The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Rebecca threw her pencil down at her open notebook with a groan of frustration. “Ugh, it’s hopeless! I’m never going to get this.”

Henry looked up from his textbook to give her a sympathetic grin across the library table. He wasn’t the only one. Rebecca had thrown the pencil at her notebook with enough force to make a bit of noise, and it bounced off her page with some force. Along with Henry, a few of the students at the tables around them looked up at her, and even the librarian on duty at the front desk a few feet away gave her a suspicious look.

Henry grinned at her, though. “We’ve all been there. I’m sure you’re doing better than you think you are.”

Rebecca appreciated Henry’s attempt to cheer her up. It was times like this when she felt grateful for having her study period line up with Henry’s.

For one thing, it meant she could see her oldest and closest friend during school hours; and this semester, she only had two classes with him, so having an extra period where she could spend time with him made all the difference. But on top of that, it meant that when moments of doubt like this one came, Henry was right across the table to talk her through it.

He was good at talking Rebecca up when she felt down. He always had been, ever since they had first become friends when they were kids. But unfortunately, despite Henry’s talent for it, his encouragement fell a little flat sometimes.

After all, the two of them were both in their senior year of high school. The stakes were a lot higher than when they had been children; Henry wasn’t trying to cheer her up about the fact that no one had liked what she brought to show-and-tell anymore.

There was a lot more on the line, these days. Rebecca was working hard— so hard, every day, at all times— to try and secure the future she wanted for herself. She was studying for her classes while at the same time also sending out a never-ending stream of college applications. And at times like this, when her schoolwork stumped her, she felt like she wasn’t going to measure up, no matter how much she tried to. And even though Henry’s reassurance was comforting, it could no longer assuage her doubts the way it once had. Not when she knew how much was on the line.

“You don’t get it, Henry,” Rebecca said, with a frustrated shake of her head, and a partial sigh. “This is my senior level Law class, and I just can’t put it together in my head. I’m trying to apply to get into college for pre-law, for god’s sake. If I can’t even understand a high-school level Law class, what chance do I have of making it through university, let alone finding success in the working world?”

In the course of speaking, Rebecca’s voice had risen in volume, drawing the eyes of neighboring students again— and by the time that Rebecca had finished her increasingly panicked rant, the librarian had left her front desk post and crossed to the table. Both Rebecca and Henry looked up at her when she reached them.

“You two do remember where you are, don’t you? This is the library. Everyone here is trying to concentrate on their work. If you need to have an impassioned conversation with each other, it would be more considerate for you to move yourselves out to the hall tables.”

Rebecca flushed a bit. She hadn’t realized she’d been that loud. “Sorry, Ms. Jensen,” she apologized.

“We’ll be quieter,” Henry added, and Rebecca nodded her agreement.

Ms. Jensen didn’t look completely convinced, and she was still giving Rebecca a suspicious look by the time she’d re-stationed herself at the front desk.

Rebecca gave another apologetic smile to her, and then turned back to Henry.

He tilted his head, to try and get a better view of her notebook from where he was sitting. “What part of the classwork is giving you so much trouble?”

“These hypothetical scenarios,” Rebecca groaned, more quietly this time. She cast a quick look to Ms. Jensen at the front desk— she was no longer watching her. She’d been quiet enough.

Rebecca looked back to Henry. “The teacher gives us a scenario, and then we have to read the existing case law and mock-up a legal response to the situation. But all of the case law is just so dense, and I can’t make my brain synthesize the information. I’ll never be a lawyer,” Rebecca wailed in conclusion, the despair clear in her voice. She let herself flop forward, arms on the table first, folded over each other— and then her head against her arms.

Henry’s hand came across the table to give Rebecca’s arm a shake, stirring her to lift her head back up from her arms to look at him again. Once she had, Henry took his hand back.

“Well, who says you have to be a lawyer?” He asked, in a tone of genuine interest and concern. Then he gave her his friendly, crooked smile. It reassured her— but not enough to cheer up completely. “You could be something else,” Henry suggested, brightly. “You could even drop you law class. We aren’t even past the drop date deadline in the semester yet.”

Rebecca shook her head forcefully. “I want to be a lawyer. It’s the only career I’ve ever been interested in. I’d give anything to be a successful lawyer.”

Henry’s eyebrows lifted when she said that. “You’d give anything?”

Rebecca nodded eagerly. “Anything.”

“Well, if you’d really give anything,” Henry said, watching her closely as he spoke, “I might be able to help you in your career. I have a certain talent I could pull out, and use on your behalf. But I wouldn’t do it for free— I’d expect something in return.”

Rebecca listened; her eyes wide with curiosity. She’d never heard Henry talk this way before— and what was this mysterious talent he was referencing? He’d never mentioned it— could it really be powerful enough to help her?

“What would you want in exchange for helping me?” Rebecca asked. She had no predictions as to what his answer was going to be.

“If I use my talent to pull strings for you, and I help you to become a successful lawyer, would you be mine?”

Rebecca did a double take. Would she be his? That almost sounded like—

“Henry, do you have a crush on me?” The shock in her voice was evident to her own ears.

Henry gave her a very direct look, which left nowhere for her to hide. “Yes, Rebecca, I do. I’m attracted to you— I have been, for a very long time. I’m willing to make this deal with you— I’ll get you the career you want; if you’ll give yourself to me.”

There was a charge in Henry’s words that made Rebecca tense up. He was a familiar, comfortable figure in her life— she’d always thought of him like a kind of teddy bear; or a brother. He was a security blanket for her in human form, and he’d never let on that he wanted anything more from her than that.

She didn’t know what to do with this information. She only knew that thinking of Henry having a crush on her made her feel awkward. And she wanted that awkwardness to end— she wanted to stop feeling tense about this.

The best way to do that that she could think of was to laugh him off. “Sure, Henry. If you’ve got some magical, special talent that you can use to make me into a successful lawyer, and you use it for that, I’ll be yours.”

Henry smiled, but his eyes held the same charge. “Great. I’ll be sure to hold up my end of the deal. Just make sure you hold up yours.”

There was still another half-hour left in study period after that part of their conversation ended. But oddly, it seemed to streak by without Rebecca noticing; in fact, the entire rest of the day passed without Rebecca noticing it go by.

She only really started following the progress of time again when she got home at the end of the day. And by then, she had forgotten all about Henry and the strange conversation they had had that day during study period.

“Great job on your panel appearance tonight,” The member of the news staff told Rebecca, as he helped her take off the mic on the lapel of her suit jacket.

“Thanks, David,” Rebecca returned. She’d done enough of these panel spots now that she knew most of the staff members by name. It was one of the more satisfying parts of her job— one of the things that gave her the feeling that she’d made it, and all her ambitions had been fulfilled.

After all, she was only 29 years old, and she was on the fast track to making partner at her firm; and if that weren’t enough, she was respected enough by her community at large that she was frequently invited to sit on one of the panels of the local news show to share her opinions on some of the political or municipal goings-on of the day.

And on top of that, she had a research paper coming out next month in a law journal, in which she had published several others before. And she’d published still others in journals other than that specific one.

When Rebecca had used to dream of being a lawyer, she’d never dreamed she would have such success, let alone so much of it, and so quickly into her career. She’d only been practicing law for a few years but, here she was.

And yet, though she was successful in each aspect of her career, it was when she sat on the local news panel that she felt most appreciated for what she did. In those moments, she felt like a true pillar of the community— respected for the work she did.

It was a very satisfying feeling.

She waved her goodbyes to a few more staff members as she stepped out through the front doors of the news building, and then took off across the parking lot to let herself into her car.

As she drove home, she savored her feeling of accomplishment just a little more. It was amazing, really; her career had come so easily to her.

She’d stressed so much back in the day about getting accepted into a school for her pre-law degree, but when her admission letters came, she’d been accepted into some of the finest in the country.

All her nerves and doubt had been for nothing. Getting her pre-law degree had turned out to be a breeze. And then when it had been time to go to law school for real, that had come even easier, and before she’d even completed her final year of it— before she’d even been called to the bar— she’d had a plumb job at a great firm waiting for her, and within only a year, she’d moved from working as a paralegal there to having her own law practice under the firm, with her own clients, and her own assistant.

And in the few years that had followed, Rebecca become an established professional name in the community; and she’d also had some of her legal research accepted for publications into reputable legal journals. It had all fallen into place so easily, like it was meant to be; like it was predestination working in her favor; like it was fate.

Rebecca was grateful for it every day. She was one of the few lucky people in the world who truly loved her job— and loved every part of it.

When Rebecca got home, she parked her car in the driveway and got out, before going up her front walk to the door of her house. She made enough by the year that she had easily been able to afford buying her own house; and she’d become a homeowner well before most of the other people her age that she knew.

She reached her front door, and after she had unlocked it, but before she went inside, she lifted the lid of her mailbox.

There was a letter inside. Strange— Rebecca hadn’t been expecting a letter. Who sent letters by mail anymore, in this current day and age? Hadn’t everyone switched to digital by now?

There was no postage on the envelope, so whoever had written this to her must have come by her house personally to place it in her mailbox by hand.

On the outside of the envelope, only one thing was written, centered in the middle of the envelope’s front face— “From Henry.”

Rebecca frowned as she took the letter inside with her. Henry— now there was a name she hadn’t heard in a long time. He’d been her best friend since before she’d even started school as a young child and had stayed her best friend all the way through her youth and adolescence until high school graduation… and then he’d just… faded away. She hadn’t kept in touch with him during her first year of college at all, and had completely failed to keep track of him throughout the years since. She hadn’t spoken to him in person once since her graduation day.

She still had fond memories of him, though— how could she have not? He’d been such a huge part of her life for so long, even if he had gone out of it eventually. Part of her was even pleased to have received this letter. At last she could find out what was going on in his life, after the ten plus years they’d gone without speaking. Maybe she could even get back in touch with him, and they could become friends again.

It was a nice thought— it made Rebecca happy.

And it didn’t bother her so much to think of someone stopping by her house to hand-deliver a letter; not if it was Henry who had done it. It didn’t even strike her as odd that he knew where she lived. They had enough of the same friends and acquaintances in common that it was perfectly plausible he might have gotten her address from one of them.

Rebecca took a seat in her living room armchair, getting ready to fully enjoy the experience of reading a letter from an old friend. And once she was settled in place, she tore open the sealed lip of the envelope to pull the letter out from within it.

Rebecca— (the letter began):

I saw you on the commentary panel last week that aired on our local news station. Speaking with authority on your realm of expertise becomes you— and you also looked very beautiful in your finely tailored pantsuit.>

Rebecca stopped reading for a moment. This was strange— not like the letter she had been expecting at all. Henry hadn’t mentioned anything about his own life; it was only about her.

And, frankly, it made her feel a little flustered to read it… he was writing about her as if he… well… desired her. And desire was not typically an emotion she associated with Henry. At all.

She resumed reading:

I’ve seen you on that same panel more than once; every time I see you there, your beauty strikes me.

But your panel appearances are of interest to me for another reason. It seems that you’re receiving recognition in our community for the work you do. You have been receiving it for quite some time, now. I’ve noticed; and I let you enjoy it awhile.

But you made a deal with me. I kept my end of that deal— I pulled the strings for you behind the scenes, I made sure all the doors were open for you to walk through. I handed you the career you always said you wanted.

It’s time for you to hold up your end of the deal. I gave you what you wanted— now you give me what I want. Become mine.

I’m waiting for you.

—H

When she reached the end of the letter, her hand twitched involuntarily, and the paper crinkled in one section in response to it.

Rebecca didn’t notice the paper warping under her involuntary motion; She didn’t notice, either, when the hand still holding the letter fell to her lap.

What was Henry talking about? She didn’t remember making any deal with him. And it seemed laughable to imagine Henry as some kind of puppet master behind the scenes who had arranged her career for her. She’d secured her own career for herself— she’d earned it. She was that good.

Besides, that wasn’t how the world worked. Things weren’t that simple. They couldn’t all just be neatly arranged by one person to run smoothly, in just exactly the way that person wanted. That was how things happened in stories; not how they happened in real life. Rebecca shook her head in disbelief.

After a moment of indulging her confusion, she collected herself again. Well. So much for that— after a letter of this kind, she didn’t feel particularly keen on getting back in touch with her old friend. He clearly had some strange obsession with her; and it almost sounded like he was outright delusional. If he believed that he was single-handedly responsible for her career, he clearly wasn’t sane.

Too bad— she’d been interested in getting back in touch with her friend as she had known him. Clearly, he wasn’t that person anymore. Too bad.

But she was an adult; she could live with that disappointment.

Rebecca slipped Henry’s letter out of sight into a drawer; filing it away in the back of her head as surely as she had filled in her kitchen counter drawer.

She didn’t think about it again.

Time passed. Rebecca kept busy with her job, and enjoyed every second of it, as always.

Then, two weeks later, there was another note in her mailbox. This one had not been placed into an envelope. It was much shorter in length than the last one had been, but she recognized his handwriting.

It was short enough that she could read it without needing to take it inside. That was what she did. She read it while she was still standing outside her own door.

Rebecca— Remember now. Remember now, and come back to me. You don’t have to remember all at once, but remember. Put it together for me. Figure it out. You’ll know when the time is right for you to come and find me.

He hadn’t signed his initial to it at the bottom, but she knew this note was from Henry, too. It was unintelligible to her— she chalked it up to Henry’s world of mental delusion, and didn’t bother herself about it any further.

The note didn’t make it into the drawer with the letter. Rebecca threw it into her recycling bin before she even went inside.

But over the next few weeks after that second note, Rebecca found herself drawn repeatedly to the same question. Was it possible that Henry had, somehow, played an invisible part in the construction of her professional success?

She didn’t believe it was possible; it sounded laughably far-fetched to her. But the scholar in her wouldn’t let her throw the question out without at least considering it, and exploring it from all angles, before she could dismiss it once and for all.

It was hard to know where to even start looking for possible answers, though. The question was so far-fetched that Rebecca didn’t know what evidence there was that could possibly support it, let alone where she could find it.

Still, she kept the question in her back pocket, letting her mind work on breaking it down for her as she went on with the routines of her life; the way she did when she was working on the topic for a particularly difficult research paper.

In the end, Rebecca decided the place to look was around her own life… She decided to look at it with a stranger’s eyes, and consider if there was anything in it that was strange or out of the ordinary; but which she had so far failed to notice, as a result of too-close proximity.

In between the goings-on of her life, Rebecca did find one thing that struck her as bizarre. Now that she thought about it— she was single. She was single, and she always had been. She was nearly 30; would be thirty next year, and she had never once dated anyone.

Why hadn’t she?

She thought again of Henry’s letter, and also of his note, with a slight chill. He’d written of her as if she were his. As if she belonged to him, was his rightful property that had only gone somewhere else on loan; and now must be returned to his possession.

If Henry were not delusional… if it were possible that he had somehow procured her career for her, then he must have had some way of influencing people. Some kind of natural charisma.

And if he had influenced other people on her behalf, could it be possible he’d used that same influence on her at some point? Something to make her wait, turn down the advances of anyone who approached her? To save herself for him?

It wasn’t like she’d had any lack of offers. Over the years, she’d been asked out many times, by many men. Yet she had refused them all.

There had always been an excuse. And they had all seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. She was too busy. She was married to her job, or she wasn’t looking for a serious commitment right then. Or if someone asked her if she were interested in something more casual— that she wasn’t interested in starting anything, no matter how casual it might be.

Had Henry influenced her somehow— influenced her to make her wait for him?

It was too ridiculous, Rebecca told herself. There was no way. But… why? Why had she never once gone out with a man? Why had she gotten nearly all the way to thirty without ever having been in a serious romantic relationship with anyone?

And why had she never realized that this was strange until now?

The only plausible explanation was if Henry were telling the truth; but that was too strange for Rebecca to accept. There had to be another explanation.

When she could find none, she set the question aside again— it was too uncomfortable to dwell on for any length of time, at least as long as it went unanswered.

Having gone over some of the external (and internal) facts of her life, Rebecca next turned to looking through her external surroundings in her search.

She started at home, going through her house methodically. She found nothing out of the ordinary until she reached her wardrobe. She’d never really thought about it before until just then, when she was standing in front of it, looking at it with new eyes. But she had a lot of clothes that she never wore.

Sure, Rebecca had her set of work clothes, all impeccably tailored to make her look like a million dollars; a collection of pantsuits, blouses, skirts cut to there. Long enough to be decent and professional, but sharp enough to kill at the cutoff point where the fabric ended.

The rest of the clothes weren’t like that at all— they weren’t even her style. They were a tangled collection of boots, and dresses; skirts and blouses too, but in a distinctly different style. More loose and flowing, less sharp and commanding.

She had worn a few of them on occasion, paired with the pieces that made up her regular rotation, thrown in here and there for a splash of added color and variety.

But if Rebecca dug back even further into her closet, she could find pieces that she had never once worn. Pieces that were still in the bags and wrap they’d came in at the time of purchase.

What had she told herself when she’d bought these? Rebecca tried to remember. Now that she thought about it— she had said to herself that these pieces were only impulse buys; that she had a spending problem; just liked the feeling of buying things, and it was alright to indulge that feeling every now and then. Like the excuse she’d given herself about the fact that she never dated, they had sounded incredibly believable at the time.

In the boxes when she moved aside the tissue paper, and in the bags, when she dug down inside of them, Rebecca found lots of leather pieces; leather skirts, especially, in a variety of colors.

She also found more boots than she had seen at first, these ones which she knew she had never worn. They were too outlandish for her; thigh-highs that would climb most of the way up her legs and hide them. She would never wear things like this; there was nothing lawyerly or professional about any of them. They weren’t to her taste at all.

Yet she had them; and she had so many of them. She had all these strangle clothes, some of which she’d bought with practically no intention of wearing, as if she were being guided by some unseen force at the moment of purchase.

Rebecca was drawn back to the conclusion she’d reached earlier, when she’d thought about her (lack of) romantic life. Henry having some kind of unseen influence over her could explain these strange clothes— if some part of her had bought them to wear for him. To where once she had returned to him.

Rebecca didn’t like that thought when it was coming to her into this context any more than she had liked it when it came to her on the topic of her romantic history. Every time the evidence led back to it as a conclusion, it was like turning a corner and finding herself face to face with a dead end. When she found herself in front of it again, she had the choice of accepting it, or going back to search through her life in the hopes of finding evidence that would point to a different conclusion. She chose the latter option and not the former.

Apart from the clothes in her wardrobe, the rest of Rebecca’s house was benign. She had no other strange possessions which stuck out. She thought she was almost done going through her possessions. Then she would be free to move on to considering other external things throughout the rest of her life.

But then Rebecca realized her house, in itself, was strange. She was only one person, yet she had bought a house much bigger than only one person would need. It was really a size more suitable for an entire family; and a large family at that. And she’d chosen a house that was on the outskirts of town, tucked into the wilderness.

There had been a lot of other houses on offer at the time of her purchase. Some with locations much more convenient in relation to her place of work. She had turned them all down— she’d been adamant that the secluded, oversized house was for her. She even remembered now that her real estate agent had been a little confused by her insistence on it.

Again, Rebecca had to ask the question of herself, even though she was beginning to feel that she knew where it would lead. Why? Why that house specifically, in that location, built to that size?

It was like so many of the decisions she’d made in her life so far had been made to benefit someone else… even though at the time, she’d been convinced that she was the one who was making them, and that she was making for herself, because she was the one who wanted things to be that way.

But if Henry was the one who liked oversized houses, and if Henry liked secluded properties, and she’d chosen it to benefit him… just like she’d bought clothes that he would like to see her in, and just like she’d saved herself for him and turned down all other comers… didn’t that have to mean he’d influenced her somehow into doing it?

Rebecca had reached the same dead end again. She was running out of options; running out of places where she could go to hide from it. Running low on information she could use to fend it away. Running out of hope that any such information even existed, now.

When Rebecca looked around at her social life, and her dating history: she found the conclusion there. When she looked into her wardrobe, at all her unworn clothes: she found it there. When she took the long drive back home from her firm to the edges of town where she lived: she found it there. Then when she arrived home, and stepped out of her car to look up at her house, and its large size, she found it there too.

It was starting to turn up everywhere that Rebecca looked.

But she still wasn’t quite ready to accept it yet. Instead, she decided she would start asking around throughout her personal network about Henry… to see if there might be any evidence waiting for her there.

She asked some of her coworkers at the firm about him; and was surprised to find that most of them knew exactly who he was. Many of them had met him in person; one of the senior partners at the firm who had been on her interview panel when she’d first applied to be a paralegal seemed to know him particularly well.

They spoke of him to her with great familiarity; described him and conversations they’d had with him, or experiences they’d shared with him so vividly that Rebecca felt as if she could see him.

Some of them talked about seeing him at social events, or going out for friendly outings with him, to nightclubs or shows at the theater. Some of them spoke of him as a charitable donor, writing generous checks to their pet causes.

But it struck Rebecca that everyone she asked at her firm was able to speak about him knowledgeably. They knew him; some of them knew him better than others, but they did all know him, to one degree or another.

She asked more people in her network; some of the people who worked at one of the legal journals she sometimes submitted to; some of the people at the news network.

They all had stories of him too, stories which traced Henry’s outline all through her life, but always one degree of separation removed from her.

When she found Henry popping up, like a ghost, even in those unexpected places, she realized she had reached the same dead end again. But once more, instead of accepting it, she to explore further, holding out hope that there was something she’d missed. Some alternate explanation which could wave it all away.

Rebecca asked her family, and her close friends with whom she had no professional affiliation. Henry appeared like a phantom there too.

Her family and personal friends did not speak of him with the knowledge that some of her colleagues and professional peers had done. But they did offer observations about him; times they had seen him out around the town. That they had often known him to be in the orbit of her firm; that they’d heard rumors of him moving when she moved, and moving to within half a mile’s distance of her.

When she’d gone away to college, Henry had taken a job in the city she’d travelled to, and moved there too, they said. The same had been true when she’d gone to law school. He’d followed after her to live in the same city as her that time as well.

Then when Rebecca had come back after law school, when she won the paralegal job at her firm, he’d come back just after her. And when she’d lived in her previous apartment before buying her house, Henry had had an apartment four streets over, they said.

This information shocked Rebecca. But it also gave her the idea to follow up with some people she’d know during her school days. People she’d known during both her pre-law degree and her law degree. Had they known Henry? Did they have stories about him?

It turned out they did; one of the men who had done her college interview with her had much to say about him, to her shock.

It was at this point that Rebecca had to admit it. She had exhausted her social network. She had asked everyone she could think of about Henry, and she had gotten so many stories back in return. More than she ever would have expected, even in her most generous estimate.

What did that mean? What did it mean that Henry seemed to have been omnipresent throughout the past ten years of her life, yet invisible? How could it be that so many of the people she knew knew Henry as well, and could speak of him so easily— yet she had never once heard his name mentioned by anyone in the ten years since he had dropped out of her life?

Unless… Rebecca had heard these stories all throughout the past years, had heard him mentioned constantly, and only failed to realize it until just now? Perhaps Henry’s influence— if it did in fact exist— was so powerful that he had somehow been able to make her forget it every time she’d heard him mentioned?

He had told her to “remember” in the second note he had sent to her. As if the word itself had been a key in his hand that he had slotted confidently into a lock which he knew was there. He’d slipped the word into the note with such nonchalance, such ease, that it was like he’d slid a key into a keyhole with his eyes shut; but knew the placement of the keyhole so well that he could guide the key in blind.

Could Rebecca really deny it any longer? Everywhere she looked, she found Henry. The people in her life spoke around him, tracing his outline for her to see— her own wardrobe traced out his silhouette, and the location of her house and her house itself did too. It was like all things in her life were working together to draw a picture of Henry— everything was an arrow that pointed back to him. She had only failed to see it before; and perhaps she had only failed to see it before because Henry had told her to.

And now that he had given permission for her to realize this, she could; but before that, she had been unable— only because Henry had wanted it so…

It frightened her that Henry could have such powerful influence over her as to make her forget things if he wanted her to. Or to be able to dictate what she could realize and what she couldn’t. But it seemed impossible for her to deny his influence any longer. It also seemed impossible that Henry had been lying. Or that he was delusional as she’d first told herself when she’d read his first letter. There was just too much evidence to support what Henry had claimed. She couldn’t ignore at any longer. There was no other explanation.

She must have made a deal with him, though she didn’t remember doing that; and he must have carried out his side of it, just as he had said.

At least now that she knew, she could go to him. And maybe she could convince him to let her out of holding up her side of it. She still wasn’t entirely clear on how she was supposed to hold up her side of it. Maybe he would free her from their agreement if she only asked. Or maybe she could forfeit the help he’d given her, and ask him to revoke it, in order to secure her freedom.

After all, Rebecca had been established in her career for a few years now. Even if Henry had pulled the strings for her to set her up in it, now she was set up, and her work had spoken for itself. Even if Henry pulled out of giving help to her, she had a professional reputation now that she could stand on.

Rebecca found that when she decided it was time to go and see Henry, she knew exactly where to go. She hadn’t thought she knew his address. But as it turned out, she did. When she was thinking about him on the drive home from work, she found his addressed came suddenly into her mind.

As her friends and her family had implied; he lived only a short distance away from her. She recognized the street name.

Rebecca decided to stop by her own house first, to change out of her work clothes. She’d worn a gray blouse that day, and a matching gray skirt, but it felt a little formal for seeing Henry, even if she was only seeing him to ask him to release her from their agreement.

Besides, she was nervous about going over there and seeing him after so much time. She wanted something she would be comfortable in, while also looking presentable.

Once she got inside, she went to her room and opened her wardrobe. From it she retrieved her softest pair of pale blue jeans, and her soft, close-fitting golden sweater to wear with it. It was night, it was chilly, and if she wore this sweater, she could get away without taking her coat. It was warm enough; and she wasn’t planning to stand outside for very long. Hopefully she could have her conversation with Henry quickly on his porch, then get back in her car and go back home.

She was hoping it could be that fast and that simple.

At least it was a quick journey to get to Henry’s. That was starting on the right track, she though. She hoped the pattern would continue in that way. She stood out there on his doorstep, in the halo of illumination that came out of his porch light, and knocked on his door.

He opened the door to her; there he was. The outline that everything and everyone in her life had traced of him was suddenly filled in with the real thing.

Henry didn’t look at all surprised to see her standing there, but he did look a little relieved. Or maybe pleased— but not surprised.

“You’ve come,” he said, simply. There was an unreadable expression in his eyes.

“I’ve come,” Rebecca repeated. “I’ve come to ask—”

Henry placed a finger over her lips; silencing her with delicate pressure.

“Come inside first. We can talk there.”

He removed his hand from the vicinity of her mouth, and beckoned for her to come in.

The feeling of him silencing her with a touch had affected her— she followed his beckoning across the threshold, and he led her through his house to a room tucked away in its back corner. It was a small room, but it had large windows, though they were curtained to obscure the night outside.

The room held a fireplace; and two comfortable chairs in front of it. They were not placed too closely together; and there was no fire burning in the hearth at the moment. The room was currently lit by overhead electric lighting, and not flame.

Somehow this filled her with relief; both the fact that the chairs were separated by some distance, and that the room was brightly lit in neutral white lighting, provided by lightbulbs. Henry had stopped the words in her mouth— had even stopped the words in her mind, for she had entirely lost her train of thought when he’d done it— with only one single touch. It seemed truer than ever that he had some kind of influence over her; and clearly, it was even more powerful than she had guessed.

Henry gestured for Rebecca to take a seat in the chair he indicated; she did. Then he took the other seat for himself, and looked her over again. “You said you wanted to talk. Talk.”

Again, his prompting seemed irresistible; he had given her an opening, an invitation, and it didn’t even occur to Rebecca not to take it. The words he had silenced in her had been given back; he had granted them back to her. She would use them.

“I came to say that I see you have influenced my life,” Rebecca said. “I— “

“And how does that make you feel?” Henry interrupted, his eyes watching her closely.

Rebecca swallowed. “Frightened,” she confessed. The confession fell so easily from her; not only because of the strange influence he seemed to hold over her. But because somewhere underneath that, there was knowledge resting there. The knowledge that he, Henry, had been her most trusted confidant once, and in those days, she had been in the habit of sharing her every thought with him, whether he asked to hear them or not.

That was a long time ago now; but old habits died hard. Rebecca believed in that moment that she would still have confessed to him that easily, even without his added influence over her.

And yet he wasn’t like the boy she had known at all; though she had found his outline everywhere throughout her life, as she sat before him now, he seemed a complete stranger to her.

“Say more about that feeling of fright,” Henry invited her.

Rebecca swallowed. “I’m frightened because— you’ve been everywhere in my life, but I didn’t know it. You made all of this happen for me— my career, my success… you did something to influence all the people who have ever come into contact with me, to give me helpful pushes along my way… and you’ve used that same influence on me, to make me forget things that you wanted me to forget, or do things you wanted me to do— to do things for your own benefit, and not mine, and I never even realized at the time that I was doing them for you… All the time you’ve been pulling the strings for me, and I never realized you were… because you didn’t want me to…”

“I won’t argue with the second part,” Henry admitted. “But I will challenge you on the first part: yes, I’m acquainted with many of the people in your network. And I did give slight pushes at strategic moments, but I was much less involved than you seem to imagine.”

Rebecca looked at him in confusion; Henry went on. “I didn’t give your career to you,” he explained. “You earned it yourself. You’re a hard worker, you’re intelligent, you’re good at what you do. All I had to do was grease your wheels; but you drove the car. I only took a meeting or two with admissions departments, pointed out your desirability as a candidate. Or encouraged particularly skilled experts in your field to mentor you. But it never took much convincing. You were desirable as a candidate, even without my help; I just made it a little easier for you.”

That did give Rebecca some reassurance— Henry’s old trick of comforting her had come back even here. But it had the same short-coming as ever: the stakes were high, the situation was stressful, and he’d failed to entirely address it.

“But you said you didn’t have an argument with the second part,” Rebecca spoke again. “And that part might be the part that frightens me the most.”

“But why does that scare you?” Henry prompted, once more.

“Because clearly you have great power over me,” Rebecca replied. “And I don’t entirely understand how you have it… or why… or what you want from me…”

Henry sat further back in his chair. “I don’t want anything from you. I only want you— want you to be mine. And you’ve known me a long time— is it really necessary to be afraid of someone you’ve known your whole life, and who has only ever acted in your best interest to make you happy?”

Rebecca shook her head. “Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but the fact that you could influence all those people— influence me—”

“I didn’t influence them,” Henry corrected. “I hypnotized them.”

“You hyp—” The word caught in her throat. She could hear her heart beating in her ears.

“Yes, that’s right,” he added. “And I hypnotized you too. And I could do it again, right now. But I won’t— unless you ask me to. We made a deal, you and I… you said you would give anything in exchange for the career you wanted, and I asked you to give yourself to me. I did my part— will you now offer yourself to me, and accept that you are mine?”

The question made Rebecca’s head swim— the room felt too small around them.

There was a patience in the way Henry spoke that suggested confidence; as if he knew everything would go his way in the end.

Well, she thought. Wouldn’t it? Hadn’t she come to him, in the end— just as he’d asked?

Rebecca thought of many things in that moment. She thought of the outline that had been tracing itself in his shape, constantly, throughout the past weeks and months of her life. She thought of the letter he’d sent her, sitting at home in her drawer— of the note she had thrown away— of all the arrows that had pointed back to him.

In the letter, he had written of her with such longing; had revealed that he watched each one of her panels on the local news station; watched them just to appreciate what she was wearing that day, to appreciate the professional opinions she offered up when asked, and the competence with which she shared them. When he had asked in that letter to be his, it had been like a plea— when he had asked her, in the note, to come to him, it had been like an imploring— as if he had waited for her so long— as if he wanted her so much.

The thought of asking what she had come here to ask him no longer appealed to her, and it wasn’t because of what he had done for her. He had implored her in his letter to be his— and then implored her again in his note to come to him. How could she refuse a request that was fueled by such feeling?

Even if it were somehow possible— if she could have found it in herself to be that unfeeling, and that unmoved by his apparent longing for her— Rebecca found she didn’t want to refuse him. She had never felt so wanted as he was making her feel now. Or as he had made her feel in his letter, or his note, so easily; with only the use of a few simple words.

Rebecca swallowed once more. She accepted it, because it was true. “Yes, Henry,” she said— her voice low in volume. “I’m yours; I belong to you.”

Henry gave her a smile, then. It was a familiar sight; like the friendly, crooked one she had known on him when he was much younger. “Thank you,” he said, and held out his hand to her; standing to do it, guiding her to stand too, and come with him.

He was leading her, again, this time by the hand. But he wasn’t leading her very far; there was a door off the room they’d been in that she had missed before, and when he led her past its doorway, she found herself in a much larger bedroom.

He guided her to the bed, and she knew how he wanted her; she was finding that she was starting to want him to, and did not need to wait for his direction. She dropped his hand when they reached the bed, and moved to begin undressing herself, but Henry said— “Let me—” and she let him.

He did it carefully, as if giving weight to every part of it; she could feel the potency of his desire for her in each move he made, and the idea struck her to undress him in turn. He let her, just as she had let him.

When they were both naked together, they got onto the bed; and the careful patience Henry had moved with dissipated. It seemed that now that he was so close to having her, he could not wait a second longer, and he took her lips quickly in a kiss. He kissed her with passion; and stirred a similar passion in her. She’d never been kissed like this— never been kissed at all, but this kiss was better than any she had ever imagined.

He kissed her deeply, and was already moving against her— his hand gliding smoothly between her legs to encourage lubrication there. Her body gave it in response to the call of his hand. He was beckoning it to come out of her as confidently as he had beckoned her to cross the threshold and enter his home.

She found it was so easy to give Henry what he asked of her— especially when what he asked of her felt so good for her too. She was moaning into his mouth, rolling her hips to his rhythm; Henry kissed her deeper; the passion between them grew.

His other hand had come up to her breast, and he was kneading it carefully. She arched her back into his second touch; moaned harder. There was so much pleasure in her body— so much of it so soon. The way Henry kissed her at first had been enough to summon it, but it had only grown more powerful inside of her with the added stimulation of his touch.

“Yes—” Henry managed, between kisses, keeping his stimulation of her going. “That’s it— feel the pleasure— I want you to— I want you to feel the pleasure that I give you—”

She was aching between her legs; she could feel ecstasy coursing all through her body; she was so slick under his hand that his fingers were sliding along her slit. She rolled his hips more urgently. She needed still more from him. “Henry—”

“Shh,” Henry said. “I know.”

And Henry proved that he did know; because he lined himself up with her entrance, and in the next second, slid into her.

Rebecca cried out from the pleasure of it; from the pleasure of being filled by him. It was ecstasy of the finest caliber— it felt like a homecoming; like all that was right in the world, and as soon as Henry was seated in her, she felt herself folding in around him, her walls clenching on him with everything she had, enveloping him on all sides; she in turn could feel him brushing up against each internal inch of her channel.

She was grateful in that moment for the fact that she had taken birth control pills for most of her adult life, even though she had never been sexually active; grateful that she had taken one that morning the same as every other.

Henry had given her a moment to adjust to his girth; but now, it seemed that moment was passed. It didn’t matter. She was more than wet enough to accommodate him, as he took up his pace inside her.

Rebecca rolled with the pace as she’d rolled under his hand, and she was moaning again as she did it. The pleasure was indescribable. It seemed to grip every part of her body, found every part of her internal layout no matter where it was hiding, and the only thing she wanted to do was feel more of it, and give voice to it.

Henry was kissing her again— he had one hand near where their bodies were joined, and was gently rolling her clit under his fingers— his other hand was at her breast, still, rolling her clit.

It was too much pleasure from too many sources— there was no way she could resist giving what it wanted from her; she was going to fall into the ecstasy that was calling to her from the inside; she was going to fall—

She found the space to fit words into her string of moans. “It’s too much— I’m going to orgasm—” She panted around the form of the words.

Henry pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Let yourself. Come— now.”

She went when he told her to. It seized hold of her completely; rolling through her like a wave that washed everything out; washed everything away.

She was breathless when the ecstasy had at last passed through her; and she was still twitching around him. He had kept the same pace the entire time; it had only driven her pleasure further. He did not speed up, even now, but from the flush she saw in his face, Rebecca knew he’d be following soon after her.

He looked into her eyes as he rolled into her again. Rebecca’s walls twitched in response to the motion. “Tell me you’re mine,” Henry said— and it was a whisper in the dark.

There was no denying it now, after the way he’d just taken her; given the way she followed him so easily. She had said it before and it had been true then, too. But she understood why he wanted to hear it again; it would seal something between them.

“Henry— I’m yours,” she said; and then he was shuddering into her; she could feel him bathing her deeply with his ejaculate.

He pumped into her until the last of it had come out inside. Then he withdrew from between Rebecca’s legs with a sigh of exhaustion— she knew how he felt.

He pulled one side of the blanket down, so they could both get under it together; he draped one arm over her side as they lay in bed there together.

Rebecca was asleep a second later.

The next morning, when they woke up, Henry made them breakfast; but they ate it in silence. Rebecca was still thinking about the previous night’s tryst. She didn’t know what Henry was thinking about, but she wasn’t concerned about it. She was his; she had the rest of her lifetime to spend in his company, and ask after his thoughts. For now, it was enough to keep her focus on her own.

He had been so focused on her, the previous night. She knew it had been pleasurable for him, too; but now in the light of day she felt as if she had only been taking what he gave her. That wasn’t enough for her— she wanted to give something back; give something to him, the way he’d given something to her.

When they finished eating, and both put their dish in the sink, they met afterwards for a kiss, and on the other side of it, Rebecca said— “Let me pleasure you tonight, Henry; you were so generous with me last night. Let me return the favor. Come over to my house tonight.”

Henry said, “Alright.”

Then the two of them had to part ways for the day; the night before had somehow been a weeknight. Somehow, in spite of what had happened in it, the external world had not ceased to exist, and still had its same demands and expectations which called them both away from each other.

But that day, as Rebecca fitted herself back into her job, the entire world seemed different to her. She loved her job as she always had— as she always would; loved the people she knew in her life; but there was a new dimension of color to everything now. She was Henry’s— she would go home tonight, and he would come to her there, and she would see him again. That knowledge alone completely transformed her day.

When the end of the working day came, for the first time in a long time, Rebecca did not stay late to work. She could work late on other nights; she was more interested on this particular evening in getting home before Henry came over— to make sure she was ready for him when he came.

Rebecca was in luck; she found she was the first one there when she got back to her house.

She wasted no time. She went right to her room, and opened her wardrobe. She ignored the clothes that were towards the front of it; her regular rotation. Those were hers; they were meant for her. But the clothes in the back that she’d never worn were Henry’s, meant for him. He’d had her buy them for him, so he could see her in them, and tonight she was only concerned about giving Henry everything he wanted.

She chose one of the leather skirts she’d never worn before, short and black, and paired it with one of the pairs of thigh-high boots, similarly black.

Then for her top, she chose a tight cream-colored blouse that hugged close to her body. She gave her ensemble a once-over in the mirror— yes, Henry would like this. She looked delicious in her clinging top, short skirt, and in those boots.

Dressed this way, she left her room to go back out into the main part of the house, on her way to the kitchen. She liked the idea of making Henry something for dinner first; he might be hungry, after their day apart.

His timing was perfect, as it turned out; Rebecca was just plating up the food, some nice pasta sauce over penne noodles, when he knocked on her door.

She left the two plated meals on her counter, and went eagerly to the door. It took her a little longer than it otherwise would have; she wasn’t used to walking in boots this tall yet, but she did manage to get there as quickly as she could.

She opened the door, and smiled when she saw Henry standing on the other side of it. He didn’t smile back; because he had clearly been struck silent by her outfit.

“Come on,” Rebecca said— she took him by the hand this time, and led him to the dining room just beside the living room. Then she left him there to retrieve both plates from the kitchen. She set each plate down in front of their places at the table.

She’d already set the candles burning while she’d been making dinner, so the room was candlelit as the two of them began eating.

After a few seconds of silence, the two of them fell into easy conversation again; pleasant, entertaining. The meal passed quickly, and when at last it was finished, Rebecca cleared the plates back to the kitchen.

When she turned from the sink, she found Henry had followed in after her, and was standing there behind her.

“What now?” He asked. There was weight in his words.

“Just over here,” Rebecca said, taking his hand to lead him again. “The living room.”

The lights in that room were the brightest lights in the house, and when the two of them had come to a stop in it, Rebecca thought Henry would be able to see her outfit even more clearly than he’d seen it from the doorway.

She knew she’d thought right a second later. Because when Henry saw her, standing in the living room lighting, and wearing the black leather and boots and blouse she had put on her body for him, his eyes widened. He’d thanked her in advance that morning, but now, he said again— “Thank you.”

“I haven’t even really gotten started,” she replied with a smile. Maybe you should wait until I’ve finished to thank me.”

“If things are off to a start this good, they’re only going to improve from here,” Henry quipped; but he fell silent again shortly after.

Rebecca undressed him, as she had the previous night, but this time did not have to co-ordinate it around his undressing of her, so it went much faster. He co-operated, and the two of them left his clothes behind them on her floor.

Rebecca had covered her living room armchair in a sheet— and once she’d gotten him undressed, she guided him to sit in it.

He was already hard; and she didn’t want to wait a second longer for him; she knew he felt the same.

She climbed up to straddle his lap, hovering over his hardness, and he twitched up out of his seat, impatient to get inside her.

But she brushed his face with her hand. “Sit— let me. Just sit and let me.”

Henry let out a sigh. “Don’t keep me waiting,” he said. But she had no intention of doing so.

She hadn’t put underwear on underneath her skirt, quite deliberately. She was already in position above him; and in the next second, holding his cock steady at the base, she lowered herself onto it, shuddering as she went down.

Her legs were along his legs as she straddled him; she knew he could feel the texture of her boots against his naked skin.

Henry was shaking inside her, like she was shaking.

“That feels incredible, Rebecca—” he said. She was glad. She’d wanted it to be incredible.

When she got herself all the way down to his base— when she’d driven his cock as far up into her as it could go, she began rolling her hips in a slow, sensual pattern that kept Henry dragging against her highest places.

Henry sucked a sharp breath in from the intensity of it. She kept her hips rolling at the same speed, kept herself squeezed tight around his body everywhere that she was touching him. But it was starting to affect her too. In this position, Henry could reach further into her than if they were lying down together; she felt even more deeply plugged than she had the night before.

In this position, she could feel every nuance of his form as her own body conformed around it— could feel it in stark detail that had not been available previously. She slowed her roll to savor the feeling even more.

Henry was panting in response to her movements— he was sweating; sweat on skin that brushed against hers where it peeked through her ensemble, sweat on fabric everywhere else. He couldn’t do much to thrust from his position underneath, but he was shaking inside her, and she could feel the tremors reverberate out from their point of connection.

Rebecca was lost in the sensation of the moment; of the scene she had established for them. Bright illumination highlighting every visual detail of their coupling, so nothing was missed. But the visual was quickly becoming secondary to the physical; the two of them were still moving together, had never stopped. Their bodies were generating warmth, and they were passing it back and forth between themselves.

The bright light did enhance the moment, though. Rebecca could see every detail of Henry’s form; and she knew he could see every detail of her, and of her outfit.

But Rebecca could not keep up her patient pace for ever; the hunger of her own body was driving her to pick up the pace. She followed that urging, riding Henry harder, hard enough to make the chair creak under them— and then she gave a tight squeezing of her inner walls on one of her upward strokes, and the two of them were coming together.

Henry pressed a kiss to her lips before she climbed back off him. “Thank you again,” he said. “I knew that would be special, and you didn’t disappoint.”

She passed his clothing back to him; they both stood, and he redressed.

Then the two of them left the room, their hands clasped as they went.

Rebecca’s life after becoming Henry’s kept the same dimension of color she had noticed that first day, after the night in which he’d taken her. The outline everything in her life had drawn in Henry’s shape was filled by him— permanently, and all the arrangements her subconscious mind had known to make paid off.

Henry sold his house, to move in to hers; they both enjoyed the spaciousness and privacy of the property together, as well as the spaciousness and design of the house. All the clothes that had waited in boxes and bags were taken out, and hung up properly; Rebecca wore them often around the house, for Henry’s enjoyment. She climbed into thigh-highs, or pulled on leather skirts whenever she found the excuse. It was worth it for the look in Henry’s eyes every time he saw her in them.

Outside of her home life with Henry, she was as fulfilled in the other areas of her life as she had ever been. She remained a brilliant rising star in her firm, remained a respected member of the community, and a respected community advisor— and also a respected scholar; she stayed close to her colleagues, and friends and family.

She was grateful for every part of her life— happy and satisfied in every part of her life. But really, she was most grateful for Henry. She had always been his— she had only forgotten it for a while. Or, her conscious mind had forgotten it for a while, but her subconscious had remembered all the time, and had never forgotten to keep her ready for him.

Now, at last, they could really be together; she could be with him, and give herself to him in every way she could think of— and that was exactly as it should be. Exactly as she had always wanted it to be, on some level.

Theirs was a permanent happiness, Rebecca knew. Henry thought so too— he’d waited for her so long. So, after some conversation, Rebecca went off her birth control; and the two of them got their family underway. It didn’t take long for Rebecca to get pregnant, and each day passed in excited anticipation for the arrival of their little one.

Rebecca was the happiest she had ever been— and she knew she would be able to keep feeling that way forever.