The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Husbands and Hassles

The Harem and I had lunch together once a week or so, and we went out once a month for pizza and beer. Once we got work stuff out of the way, it was often like being at a hen party. They talked about their husbands/boyfriends a lot, and the news wasn’t good.

Both Shayna and Gretchen had married blue-collar guys, and they found themselves growing apart from them as they matured in their professional lives. Cal reacted with petulant, stupid acts of anger. He thought that one of Shayna’s outfits was too revealing, so he took scissors to much of her meager wardrobe, threw it in the bathtub, and poured bleach on it. Gretchen’s husband, Tom, took out his aggressions by driving too fast, scaring her half to death, pulling mean-spirited practical jokes, and tearing her down with critical comments.

Ellen and her boyfriend had a strange, violent relationship. She would lose her temper about something and would beat on him until he left or smacked her back. Then they’d have a big, tearful reconciliation, complete with loud sex. She had flashes of temper at work—she slammed a door hard enough to spring one of the hinges and broke the handset of her phone. Ellen had a softball player’s body—muscular and thick-boned, yet shapely, with wide hips and natural cleavage, an ill-tempered earth mother. She was conventionally pretty when she wasn’t scowling.

The Harem didn’t mind talking about sex in front of me; I think they rather enjoyed it. But they toned it down somewhat when little Gina was around. One pizza and beer night, Ellen asked where everybody’s first time was. They thought my after-the-girlfriend’s-prom night was cute and stereotypical, but Gretchen had exactly the same story. She and Tom had gone to the same high school, and had been dating since 10th grade.

Shayna said that she and Cal did it for the first time in her parents’ kitchen, up against the refrigerator.

“Were they home?” I asked.

“They, tee-hee, they were watching TV in the den.”

Ellen said she lost it in the back seat of Joe’s Chevy Nova.

“Frankly, I was tired of giving him blowjobs,” she said. “Afterwards, he just wanted to sleep or have a smoke or a beer. He’d never bring me off. And his come smelled like Clorox.”

“O-kay… too much information!” I said. Gretchen blushed deeply and Shayna giggled.

Shayna changed the topic slightly, asking, “Do you guys ever dream about sex?”

We all rolled our eyes and made “well, duh!” noises. She ducked her head and tee-hee’d, and asked me, “But what does it mean when you dream about sex and it’s not with your husband?”

Gretchen said, “Hey, it would be pretty boring if it was your husband all the time! A girl’s gotta have some excitement, even if it’s only in your dreams.”

We all laughed and agreed.

Shayna had a kind of mechanistic view of psychology, as if there was some master book of actions that translated to specific conditions. She often asked me questions about her behavior or Cal’s, prefacing it with “What does it mean,” such as “What does it mean when your husband calls you a slut and then wants to screw?” Or “What does it mean when you dream that your teeth are falling out and you can’t talk right?”

She was an avid, active dreamer, and she liked my interpretations. Most of the time they were glaringly obvious, but she could never see it.

A couple of days later, Ellen came back from lunch two hours late, disheveled, smelling of alcohol and sex. She had fought and made up with her boyfriend in their usual fashion. Fine, but not on my time.

I called her into my office. She was just drunk enough to be over the top.

“So, ya wanna hypnotize me?” she leered. “I’d make a damn fine subject. Damn fine.”

I put her on warning. She was not happy about it. I didn’t care. She was trouble, even though she was good at her job. She banged out of my office, and I heard her punch the wall outside.