t know what I was signing.”

“Why didn’t you know?”

There was no doubt about it now. McGuyver was enjoying himself. If you could just play up to his sense of power, his sense of self-importance then it was possible that this would be it for the evening. He would let her put her clothes back on and the two of them would go there separate ways.

“You already know,” she whispered.

“You’re right,” he said. “I know. I know that you didn’t know what you were signing because you couldn’t be bothered to read it. All that difficult small print.”

She nodded contritely even though it wasn’t entirely true. She had gone to the bother of reading the terms of the contract that he had offered in exchange for paying off her credit card debts. She just hadn’t believed that it was really saying what it appeared to be saying. She had just thought she was being offered an interest rate that she actually had a chance of paying for the first time since she had been eighteen and had been given her first credit card. It hadn’t occurred to her that nothing in this world is ever free. She hadn’t understood that she was paying something else to McGuyver in place of the cash an alternative lender would have required and that the thing she was paying to him was her power to chose. She hadn’t even noticed how the other interest, the other interest, the secret, hidden interest, was starting to mount up. It didn’t occur to her that during the monthly meetings when she went to his house to pay the money she owed, that he would tell her to do things and she would find herself doing them.

It was easy to ignore this at first, because the things that he was asking her to do were things that she wouldn’t have really minded doing anyway. “Treat yourself to a meal,” he’d say. “Go somewhere flash for a change.” Or: “Why don’t you get yourself a haircut; go on, pamper yourself for once.” Or: “Get yourself something nice to wear for next time we get together; something smart and sexy.”

Not things that anyone could object to but, not things you should be doing when you were trying to get out of debt. But Chloe would find herself doing them anyway, and when the end of the month came round she would never have quite enough to pay what she owed Richard, and she would always show up at his place feeling really nervous, convinced that this was the month when he was going to lose his rag and come down heavy on her. Only it never happened. Every month she would make her tearful apologies and every month he would just smile understandingly and tell her not to worry about it. “It’ll all get paid eventually,” he’d say. After a while it even started to feel as if the whole business with the money and the interest she owed was just some kind of joke.

And then, one month, as she was getting up to go home he had looked straight at her and, in a very serious voice he’d said: “Listen to me, Chloe. Next month, you’re going to leave the money on the bus. All of it. Everything you owe.”

And she’d just laughed at him, thinking that it was part of the joke. “Yeah, right,” she said. “Like I’m going to do something as stupid as that.”

And, Richard, in that same serious tone had said: “You’re right. It would be very stupid. But you’re still going to do it. Even though you’re not even going to remember me saying this to you, you’re still going to do it. You’re still going to leave all of your cash on the bus.”

He was right. She didn’t remember what he’ said. The only thing that did stick in her mind was that he’d said something about her being stupid. It rankled at first, but then she decided that he was probably right. After all, over the past few months she’d done more than her share of stupid things. She’d been self-indulgent and allowed her debt to mount up a lot more than she wanted. Even while she was laughing with him, sharing his little joke she was also making up her mind that things were going to change. This month she really was going to keep control of her spending, and when she showed up at Richard’s place twenty-eight days from now she would have all the cash she owed him ready in her bag.

That was the plan. And it was a plan that worked really well. Right until the point when she found herself the front door of Richard’s apartment and realized that her bag and all her money were already three miles away and getting rapidly further away.

Well, she went to the bus company and to police and both of them looked at her as though she was an idiot and explained that the chance of anyone returning her bag to her were slightly less than zero. Which turned out to be one of the most accurate predictions that anyone had ever given her. And which left her with a whole month’s of repayments which she needed to make to Richard and no earthly way of paying them.

When she had explained this, Richard’s smile had seemed a lot less friendly than before. A lot less reassuring and a lot more predatory. He took her back through her contract, pointed out certain clauses. Like the ones about penalties which could be extracted in the event of non-payment. And he explained that if she didn’t have the cash she owed, she’d have to find some other way of paying her debt.

That had been the first time, and what he had asked her had been fairly tame. In comparison with what he would ask her later on.

“What are you thinking about?” said Richard, breaking into her chain of reminiscences.

She said: “I was thinking that I’m never going to be free of this debt. That no matter how hard I try, how much I pay, you’re always going to arrange things so that I owe you more at the end of the month than I did at the start.”

He nodded reflectively and tugged at his chin as if she had given him something interesting to think about.

“You know what you’re problem is, Chloe?”

Sure, she thought. My problem is that I’m sitting here stark naked in a railway carriage in the company of a man who owns the mortgage on my soul and gets a kick out of how what he can do to me. But she got the idea that McGuyver had not been expecting an answer to the question, so she just nodded inquiringly and let him carry on talking.

“Your problem is that you’re never willing to take responsibility for the situation that you’re in. You always want to put the blame on someone else. Until you stop thinking that way, things aren’t getting better for you. If you want to make changes in your life then you have to start by making the right choices.”

“But I can’t make any choices,” she said. “You’ve taken my choices away from me.”

“I’ve taken your will-power away,” he corrected her. “I’ve taken away your ability to say no when I give you instructions to do things. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t make any choices. You can choose how you do the things I tell you to do. You can choose how you feel about them.”

“Are you saying that I can choose not to be in your debt anymore?”

She sounded incredulous to be even asking the question. But McGuyver was smiling and nodding.

“Theoretically. I’m not saying that you will do it, but I’m saying it could happen. If you can make the right decisions. Let me show you an example. Let me give you a test.” She nodded. She didn’t exactly know what she was agreeing to, but that had been true for so long that it was no longer as scary as it had been.

“OK,” she said.

“OK,” he said. “How do you feel about the things I tell you to do.”

“Do you really need to ask?”

“I’m choosing to ask. You can assume that that means I need to ask if that’s what you choose to assume.”

She said: “I feel used. I feel hurt and humiliated and degraded.”

“You don’t enjoy it at all?”

“No.”

“Suppose I was to suggest that that was untrue? Suppose I was to suggest that being sexually exploited, especially in public places gives you exhilaration and satisfaction which nothing else in your life even comes close to?”

“I’d say that was wrong.”

She wondered if that was going to make him angry, but all he did was nod.

“Fair enough. And suppose I was to tell you that I wanted you to pick up all your clothes and throw them out of the window?”

She thought about that. The first thing she noticed was that there was none of that sense of compulsion she usually experienced when McGuyver gave her an order. Normally, when he told her to do something, she could feel it like a pressure in her head. The same way you felt it when you wanted to kiss someone, or to hit them. Something was more than just a wanting, something that was like a physical ache. There was none of that here. He was specifically not forcing her to do what he said.

She said: “Are you ordering me to do it?”

“No,” he said. “Would you like me to order you?”

“Why would I like it?” she said. And she thought: why would I like to be exposed, vulnerable, available to any man who happened to come past?

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just thought you might.” He paused for a moment, then continued: “Has it occurred to you that the ultimate form of slavery is one where the slave does not obey because she is forced or coerced but because she genuinely and whole-heartedly wants to do what her master tells her? And does it further occur to you that genuinely wanting to do what someone else tells you, and just going ahead and doing it, is indistinguishable from freedom?”

She said: “Is that some kind of clue?”

“It’s a philosophical observation.”

The train groaned and juddered. Somewhere down the far end of the corridor, the ticket collector was probably on the phone, telling all his friends about the unbelievable thing that had happened. If he had any friends. All at once, before she had a chance to think about it and maybe change her mind, Chloe jumped to her feet and began gathering up her clothes. She pulled them into a pile which she hugged to her chest. And then she crossed to the window, cranked it open, and, one after the other she began to force the garments out of it. They fluttered away like strange, wounded birds, all apart from her shoes which dropped from her fingers like stones.

She went and positioned herself in front of Richard. Her legs were slightly apart. She made no attempt to cover herself. What was the point? What had she got that he hadn’t seen a hundred times before?

“OK,” she said. “So what’s going to happen now?”

“Well,” he said. “In a few minutes from now this train is going to arrive at its destination.” Its destination, she thought. Her home town. A place where people knew her. A place with a big, brightly lighted railway concourse. A place which, even at this late hour, would be crowded with people. Men and women, many of them young and raucous, many of them drunk. And here she was without a single item of clothing. “When that happens, I am going to get out.”

He stood up. He unbuttoned his leather jacket,shrugged it off his shoulders and placed it, neatly on the on the seat.

“What about me?” she said.

“You, my dear, are going to have to make a choice about what you want to do with your life.”

And then he gave her another of those soft, serious instructions, the sort she would hear without remembering, and he opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.

Richard was standing talking to a young policemen when Chloe appeared at his elbow. She was wearing his jacket. The chill of the damp, diesel-laden air was cold against her skin and the rough, dirty ground of the station concourse chaffed her naked feet.

The policemen looked her up and down. He was only a young lad, and Chloe was pretty sure that the degree of scrutiny he was giving her was a lot more than purely professional. There were only a couple of buttons on the jacket, and Chloe didn’t think it left too much doubt about how little she was wearing beneath it.

“This one of your loan customers, Rich?” inquired the officer.

McGuyver grinned. “What makes you say that?”

“It looks like she’s wearing your jacket. I presumed you’d given it to her. Either that or she’s stolen it, in which case it’d be my duty to make her give it back.”

There was a look of hunger on the young law officer’s face and for a minute Chloe was convinced that McGuyver was going to give him what he wanted. But McGuyver just laughed.

“Don’t tease the girl. She’s not really in a state when she can afford to give up anything else at the moment.”

“No,” said the policemen and he gave another slow, groping going-over with her eyes. “I can see that.”

Chloe felt herself flushing under the intensity of his gaze. I bet he’s stiff, she thought. I bet he’s unbelievably stiff. She wondered if he had some nice little piece of skirt waiting for him back home, someone whom he could work the stiffness off on.

“Come on,” said Richard. “It’s time for us to be going.”

“Have a good night, Rich,” said the officer.

“It’s always a possibility,” said McGuyver.

They were most of the way down the platform when he turned to her and said: “By the way, Chloe, why are you wearing my jacket?”

“I thought you’d want it back.”

“Oh,” he said. “That was very thoughtful of you. But you didn’t have to put it on. You could have just brought it to me.”

“No I couldn’t,” she said.

“Yes, you could.”

“It was the only thing I had to wear.”

“That’s true. If you were going to give me my jacket back without putting it on first, you would have had to walk across this crowded railways station without a stitch of clothing. You could have chosen to do that. There was nothing to stop you except for your own cowardice, except for your own fear.

“Let me tell you something, Chloe. Tonight and every night for the next week you’re going to dream about what might have happened here. You’re going to dream about yourself naked on this platform. You’re going to dream about what might have happened if you had taken off your jacket when Andy suggested it to you. I’m not ordering you to have these dreams; I’m just predicting that you’ll have them. I’m predicting it because I know you better than you know yourself. I know how much this situation is turning you on.”

“It isn’t,” she said. “It doesn’t.” But her voice was trembling. She tugged at the neck of the jacket, but the air failed to cool her in the slightest. Her nipples kept grazing the fabric of his jacket. His hand traced the line of the inside of her thighs, slipped beneath the hem of and made the scandalously short journey to the the point of warmth and aroused wetness.

“Yes it does,” he said. Her trembling intensified. She slid her arms around him, pressed her body against his.

“Chloe,” he whispered, his lips just brushing her hair.

“Yes, Richard?”

“Would you like to kiss me?”

“Please,” she breathed. “Yes, please.”

“Very well, you may, since you ask so nicely.”

She raised her face to his, eyes wide and shining, mouth open and ready for anything that he might give her. His lips grazed hers, the merest fleeting taste. It was as if he had run his tongue over the tip of her clitoris. She gasped. He drew back and looked at her.

“So, do you think you’re ready?”

“Ready?” she repeated. It was hard to form the words. It was hard to do anything with the torrent of aroused pleasure which was running through her body.

“Ready for that test I talked about?”

It took several long seconds for her thoughts to track back through earlier events and figure out what he meant. She took his free hand and pulled it inside the neck of her jacket. His fingers found her nipples, began to tweak and toy with them.

“I thought that had already happened,” she said. “I thought I’d already failed.”

Her cunt was sopping wet. She could feel her flesh parting as his fingers pushed up into her.

“When would it have happened?” he said.

“On the train. That stuff with my clothes. And with your jacket. Oh Christ that feels so nice.”

“That was just conversation,” he said. “Just stuff for you to think about. This is the moment of truth. I’m prepared to write off everything you owe me, if you can just do one thing for me.” For a moment he smiled at her, and to her immense surprise she actually thought she saw kindness in his gaze; an affectionate tenderness. “Or rather, if you can manage not to do something.”

“What thing?” she said.

“Come,” he said. “I want you to let me fuck you. Here, right here, on this station. If you make me come before you do, then that’s it. It’s all over between us.”

Afterwards she would tell herself that that was the only reason she agreed to do what he asked: the prospect that it might mean an end to enslavement. But the truth of it was that when he offered to fuck her she felt a surge of excitement go through as fierce as the flame of an arc lamp. He wanted to fuck her, and she couldn’t imagine doing anything except let him.

“Where do you want to do it?” she said.

“Over there. Underneath the departure board.”

There was a litter bin. It looked like a big green cock. He lifted her on to it and then stood between her legs. He moved her hands and she began to eagerly unbutton his flies. When she found what she was looking for she let out a small, involuntary sigh and started to rub her fingers over his hardness. At times like this, she wondered why Richard went to all the trouble of setting up his contracts, luring women into his power. Most girls she knew would be willing to pay to have something like this inside them. She spread her legs against the cold hard plastic and tilted her hips to make it easier for him to penetrate.

His cock moved into her. He held it there, rigid and immense, thrust to its full extent inside her. He made no effort to move, just stared into her eyes. Without even bothering to think about it, Chloe began to push her hips against him.

“You’re going to lose,” he warned, and he was right, she knew he was right but there was nothing she could do about it. The force of instinct, the force of desire was too powerful within her. She needed to move, needed to feel his penis moving against her. She needed it, and nothing was going to stop her getting it, not the fact that she was half naked in the middle of a railway station, not the fact that more than one head was now turned in her direction, not the fact that Richard was now sliding the jacket off her shoulders and exposing her body to the late night travelers, nothing.

“I don’t care,” she sobbed against his shoulder. “I don’t care. I just want to come. Just want to come. Just want to come.”

And then there were no words at all, just a frantic, incoherent gasping as, for the first time that evening, Chloe got what she wanted.

He pulled out of her while her spasms were subsiding. His penis was still stiff. It was sticky with her juices. He nodded to her once. A smile still played at the corner of his lips, but the tenderness that she had seen or imagined earlier was gone. His voice when he spoke was almost devoid of feeling.

“You see. You really have no self-control at all. It’s no wonder you find it so hard to get a grip on your finances.”

He jammed his penis back into his trousers, buttoned himself up. Chloe could see the shape of its stiffness thrusting up against the fabric. She felt an ache in her loins, a feeling of regret.

“Don’t you want to do something about that?” she said.

“If I did I wouldn’t bother asking you. Come on.”

He sounded peeved, but to her surprise he took her hand as they headed across the concourse. “It’s late. Time to get you home.” He glanced at the front of the jacket which was flapping open. “You can do that up if you like.”

Chloe tried to comply. It wasn’t easy. Her hands were shaking. Everything was shaking. Her orgasm had gone through her like a gale. Her legs felt so insubstantial it was as if they had been replaced with tissue paper.

Out in front of the station it had started to rain. It wasn’t much more than a drizzle, but the water was cold against her skin. She shivered. Richard waved an arm and a taxi drew up at the curb. He opened the door for her.

“Get in. Go home. I’ll see you next time.”

She did what she was told. She could feel the fabric of the taxi seat against the backs of her thighs. He leaned in through the door and pushed something into her hands. A piece of paper.

“It’s a bill,” he said. “For my jacket. One hundred and fifty quid. I’ll add it to the interest you owe me.”

For a moment she seriously thought about giving the jacket back to him. Even if it wouldn’t actually reduce what she owed at least she would avoid having to surrender any more of her self-control.

She couldn’t do it. Bad enough to be seen returning to her place after midnight wearing only a leather jacket. The thought of doing the trip naked was more than she could bear. Anyway, her fingers were too tired, too shaky.

She said: “I don’t have any money for the fare.”

“I know. You’ll just to find some other way of paying the man off, won’t you?”

He gave the driver her address, and then closed the door and watched the taxi pull away.