The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Alright, here’s the thing. The average reader probably wouldn’t make it very far into this story unless I bait the hook with a little tasty morsel of literary expectancy. So, I’ll start with a spoiler alert. (Everybody loves spoiler alerts.) This will have a happy ending. There. You know. However, if you want to get there, you’re going to have to consider some … unpleasant concepts.

If you read fiction, you should be used to that. A lot of current lit starts out by asking you to believe in something you would ordinarily never even consider. Everything else makes sense … but the author insists that you blindly trust in the “truth” of some off-the-wall concept. Like ghosts. Or vampires. Or aliens. Mine should be a little easier to swallow, because people like me DO exist. You don’t just have to take my word for it. Look it up, if you don’t believe me. We ARE real.

I am not well. I have a few … emotional issues. And that would be putting it mildly.

Mine will be a story of the relationship between good and bad; acceptable and abhorrent; moral and evil. Pick your own group of descriptors. Doesn’t matter. All the same. The difference in this situation is perspective. If you’ve ever read any story about this sort of thing (assuming that it’s written in in the first person, like my story is), then you tend to root for the narrator. He’s the good guy, right? He’s the fellow who fights what is bad and bests those who are abhorrent and vanquishes evil. Right? It probably wouldn’t be very entertaining if the point of view was the bad guy’s, now would it? But obviously, that’s what I’m about to attempt here.

And, as for what IS good and acceptable and moral in our story; well, that describes HER, not me. SHE is one you will inevitably be cheering for in this narrative. Certainly not me. And, since it WILL have a happy ending, she will be the one who comes out on top in the struggle. Right? Right?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am not inherently evil. Well, maybe I am. Quite frankly, it wouldn’t make that much difference to me, one way or the other. But you need to get your terms straight. I am NOT a psychopath. I AM a sociopath. You need to be able to tell the two apart before we begin our tale. Don’t turn me into something worse than I already am. And believe me, what I already am is undoubtedly bad enough to begin with. You might be able to effectively argue that all psychopaths are sociopathic. But the opposite is certainly not the case. Point in fact: me.

I do NOT go around pulling the wings off flies or drowning puppies. That would be unacceptable. The thing that’s going to blow your mind is my reason WHY it’s not acceptable. I couldn’t care less about flies (and, if you’ve ever been on the giving end of a flyswatter, neither could you). Never really cared much for dogs, either. But I would have to ask myself: What are the benefits? What are the costs? What’s the point? How would I gain by doing something?

Make sense? The psychopath kills and maims and hurts because he likes it. The sociopath just doesn’t give a shit one way or the other. He doesn’t hate the world around him. On the other hand, he certainly doesn’t love it, either. The world just … IS. So are the people in it. I can truly say that I’ve never really hated anyone. On the other hand, I’ve never loved anyone, either. People just are. Like rivers or buildings or taxes.

Oh, I still have pretty much the same wants and desires that anyone does. I have goals. For example, I like sex. A lot. I get a big kick out of it. I like the way it feels. Likewise, I crave power and money. But I really couldn’t give a shit about how those around me act or feel as I achieve those goals. Hurting a sexual partner (either physically or emotionally) would normally not matter a whit to me. The problem, as far as I’m concerned, is not the feelings of another human being, but rather the repercussions which might ensue by causing that pain.

It’s rather walking a fine line when a man has no conscience. On the one hand, I simply don’t care about people at all. On the other, I constantly have to worry about the consequences, either socially or legally, that I might face by doing almost anything. I am the reason governments write laws. I am the reason they think up punishments.

The year was 2019. I saw her on a chilly October noonday, down of the first floor of our building in the cafeteria. I have reason to remember that it was a Friday. I was at a table near hers, but not adjacent. She had joined a group of secretaries because there was space at the table, not because she had been invited. Most of the others (five girls and one guy) were eating taco salads because that was the special. I was eating a taco salad, too; though I had almost immediately regretted that choice, and I spent most of the meal picking through the thing in search of some hidden appetizing morsel that wasn’t overtly presenting itself to me.

The others seemed sublimely intent on ignoring her; and she, in turn, appeared to accept this state of affairs, as if the tableau was a comfortable one. The conversation at the table was a little loud, so everyone who sat around it could hear; but she never spoke, never commented, never contributed. Until, suddenly, she did. And THAT drew my attention. What that comment was, and why she said it, and why I found it so fascinating will all be explained soon. But it’s important to note that, while her question was answered, it was without undo notice or added comment; and it held no interest to anyone around her except to she herself. And to me. It most definitely mattered to me. I rose from my picked-over meal and abruptly left. Destination: HR.

Two hours later, there was an almost-nonexistent knock, and I looked up from my desk to see her at my open office door. She was about to knock a second time, but snatched her hand back as if the portal was ablaze. She met my inquiring scrutiny, and then forced her eyes toward her shuffling feet. She was blushing for some reason.

“Mister … Mister … Baxter? The receptionist in Personnel said you … said you wanted to see me?”

I studied her intently; and, since she was looking at them, I started at her feet. Plain flat shoes. Cheap. No stockings on legs that held my interest for a moment. Nice. I decided her legs were most definitely her best feature. If I had my way, that wouldn’t be the case for long. Slender waist. Not much up top, but that didn’t matter. We would be able to do something with the hair, too, but that was a canvas we would paint later.

And then there was the face. That poor face. She wore very little makeup, which made sense. Lipstick would have only drawn attention to a mouth that was much too wide, sitting below a long, pointed, almost hooked nose. The eyes were nice, but overly prominent cheeks made them appear much too close-set. Still, I would not have called her ugly. Plain. She was painfully plain. She was the type of girl most people wanted not to notice, and her demeanor seemed to beg them to do just that.

“Are you Polly?” I asked, rising.

Startled, she took a step back. “Yes?” Her meekness surrounded her, an ineffective suit of armor.

“My secretary had to leave,” I lied, advancing. She shuffled backwards, away from me, until her butt hit the edge of the outer desk, and she wound up half-sitting on its edge. I pretended not to notice. “I want you to fill in for the rest of the afternoon.” I pointed, and she forced herself to look. “I need you file those two boxes of client data …” I shifted, and she turned her attention, “… in those top two drawers of the file cabinet.”

Her hand came up involuntarily, and she ran her fingers along the tops of the files in the box. “Mr. Baxter, I’m just a temp hired by the typing pool. Surely, you wanted someone from the secretarial pool? I don’t know why they sent me.”

“They sent you because I asked for you. Now, start sorting and filing. I’ll be going out for an hour or so. I’ll check your work when I get back.”

She studied the boxes. “How do you want them sorted?”

“I want them sorted accurately and efficiently. I want them sorted so that you can find the right one immediately when I ask for it. I don’t care about the particulars. Just do it. Oh, and give me your shoes.”

“But shouldn’t your secretary …?” She paused, shocked. “What?”

I sighed in exasperation and held out my hand. “Your shoes. Give me your shoes.”

She was already using the toe of her right foot to work off the heel of her left shoe. “W … Why?”

Oh, perfect. She was going to be just perfect; I could tell already. Even with the most outrageous request imaginable, she was instinctively submissive and obedient. I said nothing, simply stood there with my hand out toward her, and she bent down, picked up her shoes and handed them to me. “I don’t understand,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.

I turned and sauntered back into my office. “You don’t need shoes to sort files,” I groused in as crabby a tone as I could muster. I put her shoes in a plastic shopping bag, then carried it back to the outer desk. “Your personnel data card in HR says you weigh 105 pounds. Is that correct?”

Her mouth fell open in shock. Dumbly, she nodded. I turned to leave.

“No!” she suddenly interjected. Heaving a sigh, I paused and turned back, meeting her eyes, which seemed frantic for a moment, then resigned. “One-ten,” she said softly. She thought another moment and added “Without shoes.”

I simply inclined my head in recognition of this new factoid and headed for the elevator. “I’ll be back in an hour and a half. If anybody calls, take a message.”

My own shoes have rubber soles, though I’m not sure why. If I wanted to make an impact on someone, you’d think that hearing me coming would better suit that purpose. And yet, I tend to sneak up on folks; which is exactly what I did when I returned, slightly behind schedule. Realizing that she didn’t know I was there, I paused and watched her for a long minute as she neared the end of her task. I was astounded, and not a little impressed, as I realized that she was not just stuffing folders into file drawers. She was pausing to visually scan each one, flipping pages to familiarize herself with the contents, before carefully choosing where the file should reside. I’m not sure what alerted her to my presence, but she suddenly jumped a little and spun to face me.

“Mr. Baxter! You startled me!” We stood staring at one another for a long moment before she ventured further. “Mr. Congreeve’s office called. I took a message.”

I was trying hard to judge her feelings, her character, her limits. She was breathing deeply, probably from the shock I had given her. I could see her nipples outlined in the front of her plain white blouse, though she was obviously wearing a bra, as well. I hoped that my gaze hadn’t lingered there overlong; and I forced my eyes to the file cabinet.

“Tell me how you sorted them,” I ordered gruffly, completely ignoring her comments.

She blinked. “Um ….” She turned toward the files and once again ran her fingertips gently, caressingly, along the little tabs at the top of the folders. In her meekness, her pride showed through. This was something SHE had done. At least for a little while, this had been hers. “The local contracts are in the second drawer. There are more of them, so it’s fuller than the other.” She shut it and pulled out the top drawer. “International contracts are up front here. Then the three military folders; and then finally, the other out-of-state files.” She slid the drawer shut and turned back to face me. She desperately wanted to own this victory. Her posture screamed her need for praise.

“What did Congreeve want?”

The question stung her. “Um … It was just his secretary, really. He had told you that he intended to call you tomorrow; but now he’s playing golf. He wants you to call him on Monday.”

I nodded. “It’s five o’clock. You probably catch the number six bus. You should leave.”

I could see it in her eyes. The question. Not about my harshness or lack of interest, but about how I knew which bus she rode. It took all of my will power not to smile, but I pulled it off.

“I … I … My shoes.”

I handed her the large department store shopping bag. “They’re in here.” She took it automatically. “There’s another pair in there, as well,” I continued smoothly. “I asked the lady at the store to pick a pair that matched the dress.”

Dumbly, she opened the bag, and she peered inside as if she half-expected something to jump out at her. “The dress? Oh, my God! Mr. Baxter!” With a shaking hand, she pulled the top part of the garment out and stared at it as if it was a sacred artifact. “What ...? Why ...?”

“For efficiency’s sake, Miss Pike. I wanted to take you to dinner tonight. I saw that dress in a store, and I decided that I wanted to see you in it. Your shoes didn’t match, and so I bought you a pair that did. Simple. I got your address from HR, and I’ll pick you up at seven. Now, hurry or you’ll miss your bus.”

Her hand went instinctively to her hair. That must be some sort of reflexive reaction peculiar to the female of the species. “You … You want to take me out?”

I heaved an exasperated sigh. “A date, Polly. Yes. I’m taking you out. Dinner. Dancing. Etcetera. Etcetera. Pick you up at seven. Unless you miss your bus. Go. Now.”

She picked up the shopping bag and took a few tentative steps in the direction of the elevator; then she paused and turned back. “Where are you taking me? I can meet you there.”

I wasn’t expecting this, but it didn’t shock me. “No. I’ll pick you up. Go.”

She stood still, marshalling strength she didn’t possess. “I … I don’t live alone.”

I nodded. “Yes. You live with your brother. I know. It’s in your personnel file.”

“And his kids,” she said meekly. I gave her a questioning look. “And … and his wife.”

“Ah,” I mused aloud. “His wife. It’s the old ‘Evil Sister-in-law’ routine, is it?”

“She hates me,” Polly muttered softly, casting a look left and right to see if she was being overheard. “She won’t like the idea of me … doing something … fun.”

“Do. Not. Miss. Your. Bus,” I ordered firmly.

She spun and sprinted ten steps before coming to a sudden halt. Frantically, she dug in the bag, tossed her old shoes onto the carpeted floor, and stepped into them. Then, she continued her run in the direction of the elevator, getting there just as the doors were closing and squeezing inside.

Lazily, I wandered over to the southeast side of the floor, meandering between dozens of cubicles until I came to the glass wall; and I peered down at the corner of Market and Forbes. I saw her running, but she made the bus with plenty of time to spare. In fact, she wasn’t even the last one to board. Smiling thoughtfully, I turned back toward my office. God, she was perfect!

An evil sister-in-law offered a tantalizing challenge; but I resolved not take too many risks. Polly was the solution to … well, everything. Still, settling with the sister would only draw her closer to me. If I played it right, she might even see me as some sort of savior.

I glanced around the floor and its cubicles and offices and rapidly disappearing employees. This could be it. This could be the one. It was, by far, the most spectacularly diabolical plot I had ever conceived. This could all be mine.

And it all hinged on plain young Polly Pike.

The little house was north of the city, east of Ross Park. The area had built up as a blue-collar area, as had most of the neighborhoods in Greater Pittsburgh; but the coming of the mall and surrounding shops had lent a “Yuppyish” sort of vibe.

I stopped my Prius by a curb across the street, and I studied the battered pickup truck and older model SUV in front of the dwelling. The one-car garage was obviously too packed with junk to allow parking a vehicle there. I had done a couple online searches for the brother, but nothing came of it, and I wondered if unemployment might have entered into the equation recently.

Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. As I crossed the street, I reached into my pocket and pushed the “lock” button on my car remote. There was youthful shrieking from somewhere deep within the dwelling, but a commanding female voice put an end to whoever or whatever was making the sound. I rang the bell.

The man wore a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans and a stained white tee shirt. “We ain’t religious,” he told me flatly.

“Amen to that, brother,” I told him. “Neither am I.”

He studied me more closely. “Waddayawant?”

“I’m here to pick up Polly,” I told him, giving him a smile that displayed my dentist’s hard work. “We’re going out.”

“Polly? No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Geeze. Whatdaya think of that!?” he exclaimed with amazement. “Come on in, pal! Want a beer?”

I followed him down a short, cluttered hallway that was devoid of pictures, and into a steamy kitchen. “Naw. I’m driving.”

“What’s that gotta do with anything?” he asked. He reached into a somewhat modern refrigerator, extracted two cans of Iron City and tossed one to me underhand. I caught it neatly, but placed it unopened on the kitchen table, which had been set for five.

“Really,” I said flatly. “Not right now. Thanks anyway. Maybe when I bring her back.”

Two children, issuing noises that left no doubt as to the source of those shrieking sounds, scrambled into the cramped room, and came to an abrupt halt, staring at me as if I was some sort a space monster. They were followed by a woman of perhaps thirty-five, wearing a flower-print dress. She looked older than her husband, and for some reason, I wondered whether or not the kids were his. She, too, halted and stared. “Who are you?” She reached up and patted her hair. Must run in the family.

“He’s takin’ Polly out on a date!” the man announced loudly.

“Say what?” the woman retorted. She looked very pointedly at me. I was expecting just about anything; and, so as far as I was concerned, the ball was in her court. Did she feel that? My total lack of interest in her and absolutely anything she thought? By my reckoning, there were exactly nineteen ways she could attempt to prevent this event, and I had a counter for every single one of them.

And then, there she was: the main character in the evening’s drama, wide-eyed and blushing. Every head turned toward her. I’m not sure what the dark blue material was. It was shiny, like satin; but it was more like a thick chiffon, if there is such a thing. It really was a beautiful dress; but alas, it was never meant for a woman like Polly. Her frame was too narrow up top, despite my mathematically exact description to the sales lady at the store; and the narrow straps were always just shy of slipping off her shoulders. Those thin straps, of course, meant no bra. The perky nipples that had attracted my attention earlier in the day were almost screamingly prominent in this thing; and they only magnified the fact that they were perched on very small breasts. Her legs looked good, though. Very good, in fact.

She had worked hard on her hair, and it showed. Today, there had been no curl to it at all; but she’d managed to impart a bit of a wave that caused the brown flow to lightly caress her almost-bare shoulders. She tried valiantly to smile. I was glad she hadn’t attempted too much in the makeup department.

The young boy and girl turned toward each other and said in perfect unison: “Aunt Polly has a date!”

The boy rounded on his mother. “If Aunt Polly’s getting married, can I have my room back?”

But the woman wasn’t listening. “Where the FUCK did you get that thing?” she screamed, spittle spraying. “That’s gotta be a four hundred dollar evening dress! It’s fuckin’ Dior! What are those shoes? Prada? You told us you didn’t have any more money! You still owe us three weeks room and board! You’re behind on your tab!”

Well, shit. I hadn’t seen that one coming. Still, with a little ad lib, I could almost guarantee this evening would go my way. “Your estimate on the dress is off by a hundred … or six,” I told her firmly, unquestioningly. “But she didn’t buy it. I did. And the shoes aren’t Prada. The sales lady told me they were Jimmy Choo, whatever that means. They were the only pair in her size that matched the dress.”

The older woman spun my way, and I was ready. Our eyes caught and held for a long, long, long three seconds before her breath caught, and she staggered back a step, clearly shaken. I’ve never been able to duplicate “the look” in a mirror, so I’m not sure exactly what it is, myself. But it always seems to have that impact. Maybe the eyes are windows, but some souls are not meant to be seen. Apparently, mine is one of those when I’m really pissed off.

She turned her impotence into rage. “You are NOT to go out in that hideous getup!” she screamed at Polly. “You look like an ostrich turned street whore!”

She’d started with number fourteen! Well, she’d been slightly more flamboyant, but it was still a firm number fourteen. I easily responded by extending my hand and quoting my line: “You look lovely, Polly. Shall we go?”

“We made dinner here!” the bitch countered. “I cooked it for all of us! You HAVE to stay!”

Number seven! Response: Pat the children on the shoulders. “Seconds tonight, kids!”

They looked at me uncertainly. I hadn’t anticipated the possibility that the bitch was a bad cook. Didn’t matter, anyway. Polly had already put her slim hand in mine, and I was leading her toward the front of the house.

“You walk out that door tonight and you won’t be walking back in!” she bellowed.

Number one! She’d actually used number one! YES! YES! YES!

“Gretchen!” the brother said shakily, tentatively. “Gretchen, please! She’s my sister!”

“Fuck your sister! And fuck you! That ungrateful skank is not to set foot back in this house!” She stomped out of the room muttering: “Fuckin’ Jimmy Choos! Goddamn ostrich!”

Despite my elation, I had kept a stern face. Sociopaths are absolutely the BEST actors! (And lawyers, of course; but that goes without saying.) Polly seemed to be in shock, and allowed herself to be led to the front door like a baby lamb. Outside, as I closed the portal behind us, I heard the little boy entreating: “Can I have my room back now?”

We sat side-by-side at a private table in the rear, facing the stage at the Club Topanga in Lawrenceville. I’d picked this place because it was within walking distance from my apartment. I took another bite of a T-bone steak that was perfectly done but a little tough. She had ordered a Cobb Salad that must have contained at least two heads of lettuce. The thing was huge; but she only nibbled at it. In an effort to ease her mood, I’d ordered a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. She exclaimed that she’d never had Champagne, and that the wine would be wasted; but I really felt like celebrating! And, when she had finally taken a tentative sip, she said she enjoyed it. (Well, of COURSE she enjoyed it! Wine like that was created to seduce women!) I let her get two glasses in her system before I finally answered the question that she’d asked a dozen times already. “What am I going to DO?!”

“You are going to do what you’ve been doing all day,” I told her so softly that she had to lean toward me to hear. That was orchestrated, of course. This whole thing had been orchestrated, from beginning to end. Well, we were nowhere near the end, admittedly; but we were now well on our way. I reached out and took her hand in mine. The first time I’d touched her, simply to make a point in our conversation, she had slowly-but-firmly pulled away. That had been forty-five minutes ago. Soon, my touches were much, much more frequent, and now she not only tolerated them, she seemed to relish them. She shivered slightly and spread her fingers so that mine could interlace. We were holding hands like schoolchildren, and she was loving it.

“What do you mean?” she asked breathlessly.

I saw the waiter glancing our way and I used my free hand to point toward the bottle of bubbly. He very quickly finished his business at the table he was servicing and scampered off in the direction of the bar. I could almost feel his analytical processes churning, figuring the additional tip he’d get from another bottle.

“From the moment you came to my office today, you’ve been following my every instruction,” I told her softly … so softly that she had to practically put her ear to my lips to hear. “Just let that continue, and you won’t have to worry about what to do. Just … follow.” I spoke that word softly, directly into her ear, and she shivered slightly and clutched my fingers more tightly.

Idly, she reached up with her right hand and slid the left strap of her dress back onto her bare shoulder. When she lowered it again, as if on cue, the right strap slipped off the other. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, slightly slurring her words.

I stood and pulled her hand, enticing her to get up, as well. “Dance with me,” I commanded.

“I … I don’t know how. I’ve never danced before,” she said; though she rose. Perfect. Just perfect.

I led her out onto the dance floor and faced her, keeping hold of her right hand in my left while reaching with my right arm to encircle her waist. The band had just begun playing some slow piece. I’d heard it on the Muzak system in our outer offices, and figured it was something modern, but I didn’t know the name. She stumbled at first, and then we settled into a gentle swaying motion, more or less in time with the song. Gently, I raised her right hand up to my shoulder, then dropped it so that I could hold her waist with both hands. “Put your arms around my neck,” I told her softly yet firmly. She hesitated only briefly before doing so, and I added: “That will solve the problem you’re having with your dress straps.”

She giggled briefly at that, then gently settled into my body, the side of her face pressed to the nape of my neck.

After a couple minutes, she lifted her head and looked into my eyes. I met her gaze coolly. “Why me? Why are you doing this to me? You can’t find me attractive.” I simply kept looking at her, smiling faintly. “Do you?” she pleaded. “Nobody else does. I’m ugly. Please tell me the truth. Do you think I’m attractive?”

She had pulled away slightly in order to see my eyes, but I now firmly pulled her back into me. She didn’t resist. “First of all,” I told her in a low, distinct voice only she could hear, “I will always tell you the truth. You have my word. I AM looking for a pretty woman, though physical attractiveness in not necessarily something I particularly desire. Sorry if that’s a bit vague. But, at this point in time, I need a particular type of woman.” I paused and considered that phrase. “No, that’s not true. The woman I am seeking is so rare that she defies any ‘type.’ She is unique. There is no other girl like her. And … I think maybe I’ve found her.”

The song ended. We stopped, and she stood there, staring at me, before softly following my lead and clapping for the musicians. Both shoulder straps fell simultaneously. I took her hand and guided her off the dance floor while she struggled with one of them.

Back at our table, the fresh bottle of wine had arrived, but the cork hadn’t been popped. The waiter had been keeping tabs on us, however, and hustled after us to perform the ritual. She waited patiently, smiling at the man, or at least trying to, while staying silent and meek. I had reserved a corner table all the way in the back. When the floorshow started, every single patron in the room would be facing away from us; and even now, literally no one took the effort to turn our way.

She felt obligated to sip the new glass, nodding and smiling again until the waiter had left. Finally, she heaved a great sigh. “Mr. Baxter, I am very confused.”

“Good,” I told her definitively. “That’s part of my plan.”

“Please forgive me if I sound like a character out of some Victorian novel; but what are your intentions?”

I barked a laugh, then tried to stifle my smile. Too late; and she knew it. I had not meant to show her any truly human traits yet. She almost commented; but then she, too, paused, and instead canted her head slightly, considering.

“And I am everything you’re looking for in a girl?” she asked quietly.

I sighed. “Almost. In some ways, you’re more. I had not expected your apparent level of … um … intelligence.” Her head remained canted, but her left eyebrow arched. I couldn’t suppress another unwanted smile. “You didn’t score very high on your GED. I wasn’t expecting what you did with those files, back in the office.”

Now, she straightened and her eyes widened. “You liked how I sorted the files? You didn’t seem very appreciative.”

“You enjoy receiving praise?”

“A little would be nice. From the way you acted, I thought … MFFF!”

I leaned forward toward her while slipping my right hand around the back of her neck, and I kissed her, firmly but tenderly, lingering for about fifteen seconds, which can be an awfully long time in certain situations. When I pulled away and leaned back, her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted; and when I let go of her neck, she swayed unsteadily back and forth for a moment. Her nipples were threatening to poke through the fabric of that dress.

“You did a good job with the files. Thank you.” I said, deadpan.

She was struggling to get her breathing under control, and she seemed to make a conscious effort to focus her eyes. “Why?” she huffed softly. “Why are you doing this to me? My first date. My first nice dress. My first glass of Champagne. My first dance. My first kiss.” Her eyes narrowed on mine. “You … You’re targeting me for something. You were LOOKING for somebody like me! Inexperienced. Plain.”

I sat back hard and looked upon her with fresh eyes. “Miss Pike, you are remarkably bright. Why did you score low on your GED?”

She struggled with that, unwilling to let go of her demands. But eventually, she surrendered … an overriding trait that thrilled me. “That was a HARD test!” she exclaimed emphatically. “I’m surprised I passed it on my first try! I didn’t even find out until I’d gotten there that there were things I should have been studying in advance!”

“Wait a minute,” I interjected. “You didn’t take any prep courses before you took it?”

“I didn’t even know about them! Nobody told me!”

“And you only completed ninth grade?”

“Daddy died when I was in tenth. From that point on, I was with Mommy full-time, up until she died in August. She was bedridden.”

“And you’re twenty now?”

“Next month.”

I sat, considering. “You must read a lot.”

“Yes, from the library. Constantly. We both did. Especially after the TV started going on the fritz a year or two ago.”

“Your brother couldn’t help with things like that?”

She sighed. “He had problems of his own. The two of us only had Mommy’s Social Security. We made it, but just barely. Richard couldn’t really afford to help.”

“What a Dick.”

She giggled at the pun. But then she sobered and returned to the topic at hand. “Mr. Baxter, what’s going on? In a single afternoon and evening, my whole world has turned upside down. I’ve been kicked out of my house. I have no money and nowhere to go. And now, suddenly, I seem to be living in a dream. I have no one to turn to … except you. Was … Was THIS your plan?”

Well, crap. I couldn’t keep the self-critical grimace off my face. Sighing, looking for some sort of inspiration, I picked up my glass and drained its contents. I suddenly realized that she would be able to read any lie I could come up with. I had anticipated almost everything … except intelligence. Damn.

“Yes,” was all I said.

“Mr. Baxter ….” And the band launched into a loud, raucous piece of music as dancing girls skipped onto the stage in unison and the house lights came down.

We were sitting on a comfortably padded, built-in bench seat against the far wall. She was in the corner, and I extended my arm along the top of the seat and slid toward her. She gave me a sort of startled look, and moved away from me inadvertently, but she quickly bumped into the adjoining wall. Her breath seemed to catch, and she stared down at her hands, which were fumbling together on her lap. A man was singing some sort of tropical love song, which blared from the speakers mounted all around us, so I put my lips to her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you, Polly. But I owe you an explanation. I’m sorry I can’t give you all the details. Not yet.”

She reached up and put the strap back on her right shoulder. It immediately slid down again. She looked up into my eyes with a mixture of fear and longing; then she shivered as I gently moved the shoulder strap back into position and held it there with the palm of my right hand. Leaning forward, I realized that she wanted to communicate with me in the same fashion, so I dutifully turned my head so that my ear was within striking distance, and she spoke directly into it. “Please tell me. Why me? Why did you choose me to do this to?”

It was time to shift positions again. She faced forward, but before returning to her ear, I gently ran my lips along the lower line of her jaw and the top of her neck. Her whole body stiffened at the sensation, and she quivered for a long two seconds. I followed up by nibbling the edge of her ear, receiving much the same reaction. “I’ve been watching you. You were in the building on Monday, and again on Thursday and today. For my plan, I needed a girl who was inexperienced and yet sensual. My intent, after all, was to seduce her. She should to be shy, introverted, innocent. It would have been SO much better if you had been ever-so-slightly stupid; but … I suppose nobody’s perfect. I have to say, I greatly misjudged you there.”

She didn’t move, so I continued. “And then today, I overheard you in the cafeteria downstairs. They were talking about a nightclub act one of them had been to. Do you remember what you asked that girl?”

She shifted, but didn’t turn enough to actually face me. She had become comfortable in my embrace and seemed reluctant to move away from the sound or feeling of my lips on her ear. Her eyes shifted toward me. Frightened. Embarrassed. She was blushing.

“She had been to a hypnosis show,” I continued, “and she had been called upon to volunteer and go up onstage. Everybody else wanted to know what the guy had done to her … what he had made her do. But YOU … you only wanted to know what it had felt like. That’s what you asked her. ‘What did it feel like?’ But she just shrugged. She didn’t really care. Nobody else seemed to care, either. But you did, didn’t you, Polly?”

A woman had joined in the love song onstage. The sound of the duet, along with the band, was so loud that the room vibrated. Everyone in the place was watching the act. Everyone except us. Polly didn’t answer my question, but she was now blushing even more.

“You see,” I said, “I declared a double-major in college. Business was one; Psych was another. I became very proficient in hypnosis. I was never much of a hypnotic subject, though I tried, since it was part of the lab course. I’ve got a bit of a psychological problem myself. That’s why I was taking the courses; and, that was probably the reason I was unable to relinquish control as a subject. If our … relationship progresses as I hope it will, I’ll explain more about that to you some other time. However, I was very, very good at hypnotizing others. I soon found that certain girls around the campus had a deep-seated curiosity about it; and many of them were eager to try it when I offered. I must admit, I took advantage of that little proclivity. They were so easy to manipulate, to bend to my will. To seduce through trance.

“And so, today, when I recognized that little trait in you, after I’d been planning and plotting since the moment I first saw you, it just kind of tipped me over the edge. It was as if everything sort of coalesced, right at that moment. I have no idea if my crazy idea will work or not; but I knew right then and there that you were the girl I was going to try it with.”

Polly slowly turned her head, and I shifted so that she could put her mouth to my ear. “Mr. Baxter, I don’t understand. I’m very … confused.”

She turned forward again, facing the stage. What an odd way to communicate! I whispered over the din: “You are feeling many, many things. Physical things. Emotional things. Tell me, what is it that you are feeling the most right now?”

She faced me, concerned and confused and scared. She said: “No, Mr. Baxter, please don’t make me tell you that!” But, of course, since her mouth wasn’t near my ear, I couldn’t hear a word she uttered.

The band hit a sudden loud note, then launched into another number with the same general beat. It drew her attention back forward again, and so I pressed my lips back to her ear. “Tell me, Polly. Tell me the truth. Tell me now.”

She shivered, then slowly turned her head toward me. I dutifully twisted mine, so she could impart the knowledge I sought. “It’s my nipples, sir. They hurt. They’re rubbing against the fabric of the dress every time I move, and they’re driving me crazy. And … And the craziest thing of all is that I don’t think I want them to stop hurting. Isn’t that weird?” She shivered again. “Everything is so weird!”

We shifted again. It was natural now. “Polly, I want you to keep facing forward, like you are now; but instead of looking at the stage, I want you to look at the candle on the table.” She didn’t appear to move, but I saw her eyes shift lower. “Now, I want you to relax for me. Just relax.” For a moment, she did just that. But suddenly, she seemed to catch my meaning. She stiffened and started to turn back. “No. Do as I say. Do it now.” I saw her eyes dart left, then up and forward, then left again. “No one is watching, Polly. Just do as I say. Obey me, please. I really need you to do this for me.”

She let out a long breath. I don’t know how long she had been holding it, but it seemed to take a while for her to get her breathing under control again. Finally, to my immense satisfaction, I felt her shoulder relax under my hand, and she seemed to sink an inch into her seat.

“Wonderful. That’s it. Relax all over. Relax completely. There is so much going on tonight. So much noise. So much worry and trouble. So many uncertainties. Relax now, and let me take that all away. Take a deep breath in for me, please. Yes, perfect. Now, let it out; and with it, let out all of your worries and all of your troubles. Breathe naturally, and listen to the sound of my voice. All your life, you’ve been curious about how this will feel, and now you’re about to find out. You WANT to find out. And you know that I can take you there. You know that I took advantage of girls in college by doing this. And so, you know that I am very experienced. And you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I can do that to you, too. You know that I am the one who can give you the feelings you have always sought.

“Watch the candle flame and listen to my voice. Relax more deeply. Soon, you will be asleep, and your worries will be gone. You want that so much. You want me to take you to a place where troubles don’t exist. Relax. Deeper and deeper. You know it will happen. All those girls I hypnotized and seduced. I’m so experienced; and you realize … beyond a doubt … that it’s about to happen to you, as well; that you actually want it to happen to you. You know that I’ll kiss you again. It’s part of being seduced, after all. Relax. Deeper and deeper and deeper still. See only the candle. Hear only to my voice. Relax.

“This is the best. The absolute best. So relaxed. So deep. Only the candle. Only my voice. So relaxed. Deeper and deeper and deeper still. You’ve always wanted this. Always wanted to drift like this. You feel so light and free without your troubles and worries weighing you down anymore. You’ve always wanted to feel hypnotic sleep surrounding you. You can do that now. Feel sleepy. Go ahead and let it happen. So relaxed. Deeper and deeper and deeper still. So sleepy. Nothing but the candle. Nothing but my voice. Everything else has gone away. All there is left to do is surrender and let sleep take you. So sleepy. You want that so much. So badly.”

Her lips formed the word “Please.” She was slumped against me, her hands limp in her lap.

“I’ll let you sleep on the count of three. One two three.” Her head nodded forward; but otherwise, she stayed just as I held her. “Excellent,” I breathed into her ear. “You are a very, very good subject for me. If you want to keep pleasing me, you will let yourself fall. Deeper and deeper and deeper still. Complete surrender. Down and down and down you go. You have always wondered about this; always been curious. And now, you have learned that it is the best feeling you have every experienced. Absolutely the best. You love this. You love it more than anything you have ever done. Your complete submission guarantees you complete freedom. Freedom from want; from need; from uncertainty and indecision; from pain and fear.

“You love it here. You know that I, and only I, can bring you here, to this special place of submission and freedom. You will always want to come here; always want to experience this feeling. If I lean into you, so that I can whisper into your ear, like I’m doing now, you will never resist; you will always welcome it. When I do that, I will put you to sleep. That’s how you will come to think of this. This is what you will ask me to do to you. To put you to sleep. That will bring you back to this, your special place of surrender and freedom. Your liberty from the harshness of reality. The place where you most want to be.

“You know that when I whisper in your ear, I will shush you to calm your nervousness. And, when I do that, an overwhelming sense of drowsiness and weariness will surround you, squeezing you gently in its grasp, making you yearn for sleep more than you’ve ever wanted anything. But you won’t be able to sleep; you won’t be able to come back to this very, very special place and the feelings you’re experiencing right now … not until I command you to sleep. Only then will you be able to surrender completely and sleep for me. Oh, how you’ll want it … how you’ll yearn for it. Always.”

I was suddenly cognizant of the waiter, standing before us with a decidedly nervous look on his face. Well, shit. I decided to play it cool and pretend nothing at all was out of the ordinary. I couldn’t very well say anything above the sound of the over-loud stage show, so I winked at him and gave him an A-OK sort of sign with the arm that wasn’t around my unconscious date. Then, I used my hand to make another motion, like signing a check. He looked as if he really had to think that one over for a moment; but eventually, he bowed his head in recognition of the request: and he turned and walked off.

Crap! Just when everything was going so well! It sounded like the stage show was starting to wind things up, anyway. I resumed my whispering suggestions.

“In a few moments, I am going to wake you up. I know that you would love to stay here, in your very special place, listening and obeying my voice. However, that would be impractical; now, wouldn’t it? Plus, you know that I can bring you back here whenever I like. Isn’t that so?” Her head nodded emphatically, and she bumped my lower lip. I sucked on it for a second, surprised by her reaction and hoping she hadn’t bruised me. “When you awaken, you will only remember that that I put you to sleep, and that you went very, very deep. Knowing that I can do that to you again whenever I want doesn’t upset you in the least. In fact, it makes you feel closer to me. You find the thought an extremely intimate one, and strangely arousing. When you wake up, you will be happy, and content to be so near me; and you will feel wonderfully feminine, being very aware of all the things that make you female.”

I saw the waiter approaching us from the side of the room. “When I count to three, you will be fully awake and happy and feminine and aroused and intimate. One Two Three.”

I pulled my head back in enough time to avoid another bump as she sat up straight and yawned, stretching her body. Then, everything seemed to happen all at once. The stage show ended, the audience applauded, the waiter handed me a little plastic tray bearing our bill and Polly looked up at the guy and smiled broadly while she attempted to slide one of her shoulder straps back up.

I signed the receipt for the amount of the bill only. I considered giving the asshole waiter nothing because of the dirty looks he’d given me, but I figured the opposite would serve me better; so, I handed him a folded hundred-dollar bill. “Thank you VERY much, sir,” he said. But then, the son of a bitch turned to Polly and added: “Are you alright, miss?”

She cast one quick, questioning glance my way; then she immediately turned back to him and answered. “Oh, yes, thank you. I feel wonderful. I’m his secretary, and he worked me to death all day long. Would you believe I fell asleep for moment during the show?”

He nodded, visibly relieved. “Yes, you looked pretty out of it there for a minute.” He turned to me apologetically. “I’m sure you understand my concern.”

I jotted something on the back of the customer copy of the receipt. “Yes. Certainly. Thanks for caring. I’ve had a little too much to drink tonight. We live nearby, and I think we’re going to walk home. May I leave our car parked in your lot tonight?” I handed him the info: make, model and license plate number.

“Certainly sir. I’ll inform the manager. There’s video surveillance, and it should be just fine. Please have a good night.”

Even so, when I led her out of the building, we went to the car, where I popped the hatchback. I’d picked up my dry cleaning that day, and I tore into one of the plastic wrappers and took out a suit coat, which I draped around her shoulders. Then, I took her right hand and placed it on my arm before I turned her in the direction of my apartment building. Before we had gone half a block, she was holding my arm in both of her hands, and she was leaning heavily into me, pressing her body into my shoulder.

After a block she sighed deeply. “I feel wonderful,” she said dreamily.

“Good. It’s been a nice evening.”

She waited another half a block. “Am I spending the night with you in your apartment?”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “Another first for me this evening.” She waited a long minute. “Are you going to make love to me?”

“That’s just one of the things I’m going to do to you. And, to put it more succinctly, I’m going to have sex with you.”

“The biggest first of all,” she muttered. But then she looked up at me. “Wait. Sex, yes; but love, no?”

“Not entirely, no. Not on my part, at least.”

“Oh.” She frowned and thought about it. “Is it my face? My body?”

“There are things about me I am reluctant to share yet. This is one of those. If we continue on this course, I’ll tell you a little more about myself. For now, you should know that it is not your face, nor your body. Such things really, really don’t matter to me. But there’s something … wrong with me. I can never love you, Polly. I can never love anyone.”

She held my arm tighter. “Oh, Mr. Baxter, that’s so sad!” I was about to launch into a heated diatribe outlining my thoughts on the topic of pity when she hurriedly continued. “What else are you going to do to me tonight?”

I sighed yet again and let my anger fade. “What do you THINK I’m going to do to you?”

She thought about that for a moment, and her breath caught. “You’re going to put me to sleep again.”

“Oh, yes.” That kept her quiet for the last half block. I turned her into the lobby of my building.

“Good evening, Mr. Baxter.”

“Good evening Pickening. May I present Miss Polly Pike? She will be staying with me, at least for the next several days; perhaps longer. Polly, Mr. Pickening is the night porter.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Pike,” the man said, bowing and extending his hand.

Absolutely awestruck, she straightened, stood away from me and shook his hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, too, Mr. Pickening. Please, call me Polly.”

He smiled broadly. “Polly. If you ever need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask. Mr. Farley is the day porter. I’ll let him know you’re staying with us. Good night.”

We boarded the elevator. She didn’t even watch as I pushed the button for the eighth floor. “Holy crap!” she husked, facing her reflection in the mirrored door. “A porter!”

“Doorman, concierge, night watchman, janitor. All the same. The two of them got drunk one Saturday night while they were off duty and decided they wanted to be called Porter. Go figure.”

I led her out of the elevator and down the hall. She stopped to look at one of the paintings that decorated the walls, and she had to rush to catch up as I got to my door. I unlocked it and walked in before her, turning on the lights. But she stayed on the threshold of the portal for a long time, looking at me, indecision clouding her eyes, which I suddenly (and for the first time) realized were green.

“This is a very nice apartment in a very nice building in a very nice part of town,” she commented from the hall. I only looked at her.

“My father left me a trust fund when he died,” I told her. “I am financially … comfortable.”

“If I walk in there now, nothing in my life will ever be the same, will it?”

A brainless bimbo would have been so much better for my plan. I was going to be forced to rewrite the whole curriculum!

I sighed. “That would be an understatement.”

She nodded, took a deep breath, and marched into the room and right up to me. She had been walking along with a small handbag tucked under one arm, but I snatched it and tossed it uncaringly in the direction of the sofa. Rather than watching it, she kept her eyes on me. Good. I reached out and took both of her wrists in my hands, then I pulled her toward me. She stumbled and made a small sound, deep in her throat, but didn’t resist, and she wound up with her body nestled into my own as I maneuvered her hands upward and toward my shoulders.

“Put your arms around my neck,” I ordered. “When I kiss you, that is what you should always do. It opens your entire body to my caresses. You are, quite literally, giving me permission to touch you wherever I please.”

She took a deep breath; and both the inhale and exhale were punctuated by staccato shuddering gasps. Her palms came to the back of my neck. Then, as my arms went around her waist and drew her body fully into my own, one palm went up to the back of my head, while the other arm went fully around my neck. She raised herself on tiptoes to better meet me. The kiss started out tenderly, if strongly, but I increased the pressure until I thought I might hurt her. Startled, she opened her mouth slightly, which was exactly the response I sought, and I invaded her mouth with my tongue. She clearly had no idea how to react to that; but eventually, her own tongue began tentative explorations, the tip sliding the entire length along the side of the moist invader.

After a full minute of this, I grasped her waist in my hands and pushed her back a half step. She opened her eyes for a moment, but she didn’t seem to have the gumption to make them focus. I put my lips and tongue to work on the side of her head, just where her neck met her jaw, and I assaulted that part of her with slobbery kisses. She made a noise, somewhere between a groan and a squeal. Shaking, she grasped me with clutching hands and pressed her body into me, from chest to hips. Those nipples, so hard and insistent, distinctly announced their individual presence to my chest; and she seemed to have no control over her pussy at all, as it pushed and ground against my groin.

I grasped her again, this time by the shoulders, and pushed her back. She was gasping almost violently. “Stop,” I commanded.

“Sir! Oh, Sir! Please!”

Holy shit! What a firecracker! “Holly, stop.”

“M … Mr. Baxter! I ….”

I firmly pressed forward until I could put my lips to her ear. She didn’t fight me. “Sssshhhhhhh!” I hissed directly into her aural canal. Her body stiffened, then shivered. Her right hand, which had been clutching my left arm, loosened and fell to her side. She lifted it slowly, as if to grasp me again, but it didn’t quite make it, and fell once more. “Sleep!” I commanded, and she collapsed into me, out cold.

“Stand up,” I ordered, while hoisting her back into the vertical. Her legs stiffened beneath her, but otherwise, she remained leaning into me, her head on my shoulder. “Sleep deeply,” I intoned. “Deeper and deeper and deeper still. Down and down and down you go. You love it when I put you to sleep. You will do whatever I command, so that I will do it to you again. You would do anything … anything … to guarantee the possibility that I will bring you back to this wonderful place in your mind. Isn’t that so, Polly? Answer me.”

Her lips moved several times before she found enough breath to voice her concurrence. “Anything,” she whispered.

“Whenever I put you to sleep while you are standing, you will remain standing. As you can see, you can go just as deep, just as quickly, as you will if I put you to sleep while you are sitting or lying down.” She didn’t overtly react to that, simply stood there, eyes closed, with a dreamy smile on her lips. I needed to see some sort of reaction. “Take off your shoes,” I told her firmly.

Immediately, she picked up her right leg, bringing it up at an angle behind her, so that she could reach down with her left hand and push the heel strap down. The shoe fell with a sharp thud. She shifted to the right, stepping down, since her bare foot was now three inches shorter; and she repeated the act with the other shoe. Then, she stood there with the same disconnected expression on her sleeping face. “Now the dress,” I said. My nervousness gave the command a wee bit less authority than I wished.

She never hesitated. Both hands went behind her back, and I heard a zipper. Her hands came down, she gave a little shrug, and the dress simply fell from her body into a pool of material at her feet. She was wearing a pair of thin cotton panties and nothing else. Leaning into her, I could detect the scents of lavender soap and female arousal, but neither was overpowering. Her breasts were not as small as I had originally thought; but once again, her nipples simply didn’t seem to fit properly into the overall theme. She was thin, but not skinny or unhealthy; and I decided that her basic body type would suit the needs of my general plan.

I knelt and used the palms of both hands to move her panties down her hips, where they joined the other items of clothing on the floor.

“Polly, I want you to remain in this very, very deep sleep; but I want you to open your eyes. Do that now please. Deeply asleep, but eyes open.” She stared straight ahead, apparently seeing nothing at all through her glassy eyes. “Excellent.” I took her hand. “And now, please step out of your cloths and follow me.” She took a distinctively high step to clear the pile of clothes, then followed docilely as I led her into the bedroom.

Standing beside the bed, I turned and stepped into her body, slipping my hands to her back and pulling her close. “Soon, I will awaken you. You will remember nothing, but you will realize that I can do anything to you when I put you to sleep, isn’t that so?”

“Anything,” she whispered.

“I will kiss you again. You particularly like that. I will touch you and caress you; and you will let me do that for two reasons. First, you crave my touches. They are overwhelmingly erotic, and you cannot contain your inner feelings when I touch you.” Both her hands rose at the same time and rested lightly on my arms. Her breathing deepened. “And secondly, you know in your subconscious mind that I have the power to put you to sleep again; and if you are obedient and submissive, and if you let me do anything I want, I might do this again. With that as a possibility, you would do anything, wouldn’t you?”

“Anything, sir. I’ll do anything, I promise. Please?”

“What do you think I’m going to do to you?”

“You’re going to make love to me.” She hesitated. “No. You can’t love. You’re going to have sex with me. Stab me with your penis and gush your pleasure deep inside me.”

I considered this. Not a bad approximation in the eyes of an innocent. “And if you submit to me and let me use your body to gush my pleasure into, what will you get in return?”

“Oh, sir, I think that would be enough. For you to hold me and kiss me and touch me and use me and put your pleasure inside me.” She heaved a huge sigh, smiling but not really looking at anything. “And then, sometimes, when I’m good, you could put me to sleep again.”

“I’m sure you’ve read about it in books. A girl has sex with a man, and then she falls in love with him. That happens a lot. Sex turns to love. What will you do when you fall in love with me?”

She shuddered again; and then, surprisingly, she slid her hands up and put her arms around my neck. “Love you,” she moaned softly. “Love you.”

“When I force my cock into your pussy for the first time, there will be pain.”

“That’s okay. I know it will hurt. It will be worth the pain … holding you, loving you, pleasing you.”

Geeze, this girl was hot! I was trying to talk her into things that she’d already simply accepted as fact. There was something abnormal going on with her. Then again, I certainly wasn’t someone to point fingers in THAT department! I shrugged. “When I do that, when I take your virginity, you WILL feel pain; but you will find it small and inconsequential. You will find yourself concentrating on the other feelings, instead. The feelings of me filling you, stretching you, overpowering you. The feelings of closeness and arousal will surround you. You will cherish them. Feel them turn into emotions of love and intimacy.” Her body shook again, and she clutched me even closer.

I tried desperately to hold back my own feelings of nervousness and dread. I had never deflowered a girl before. Of my two dozen sexual conquests, most of which had been through seduction of women who had been curious about hypnosis, none had been virgins; and I truly didn’t know what to expect. Would there be a lot of blood? I didn’t like blood. What if she hemorrhaged? That could prove to be devastating. Both that damned waiter at the nightclub and Pickening downstairs would be able to tie me to this girl. Not to mention the brother and sister-in-law. Dumping the body would be out of the question. I’d have to think up some other story.

I caught myself in this line of folly, and forced myself to take a deep breath. That’s a common problem with people like me. The “unwell” people. It’s the old mountain-molehill thing. We get by just fine, as long as we don’t overthink things. Play it cool. Take it easy.

“I will count to three, and you will wake up,” I told her firmly, back in control. “You will not remember anything from the moment I put you to sleep until now; but everything I have told you will be true. You will feel your nakedness and vulnerability, and you will realize that it is due to my total domination over you. That will excite you and increase your passion tenfold. You will awaken on the count of three. One Two Three.”

Nothing seemed to change. She had been holding me hard, her arms around my neck, her body pressed into mine; and that just seemed to continue. I hadn’t realized until then that my hands had not been still. They had been gently, inadvertently, stroking her back, her waist, her hips, her ass. That, too, continued.

“Oh,” she said softly, a sort of shuddering sigh. “Oh.” She shivered and pressed her face into the side of my neck. “Oh, sir.” Another ragged breath. “I … I’m very shy, sir.”

“I know. That will never change. I will keep you shy. I like you shy.”

“Oh, sir.”

I pushed against her until I could see her face again, then I kissed her. I was beginning to like kissing her. For a while there, my cock had been really hard. Exercising power over defenseless women does that to me. However, my own arousal had ebbed as I thought about consequences to things that didn’t exist. Now slowly, the kisses were starting to bring that back. It felt good.

I pressed her backwards until the backs of her legs hit the bed, then I pushed some more. She toppled backwards with a sad moan as our lips parted. But, after taking a moment to rid myself of my sports coat and collared shirt, I sprang on top of her, pressing my mouth to her neck. I felt her fingers in my hair. She was kissing the top of my head. Unfazed, I kissed my way to her collarbone, to her chest; and finally, at long last, I sucked in one of those long, hard nipples. She started a weird sort of rhythmic panting, that eventually morphed into a string of moaning exclamations: “Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.” It went on and on until I finally relinquished the task and trailed my lips lower still, between her legs.

I wouldn’t call her shaggy, exactly; but she was much hairier than I preferred. Add another thing to the long list of changes I had planned. Undaunted, I spread her lower lips with my fingertips and clamped my mouth over her sex. “OH!” she almost screamed. I guess you could call it an alarmed shout. And then, I licked, full length, from perineum to clitoris.

Her entire body convulsed, then shook, then seemed to deflate. “H … H … Holy cow!” she shuddered. I licked her like that again, with much the same reactions, though she held her old fashioned exclamations this time. I did it yet again. And she exploded.

Halfway through what I finally realized was an orgasm, she wrapped her long legs around my head and damn near killed me. Holy crap, she had strong legs! My nose wound up grinding into her clit, which obviously didn’t relieve the situation; and my mouth was smothered by her quivering, fluttering, grasping, salivating vagina. All of my verbal protests made it sound like I was blowing bubbles underwater. We found out the next day that I had bruised her inner thighs as I worked my hands between her legs and pried them apart using all my strength.

Finally free, and with no small degree of anger, I looked down on my shaking date and tried to take in the sight of her. Her arms were flung out to her sides, her fists both tangled in the blankets. Her legs were splayed akimbo, and they were assaulted by occasional jerking movements, as if her stomach muscles were trying (and failing) to ball her up into a fetal position. She issued a long series of grunting moans: “Uh! … Oh! … Huh! … Ah!”

My rage left me, and I stood up and took off my shoes and socks, my trousers, my briefs. I rejoined her as her contractions finally faded away entirely. Groggily, she worked her hands free of the bedclothes, and she put a hand on my face, stroking my cheek softly.

“What did you just do to me?”

I studied her. “You’ve never felt that before?”

“I … I think I felt something like it in a dream once. B … But nowhere near so strong. That was … That was … wonderful!”

“We can talk about it later. Now, it’s my turn. It’s time you pleased me.”

“Oh! Oh, yes sir! Anything! Please … tell me what you want! Tell me what to do!”

I smirked. “What do you THINK I want?”

“You want to stab me with your … your cock! And gush your pleasure into my body! Please use me! Please!”

God, she was turning into a real slut. That’s not at all what I had imagined her being. I positioned my body above her, and I worked my legs between hers. As soon as she realized what I wanted, she spread them wide. “Reach down and grasp me. Guide me into you,” I ordered firmly. Immediately, I felt her arm working its way between our bodies; and then cool, strong fingers wrapped themselves around my throbbing hardness. I couldn’t suppress a moan.

“It’s so hot!” she told me. “And … And so big. Gosh, sir, it’s really big. How are we going to ….”

“Guide me in, dammit!” I told her again. I felt her draw me forward.

“Sir … I’m not on the pill or anything. You should …. I mean, I … I don’t want you to think that …. I mean ….”

“Shut up and put me in,” I commanded sternly.

She suddenly squealed and jerked her entire body against mine. She maintained a firm grip on me with her right hand, but her left arm came up and encircled my neck, pulling her body upward. Her nipples were once again assaulting my chest. It took me a moment to realize that she had scraped the cockhead across her still-overly-sensitive clit. She kept pulling me, and I felt my cock being engulfed in a tight wetness.

“Let go, now, and hold me,” I ordered. “I’ll take it from here.” She immediately did my bidding, and her right hand came up and went to the back of my head. I pressed down and forward, and immediately felt something give away inside her. It was suddenly much easier to proceed into her tight depths. Her insides were drooling with hot, wet, oily slickness; and, though she hadn’t uttered a single whimper, the old worries came flooding back. Was I feeling her natural lubrication or blood?

“Are … Are you okay?” I asked, pulling back enough to look at her face.

In response, her right hand came back down and went to my ass. She desperately tried to pull me deeper. “Yes! Oh, sir! Yes, please! More! Please!”

Oh, to hell with this! I pushed hard, all the way down, grinding my crotch into hers. Well, THAT certainly got a response! She arched up into me, pressing as much of her body as she could into mine. One leg came up, and I felt the inside of her foot against my ass, holding me in that position. In the meantime, she exhaled with a loud, moaning shock of sound, reminding me of the way someone would react to being hit in the stomach. Her arms were literally crushing me to her. She wouldn’t let me pull back away from her.

“Let me go, Polly. I need to move.”

“Please don’t go, sir. I … I’ve never been closer to another human being in my life!”

“If you’re going to let me have the pleasure I want, you have to let me move. You can hold me, but you need to surrender.”

She loosened her grip with her hands and let her leg plop back on the bed. I immediately slid back, halfway out of her, then slammed back into her body hard. “Oh!” she barked, mixing the exclamation with a wanton, moaning grunt. I repeated the maneuver. “Oh!” the sound came again. And I set up my rhythm, while she clutched me with trembling hands and arms. She’d brought her knees up, her feet finding traction on the surface of the bed, and she began straining up to meet my thrusts. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!”

The power trip became too much for me. As soon as I felt my balls begin to tighten with the familiar onset of ecstasy, I knew it was going to be a big one. I pressed into her hard, stayed there, and bellowed like a bull while I throbbed and spurted what seemed to me to be gallons of semen into her straining body. It went on for a long, long time, until I collapsed atop her unresisting form in a blissful stupor.

I was breathing hard. So was she. Lost in my afterglow, I wasn’t surprised that she was the first to speak; though what she had to say was unexpected.

“I’m falling in love with you, sir. I’ve never been in love, but I know that’s what’s happening. I don’t want you to worry. I know you can’t love me back. But that’s not important. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. And I’ll go away, when you’re through with me. I promise. I won’t try to talk you out of it. I’ll just leave when you tell me to go. And if I’m pregnant, I won’t even mention it to you. I’ll just ….”

“Oh, shut up, Polly. You’re not pregnant.”

“But you gushed a whole lot inside me, sir. I could feel it!” She paused a long second. “Oh my gosh, sir! It’s leaking out of me! I’m overflowing! I’m going to stain the bedspread!”

Sighing, I gave her a little shove toward the edge of the bed. “Bathroom. Over there. Get a hand towel and put it between your legs. Then come back to me. Go!”

She rolled away from me, then sprinted into the adjoining bathroom. I got up and peeled the covers off the surface of the bed, then slid between the sheets. I noticed a small wet spot on the top of the bedcovers, and I was somewhat surprised to see that there appeared to be no blood at all. When she came back to me, I slid over and motioned her into the bed beside me, which she hurried to do. I put my arm around her, and she snuggled into my shoulder, throwing a leg over mine and holding me in her arms.

“Sir … how can you be so sure I’m … I’m not ….”

“I told you earlier tonight, I’m not well … emotionally. I did NOT have a very pleasant childhood. Just as soon as I was able to make my own medical decisions, I got a vasectomy. I didn’t want to be responsible for bringing others like me into this world.”

“Oh.” She remained silent for many long minutes. I might have dozed off for a moment. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Are you still going to use me for your … plan?”

“We’ll see. During the next two days, I’ll have sex with you … over and over. And I’ll be putting you to sleep … many, many times. After all of that, if you are still very submissive and obedient; and if you can follow all of my demands and wishes, immediately and without question; and if it is your choice to continue doing that with me in the future; then, yes, I will use you for my plan.”

“Okay.”

She shifted slightly, snuggling into me even more, like a child at bedtime trying to find the most comfortable spot in her pillow. Within thirty seconds, her breathing was deep and even and regular; and when I looked down at her face, she was sound asleep with a wistful smile on her lips.