The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter 9

I danced.

Musicians played, but I didn’t need them to guide me. The rhythm of my footfalls was steadier than any drumbeat. The musicians followed me. The real music was in my blood, in the pounding of my heart. My master watched me, eyes avid. He cared no more for the music than I. It was me he wanted. It was him I danced for. No one else mattered.

I danced closer to him, close enough to see him tense as he controlled the urge to seize me. Laughing, I whirled away. My body glistened in the lamp-light, bare skin gleaming with scented oil and sweat. The air in my lungs burned like wine. The second that the music stopped, I would be in his arms. I wanted that. I needed it. Yet in the intoxication of the music I prolonged the dance, tormenting him, tormenting myself. I drew out his anticipation and my own, wanting him half-mad with passion when he had me at last.

My whirling progress took me to the edge of the carpet, then back. I leapt towards him, spun to my knees, then in a flash onto my feet, dancing away again. The musicians felt the intensity of my movements as I alternately lured and repulsed him; they began building to a crescendo in time with me. I swayed near him, almost touching, then pulled back, his hands reaching for me against his will. Muscles surged beneath my skin. Dancing was a drug in my veins. The drums were my pulse. As the climax of the music came, I drew myself up before him, arms raised, holding the pose for a last, defiant instant while the flutes and drums still played. Then I dropped to my knees and bowed my head.

The music stopped.

“Master?”

“Yes, Susie?”

“Are you...happy with me?”

“Of course I am.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Really?”

“Susie, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I am?”

“I’m crazy about you. Maybe literally.”

“Oh!” Pause. “You are, too...I mean, the best thing—”

“I get it, Susie. Thanks. Go to sleep.”

Silence.

“Master?”

“Hmmm?”

“Have you told anyone? About us? I mean, the truth?”

“No. Have you?”

“No...”

“But?”

“I think...I’d like to tell Arlene.”

Pause.

“Are you sure?”

“I think so. She’s my best friend. I hate lying to her. And...”

“And?”

“I want someone to talk to. About this. It’s the most...powerful...thing that’s ever happened to me, and I have no one to talk to, about what I feel and how I’ve changed. Except you, of course, Master. But, it’s different with you.”

“How do you think she’ll react?”

“I don’t know. That’s what scares me. But I don’t like keeping it all bottled up. I don’t like pretending, with her.”

“Would she tell anyone?”

“Not if I asked her not to.”

“Sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure about that.”

“Well, I trust your judgment.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Long silence.

“Master?”

“You know, you never told me you were an insomniac.”

“I’m not an insomniac. I just have trouble falling asleep.”

“Too subtle a distinction for this time of night. Didn’t I tire you out enough?”

“Almost.”

“Almost. Terrific. Roll over.”

“Master?”

“As long as we’re both awake, we might as well use the time. So, lie back and think of England.”

Long period of nonverbal communication. Then silence.

“Master?”

“Mmph.”

“I forgot to think of England about halfway through. Should we try again until I get it right?”

“Do you remember the cypresses, Susie?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Picture them in your mind, for me. OK?”

“OK.”

“Good girl. Think about how relaxed they make you feel. Think about the warm, soft darkness they help you to sink into.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Now, pull that darkness over you like a thick blanket...”

“Mmmm...”

“...and go to sleep. Good night, Susie.”

Chapter 10

“Thanks for the lunch invitation,” Arlene said. “This was a good idea. We should do it more often.”

“Yeah,” I said, pushing back my chair. It was a beautiful day, and we’d eaten outdoors at a cafe near the park. I fumbled some money out of my purse and dropped it onto the table, weighting it down with the salt shaker. “We’ve still got some time. Want to take a walk? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Sure,” Arlene said, also rising and adding her own contribution to mine under the shaker. “It’s such a nice day. Let’s go to the park.”

I nodded my agreement. I had deliberately chosen this restaurant for its proximity to the park, in order to have a little more privacy. I was very nervous; I seriously considered chickening out without telling her. Still, I was even more reluctant to go back to Richard and admit that I hadn’t told Arlene after all, when I had raised the possibility myself.

The park was just a little patch of green and trees in the middle of town, popular with college students as a place to picnic or hang out, but not very crowded during the summer. A playground at one end always swarmed with little kids, but the rest of it was almost deserted. Arlene and I crossed the street from the cafe and entered the park.

“So, how are you and Richard doing?” Arlene said as we began strolling along one of the shaded paths.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” I said. “Richard and me.”

“You’re not having trouble, are you?” Arlene asked with sudden concern.

“No, no trouble,” I said. Just say it.

“That’s good!” Arlene said, sounding genuinely relieved. “The two of you seemed so great together.”

“We are.” I swallowed and plunged ahead. “It’s just...there’s something you don’t know about us, and I wanted to tell you...”

“My God,” Arlene said, stopping and grabbing my arm. “You’re not engaged, are you?”

I laughed. “No, no, that’s not it,” I said.

“Whew!” Arlene said, and resumed walking. “I knew it was a whirlwind romance, but...you’re not pregnant?!”

“Arlene!”

“OK, OK. I just can’t figure out what could be so dramatic...he’s already married?”

“No.”

“He’s secretly a woman?”

“No!”

“True, he’d be a strapping wench. He’s taken a vow of chastity?”

“Arlene, please! I’m trying to tell you...”

Arlene smiled at me engagingly. “I know, I know. It’s just, I’m keen to guess. You’re his love slave?”

It was so unexpected that my heart lurched. I stopped dead. “Yes,” I said.

“All right, you’re...what did you just say?”

“Yes,” I repeated. “I’m his...love slave. His slave.”

Arlene halted too, and stared back at me. “Uh...as in, you’re so crazy about him you’ll do whatever he wants?” she suggested hopefully.

“No,” I said. “As in, I’m his property, and willingly obey his every command, and can’t imagine disobeying him in any way, and belong to him body, mind, and soul.”

“Oh,” Arlene said. “That kind of love slave.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That kind.”

“Let’s sit down,” she said.

There was a bench nearby. We sat next to each other, not speaking for a couple of minutes. Now that I’d said it, I was both strangely relieved and still apprehensive. I had no idea what she thought. Did she think I was crazy? I might have, in her place. After a while Arlene broke the silence.

“Since when?” she asked me.

“Since that first night.”

“Tell me about it,” Arlene said simply.

So I told her. The first tutoring session; the dreams; the first time we’d made love; the revelation of his hypnotic suggestions; my decision to return to him. How the two of us had been adapting to life together.

When I finished, the silence resumed for a while. Arlene looked very troubled. I was troubled, myself. I might have just torpedoed the closest friendship I’d ever had, except for the one with Richard.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Arlene asked at last.

“I wanted to...you’re the only one I wanted to tell. But I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” she asked, turning to look at me in surprise.

“Afraid...that you’d hate me,” I admitted.

Arlene looked distressed. “Oh, sweetie, how could you ever think that? I could never hate you. Never.” She shook her head. “I’m not so sure about Richard, though.”

“He’s good to me,” I told her softly. “He’s really, really good to me.”

“He’d have to be an idiot not to be,” Arlene said flatly, “though goodness knows there are plenty of them around. But is he good for you?”

I had no answer for that.

“I’m not sure I’d have blamed you if you did hate me,” I said glumly. “I mean, Jeez! I’m a feminist nightmare!”

Arlene apparently found this hysterically funny; she went off into an extended fit of laughter until I thought she’d choke. “I wouldn’t...exactly call you a poster child for family values, either,” she said at last, wiping her eyes. “A feminist nightmare! Lord!” She quickly sobered. “It’s the whole hypnosis thing that worries me. I mean, who knows what he’s done to you...what he might still be doing to you?”

“You can’t make anyone do anything under hypnosis that they don’t want to do,” I told her.

“So he says,” she countered skeptically.

“It’s the truth. I’ve studied it. Long before I met Richard.”

Arlene appeared unconvinced. “You were never like...this...before he started messing around in your subconscious.”

“Yes, I was,” I said. “I just didn’t tell anyone.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Why do you think all my previous boyfriends were jerks?”

Arlene seemed struck by this. “You mean, you deliberately picked guys who would treat you badly?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t want to be treated badly. I want to be dominated. Unfortunately, men who are into dominating women tend to be total assholes.”

Arlene shook her head. “That makes a scary kind of sense. Why didn’t I ever see it?

“Hell,” I said, “I only just figured it out myself.”

“You?” Arlene asked. “Or Richard?”

“Me,” I said firmly. “Richard and I never talk about my ex-boyfriends.”

“You never said anything,” Arlene said.

“I was ashamed of it,” I said. “Listen: a long time ago, when I was a kid, a boy gave me a book to read. I later figured out he was trying to get at me, but in those days I read anything I could get my hands on, so I read it. It was a really trashy novel; the author seemed to say that all women really want to be dominated by men, and can only be fulfilled by submitting to a man, sexually, and any woman who doesn’t is a frigid, man-hating lesbian bitch. Even when I was twelve I knew that was total bullshit, and the author was probably some kind of repressed nut who couldn’t get laid, and real women weren’t like the women in his book.”

“Yeah,” Arlene said.

“The only problem was,” I went on, “it really, really turned me on. There was one scene where the hero—some kind of macho soldier type—captures his main enemy, who’s this frigid, lesbian woman. He hypnotizes her, and liberates the real woman inside her, and then they have lots of steamy and not-very-well-written sex and she realizes the error of her ways, and gives up everything to go off with him and wait on him and get screwed three times a day. This was hardly the kind of life I aspired to, but it made me really hot. I used to dream about that scene, for years. I read other books like that, and nonfiction stuff, about hypnosis and so forth. Whenever my boyfriends were being, uh, less than inspiring, I’d fantasize about that scene and come my brains out. But I never told them about it; I never told you; I never told anybody. I didn’t want anybody to know what kind of freak I was.”

“You’re not a freak!” Arlene said.

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “Just kinked. But it’s not something I’d like to advertise, even now. Please, don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” Arlene assured me. “I wouldn’t.” She thought about it for a while, then said, “But...can I talk to Jack about it? It’s a big revelation. And he knows Richard; I don’t, not really.”

“All right,” I agreed reluctantly. “But, please, don’t let him tell anyone else!”

“He won’t,” Arlene said. “Jack doesn’t gossip.”

It was true, he didn’t, and I felt vaguely relieved. I’d told her, and she hadn’t run away; at least, not yet. We sat together for a while, each wrapped in her own thoughts.

“Wow!” Arlene said after a while. “It’s hard to get my mind around it.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Mine, too.”

Another period of silence.

“Do I seem...different?” I asked her. “Sometimes I feel like I’m carrying around a neon sign that says ‘Sex Slave,’ but nobody else seems to notice.”

Arlene frowned. “Well...maybe you do, a little. Not any big changes.”

“What kind of small changes?” I asked, suddenly curious.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Arlene said slowly. “You’ve seemed...well...a bit happier than usual. Not that you were unhappy before,” she added hastily, “it’s just...you’ve had this kind of contented look that I’d never noticed on you. And, well, you seemed, I don’t know. Sexy. I mean, you don’t really dress differently or act differently, but there’s something about the way you move, or carry yourself, or something. I figured that Richard must be doing a really good job in bed.”

“He is,” I said, and blushed a bit. “Sexy, huh? Well, that would be a change, I guess.”

“Oh, please,” Arlene said. “I don’t care how fat you were when you were nine, or however old it was; ever since I’ve known you, you’ve always been a total babe. Not that you ever seemed to notice it.”

“Huh,” I said, skeptical, but pleased in spite of it.

“Jack always thought you were sexy, too,” Arlene added.

“Jack never noticed anyone but you,” I disagreed.

“Jack’s a guy,” Arlene said drily. “Of course he noticed. He told me once that he’d love to do a threesome with you and me.” When I stared at her in astonishment it was her turn to blush. “He was joking. But it was the sort of joke men make when they kind of mean it.”

“Huh,” I said again, not sure what to make of this.

“Hard to get used to the idea that you might be kinkier than me,” Arlene said to change the subject. I laughed.

“What, are we in competition?”

“Maybe you aren’t,” Arlene said, “but I’ve got a reputation to consider.”

I laughed again, and shook my head.

“I guess I should get back to work,” I said after a bit. “I’m dead late.”

“Oh, Lord,” Arlene said, looking at her watch. “Me, too. Look, I’m glad you told me, OK? We should talk about this more. You know, you can always tell me anything, right sweetie?”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling comforted. We got up and started walking back towards the campus. After a bit, Arlene went on.

“Maybe I shouldn’t worry,” she said. “After all, you were always the actress...you always loved playing a role.”

“It isn’t just a role,” I said. “I mean, it isn’t a game.”

“I know. But...oh, never mind. We’ll talk again, OK?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks a lot, Arlene.”

“Thanks for trusting me,” Arlene said. She paused just before we had to part to go to our separate jobs, and squeezed my arm. “You’re my best friend, Susan. I’m always there for you.”

I nodded, and we separated. So, I had told her, and she hadn’t been repulsed; but she hadn’t exactly been thrilled, either. Still, I felt better. Maybe when she understood more, she wouldn’t worry. I returned to work with a lightened heart.

Chapter 11

“So, how’d it go with Arlene?” Richard asked me. He was sitting behind his computer desk when I got home, working, which might indicate that he had been more concerned than he let on; normally he went to his office to work, and only got home after I did.

“It went all right, I guess, Master,” I said.

“You guess?”

“Well, she didn’t run screaming into the night.”

Richard pushed his chair back from the desk and opened his arms, and I climbed into his lap and put my arms around him. He held me there for a while, not speaking. It was a way he often had of welcoming me home, as if I’d been gone for days instead of just since that morning.

“Master?” I said after a bit.

“Yes, Susie?”

“This isn’t just a game, is it?”

“What isn’t just a game?” Richard tilted his head down to look at me.

“Us. My being your...slave.”

“Did Arlene say that?” he asked.

“She said that I’d always loved playing a role. I did all those plays, you know...”

“No, it isn’t a game,” Richard said. “You’re mine. For real.”

That made me feel warm, which was twisted, but I guess that’s in character.

“So, if I’m your slave, then you could make me do things. Right?”

“Sure.” Richard waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively, and I grinned at him. “Did you have anything special in mind?” he asked.

“Not that,” I said. “I mean...you could make do things I don’t want to do.”

Richard frowned. “I already make you clean the whole apartment...” he started.

“I know, Master. But I’d probably have ended up doing that anyway. I mean, you’re a guy.” Richard looked slightly insulted at that, and I hurried on. “I mean, things that I wouldn’t ever choose to do on my own. You could make me do them. Right?”

Richard didn’t look entirely happy with the way this conversation was trending, but he answered, “I suppose so. Is that what you want, Susie?”

“I...I think so,” I said, feeling a nervous little thrill inside me, like the one I got whenever Richard gave me an order, but stronger.

“Let me get this straight. You want me to make you do things that you don’t want to do. Is that it?”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

He shook his head. “I think that’s some kind of paradox.”

“Not really,” I insisted. “I want to obey you. But if you only tell me to do things that I want to do anyway, how do I know if I’m doing it to obey you, or because...I wanted to do it anyway.” That had somehow come out a bit more tangled than I’d intended, but I plunged ahead. “But, if you tell me to do things that I didn’t want to do anyway...”

“I think I’ve got it,” Richard said. He thought for a while, frowning, and I kept quiet, pillowing my head against his shoulder. Finally he spoke.

“Susie?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Think of the cypresses.”

Immediately the image sprang up before me...green flames, writhing. I felt a shiver pass through me, and my vision seemed to fade.

“Yes, master...” My voice was already detached and distant.

“Sink down, in the warm darkness...”

Awareness of my body faded. I knew I was still held in Richard’s arms, but I could no longer feel anything. My eyes fluttered closed, and I faded down into oblivion...

...and then up, blinking again at the light. I felt warm and heavy, a pleasant languor weighting down my limbs. I glanced over at the clock. It had been about half an hour. I was used to this, now; I made a quick internal check, and detected no obvious alterations.

“What did you do, Master?” I asked curiously.

“You’ll find out,” Richard said with a grin. “Anyway, we’ll see what we can do to satisfy you. Get up, now, Susie; I’ve got to fix dinner.”

“May I help?” I asked hopefully, rising to my feet.

“Yes, you may, Susie; but only if you do exactly what I say.”

I felt the little thrill again. “Yes, Master!”

For a couple of days nothing happened, and I wondered if Richard had forgotten about our conversation. He certainly gave me no orders out of the ordinary, and if anything he said ‘please’ more often than before. I felt a little disappointed, but reasoned that as a slave I ought to be grateful that my master was so considerate. It wasn’t Richard’s fault that I was so perverse.

Two days after our talk I returned from work at my usual time. I used my key to let myself into the foyer of the building. Above the mailboxes I spotted a large brown paper bag, folded over and taped to the wall with duct tape. On it, written in black magic marker, was the name ‘Susie.’

As if something had clicked in my brain at the sight of it, I took my backpack off and set it down. I quickly untied my shoes and kicked them off, then removed my socks as well; I pulled off my t-shirt and dropped it. My belt went next, then my jeans; I slid them off over my hips and stepped out of them. It was only as I was unhooking my bra that it registered what I was doing. I was stripping completely naked in the foyer of my apartment building, where any of my neighbors might walk in at any time. Both the inner and outer doors had translucent, wavy glass that concealed me from direct view; but nothing stopped anyone from just opening the door. I tried to refasten my bra and found that I couldn’t. My fingers refused to obey. I could only continue to remove it, then pull my panties down and off.

I felt a surge of panic, but also a surge of warmth. This must be what Richard had meant when he’d said that I’d “find out.” I was thoroughly embarrassed, and thoroughly aroused. My nipples stood out almost painfully erect, a combination of outer cold and inner heat. I tried to pick my clothes back up, and couldn’t. Obviously there was more to this than just a public striptease.

I remembered the paper bag, then, and peeled it off the wall. Reaching inside, I pulled out a strip of black lace that I identified after a moment as a garter belt. I quickly put it on and reached in again. A pair of panties, this time. I put them on, as well. As concealment, they were rather ineffective, the black fabric being practically transparent; but I was grateful for anything. Next came a bra, if anything more transparent than the panties. My nipples were completely visible, standing out against the pale skin of my tits. A stocking next; I stuck my foot in it and rolled it up my leg, tugging it taut, then put on the other one. I discovered that the garter belt was on backwards. An easy mistake—I’d never worn one before. I turned it around and attached the garters. My ensemble was complete. Hurray! Look what the well-dressed slut is wearing these days.

The bag wasn’t quite empty. Up-ending it, I spilled out a pair of shoes. Black, high-heeled sandals—not too high, fortunately, since I had my doubts that I’d be able to walk in heels at all. I righted them and slid my feet into them, fastening the straps. A perfect fit. I wonder if Richard had asked me my shoe size while I was under.

I picked up my discarded clothes and stuffed them into the empty bag. I grabbed my backpack as well, and almost put it on, when a vision of myself, dressed in lingerie and wearing a scuffed canvas backpack, came to me and I almost snorted at its absurdity. I carried it by the strap instead. Cautiously I opened the door into the hallway. No one was there. Feeling something beyond conspicuous, I started up the stairs. It would have been nice to run, but with the heels it was not an option. This wasn’t what I would choose to be wearing when found with a broken neck. As I ascended flight after flight, I felt an irrational surge of resentment at the fact that we lived on the top floor.

Amazingly, I passed no one in my entire trip up the stairs. My mind was in a swelter of lust and confusion. I was so hot that it wasn’t until I arrived at our front door that I realized I had a problem. My keys were in the pocket of my jeans, which were stuffed inside the paper bag. I could either stand there in all my glory, rooting through the bag in search of them; or...

I knocked. I heard footsteps inside, then Richard swung open the door. I blushed to the roots of my hair as his amused gaze swept over me; then he stepped aside and let me in.

“Nice outfit,” he commented as I entered.

“Thank you, Master,” I said. I was busily plotting the most efficient scheme for getting him down onto the floor and having my wicked way with him. Richard stepped back, perching on the edge of the desk and looking at me. There was an air of devilment about him that should have warned me.

“Did you bring up the mail?” he asked me.

“The mail?” I repeated blankly.

“Yes, the mail. From the mailbox. Did you bring it up?”

I had a sudden horrified premonition. “No, Master. I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“That’s all right, Susie,” Richard said cheerfully. “Why don’t you go get it now?”

The mail. All the way back down in the foyer.

“Of course, Master,” I said. I carried the brown paper bag into the bedroom and dumped it out. I found my jeans and retrieved the keys from the pocket. Straightening up, I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror and stared in astonishment. It was the face I saw every morning and evening when I brushed my teeth; but the body—it was the body of a pin-up girl, a walking wet dream. Unconsciously I touched my cheek, as if to confirm that the image was really me. I remembered what Arlene had said.

Sexy. That’s me. I’m sexy. No wonder Richard wants me. He’s probably in there, right now, wanting me; wanting to tear this lace off me...

“Susie!” he called, and a feeling of simultaneous power and submission swept over me, leaving me almost giddy.

“Yes, Master,” I said, returning to the living room. “The mail. I’ll get it right away.”

There was still no one in the halls as I descended. What, was everyone working late? As I passed the peepholes of other apartments like so many staring eyes, I had the sudden paranoid fantasy that my neighbors were all there, hidden, watching me walk by. I reached the foyer and unlocked the mailbox, finding two bills and a wad of junk mail. Definitely worth the trip. I closed the box and started back up the stairs.

My luck ran out when I reached the third floor landing. Just as I passed the apartment directly below ours, its door opened and a middle-aged woman in a faded print dress walked out, clutching a gigantic handbag. She saw me and her jaw dropped. I felt myself blushing, not just with my face but my whole body. I must have been glowing red.

“Hello, Mrs. Meyer,” I said brightly. “Hot weather, isn’t it?”

She stared after me as I rounded the corner and went up the next flight of stairs. I fumbled the door open, then closed it behind me, trying to catch my breath. I felt dizzy. I dropped the mail on the kitchen counter. Richard was sitting at his desk again; he pushed back the chair and swiveled to look at me.

“Hi, Master!” I said. “Mrs. Meyer just saw me in a whole new light.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he otherwise didn’t react.

“Do you want to look at the mail?” I asked him. “The phone bill looked particularly interesting this month.”

“I’ll look at it later,” Richard said. “Come here, now.”

I approached him, feeling like a predator. He was mine, now. All mine.

“I wanted to thank you, Master,” I said, “for this great new outfit you got me.” I drew a leg over him and sat on his lap, straddling his body. I could feel the hardness against me through his jeans.

“Are you being...sarcastic, Susie?” Richard asked me.

“Oh, no, Master,” I said. I leaned forward and nibbled at his neck.

“Maybe I should make you wear it to work tomorrow,” Richard said.

The heat inside me surged even higher, if possible. I imagined myself showing up to work like this, then took comfort in the fact that I’d be arrested for indecent exposure long before I got there. Especially since it would take me three hours to walk there in these heels.

“Whatever you like, Master,” I murmured, stroking his chest through his shirt.

“Well, if you’re very good...” he said, then shuddered in pleasure as my nails found his nipples through the cloth.

“Yes, Master?” I prompted.

“...maybe I’ll let you wear it under your clothes.”

“I’ll be good, Master,” I said. I slid back off of him and knelt, unbuckling his belt. “I’ll be very, very good...”

He helped me by lifting his body a little, and I yanked down his jeans and shorts, before taking him in my mouth. I savored him, eyes closed, lips and tongue moving; he was so hard, so hot. Mmmm, sweet. Richard Maddox, breakfast of champions.

“Susie,” he said. His voice was strained, but it was remarkable that he could talk at all, given what I was doing. I’ve always admired Richard’s discipline. He touched my shoulder, and reluctantly I withdrew, letting him draw me back up. He freed one tit from the bra cup and took it in his mouth, sending stabs of pleasure through me. His fingers were unfastening the garters, and he paused in sucking me long enough to say “Next time, put the panties on last.”

“Y-yes, Master,” I stammered. God, I felt good. Then the last garter came loose and he pulled my panties down and off, and then I was over him, and he was inside me, and it was so, so good. My mouth clamped down on his, and our tongues wrestled urgently; his hands had moved to my breasts, and the pleasure was so intense that I lost track of time; it seemed like hours, though it can only have been a few minutes. Then I came, so loudly that if Mrs. Meyer had had any lingering doubts about me, I was sure they were dispelled. Richard came as well, stiffening against me and groaning in pleasure as his cock surged inside me. He held me in his arms as if I were infinitely fragile and infinitely precious.

“I love you, Susie,” he said. “I love you.”

I just smiled and relaxed against him. Because, for the first time, I really knew that it was true.