The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I checked myself in the car’s mirror. Hair pulled back, no lint on the skirt-suit, makeup impeccable. The image of a professional, independent, woman.

Good. That’s what I want him to see me as. Independent, adult, my own person.

Getting out of the car I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart. What if...

No. I’d planned for the ‘what if’s. People I trusted knew where I was, what I was doing, and when I was expected back.

I double-checked the address. A town-house on the edge of downtown. It just didn’t seem like the type of place the Brandon Downs I knew would live. Of course, when I knew him he was a major player in the sex-slave black market, with a mansion and a dozen slave girls. Of which I was one.

That wasn’t his name now. Now it was Donald Wooten. His birth-name. That wasn’t his life now: now he lived in the modest house in front of me. A normal member of society.

I rang the doorbell.

His face hasn’t changed much in five years. No beard, a few more grey hairs in the brown, but basically the same. I recognized him immediately.

It took him a heartbeat, but no longer to do the same. “Hi.” There was surprise, and pleasure in his voice. “Please, come in.”

Oh god, I’d forgotten how being in his presence made my panties wet. No, I could do this.

He mistook my hesitation. “I promise I’ll be a gentleman. Nothing funny, and you can leave anytime you want.”

“I know.” I stepped over the threshold.

I found myself looking around the place as a delaying tactic. “Nice place you have here.” It was. Tastefully decorated, if a bit spartan. Hints of his travels, and lots of books. Nothing cheap, but nothing flashy.

“Thanks. Please, feel free to take a seat. Can I get you something to drink?” He’d ushered us into a cozy little den/living room.

I took an armchair next to a lamp/end-table combo. “Sure, I’ll have a ginger ale.”

I knew he’d have it. They were a favorite of his. I’d learned to love them while...

“Sure, coming right up.” He disappeared into the direction of the kitchen we’d walked past.

A moment later he was back, with a tray holding two cans of ginger ale, two glasses, and a small bowl of ice. He set it in front of me, and let me pick my own of each.

Drugs hadn’t been his preferred tool, but he’d been adept with them. I recognized the gesture as saying he didn’t expect me to trust him.

I turned the tray around before choosing: reminding him that I knew he was good enough to arrange things so I’d pick the prepared glass on my own.

Yes, we could double-think this to infinity if we wanted to. We both knew nothing was drugged, because we both knew he couldn’t take me here and now. The point was that we remembered who each other were.

“Thanks.” I took a sip.

“You’re welcome.” He prepared his glass, and spoke with the glass raised. “So, you found me.”

“Yes.” Obvious, of course. But there was a lot unspoken: When he’d turned snitch on his partners in crime, he’d released us that were in his service. Not just physically, but mentally. The one condition had been that we couldn’t remember anything about him: Not his name, not his face, nothing that would identify him or allow us to find him. I’m not sure why I suddenly could remember who he was six months ago, but I felt sure he knew.

He was good at that sort of thing.

Time to get to the point. I set down my glass. “I wanted to know why.”

“Why what?”

Good question.

Start with the most important. “Why the phone call? Why the trigger? Why did you build in an undo to all that conditioning you put us through?”

He shrugged. “Because I wasn’t going to be there.”

Great, a non-answer. “So? It was the ‘right’ thing to do?”

“You were mine. It was my responsibility, if I wasn’t going to be there to make sure that someone would look after you. Since I was taking down the others most likely to be able to do that, the best option was to make sure you could look after yourself.”

“You call what you put us through ‘looking after us’?” I could remember my time in his possession clearly. You wouldn’t recognize it as life.

“You are, and were, healthy and sane. You obviously have been able to provide for yourself. You weren’t injured, or killed, and I protected you from others would interfere with those.”

“You shared us with them.”

He shrugged. “I was expected to. It was hospitality. It proved I was one of them, and therefore should be dealt with as an equal.”

“So it was all necessary. All part of some master plan, to rescue us and shut them down. You did what was best.” I spat the words at him.

I wasn’t prepared for the answer. “No. Some of was, but... It wasn’t to rescue you. And it wasn’t to shut them down. I’ll even admit I enjoyed it. Would still enjoy it. I don’t pretend I am any better than they were. They took something from me, and I got it back. That’s all.”

That’s all. I looked around again. There was something missing, something that I associated with him closely. “Is she here? I don’t see her pictures.”

He shook his head. “My cousin? No. She’s living with her parents. She still hasn’t recovered emotionally, really.”

“Your cousin. The red-haired girl was your cousin.” That... Made no sense.

“Yes. She disappeared in Algeria while on a trip. No body was found, so she was presumed kidnapped. I decided I would go after her and get her back.”

“Why?”

“Because I could. And because I knew I would enjoy it.”

“Because you could? That’s all?”

I’ve seen a lot of smiles on that face. Twisted irony wasn’t one of them up until now. “Yes. Because I could. Because it gave me an excuse to be who you met. Because I knew I could survive, and thrive, in that environment, and that it fit me better than any other. But I had never had a reason strong enough to give up my ethics and pursue it.”

He took a sip and set his glass down on the table next to his chair, then calmly waited for my next question.

Me, I didn’t have one. I recalled that picture that had been everywhere in the mansion. “We all envied her you know. The girl you were so hung up on. Any of us would have gladly done anything to be her.”

“Really?” A shake of his head, amused. “I should have guessed that, I guess. Mostly I wanted my ‘business partners’ to know of my obsession, but think it harmless. That worked: One of them found her for me.”

“It’s hard to believe the red-haired girl was just family. Any of us would have sworn...”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say she was just family. I’ll admit I’ve had a crush on her forever. But she is family.”

Sad and lonely I’d heard before. I checked the reflexes: I knew exactly how to make him feel better, and my body knew it would enjoy it. But I didn’t come here to get into bed with him.

Which was another question I should get answers to. If I can just think how to phrase it... “You went to a lot of work to make us—eager—to have sex with you. Why?”

I’m not sure he followed the change of topic. Maybe he did. I couldn’t leave the silence alone. “I mean, before you got us, most of us, we were just forced to have sex. Or we’d be beaten, or starved, or whatever. We’d all learned to obey. You... Hypnosis and brainwashing, I guess. But you made us want to have sex with you. I remember begging for you to take me.” Remembered all to well, right here in front of him. “Why? We talked to some of the others, the other girls who were owned by other...” Whatever you called what his position had been. “Some of them said they learned to act like they liked it, because that’s what their masters wanted. Why go through the effort to change us?”

He shrugged. “Because I could. Because it was a challenge. And because my ethics do demand that I try to not do something against someone’s will.”

“So you changed our wills? That sounds ethical.”

“I changed your minds. It’s not that much different then seducing you, really. I just pressed my case harder.” He looked away. “Harder than I’d normally be comfortable with, I admit. I didn’t give you a choice, not really. And without a viable choice, you can’t express your will.” He winced. “Besides, it meant you were easier to control. I didn’t have to watch as hard to catch signs of disobedience once you were trained. I could rely on you to be loyal.”

He took a look at his empty glass. “Look, are you hungry? There’s a good little restaurant just down the street; walking distance. My treat.”

Why not. “Sure. Food sounds good.”

Outside, walking next to him, was weird. I’d done this, as his slave. I kept feeling like I should drop back a step; which wouldn’t be hard at the pace he normally walked. He was walking slower today. “This as weird to you as it is to me?”

“Hmm?” He looked down at me.

I felt myself blush, and tried to fight it. “You used to take me, or any one of us girls, out with you when you went to eat. Or anywhere, really. ‘Assistant duty’; we held your wallet, guarded your back, helped remind you of things. This reminds me of doing that.”

“Oh, sorry. I hadn’t thought about it.” He was silent a moment. “A lot of things seem weird to me, on occasion. I’ve spent so much time watching my back, capturing and training girls, just being that person. This life feels surreal some days.”

That I understood. I felt the same way, on occasion.

“You know, it just occurred to me that I can’t recall your name. I remember you, but I never needed a name for you.”

I had to laugh. “Yeah, I remember how bad you were at names! Made us all memorize the names of all your contacts, so we could remind you.” I stopped, and put out my hand. “Tiffany Lawrence. Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Wooten.”

He appreciated the joke. “Charmed, but please, call me Don.” He said, shaking my hand.

“Sure thing.”

“And I’ll try to remember your name from now on.” I laughed, as expected. “Anyway, the dinner’s right here.” He lead the way in.

The next few minutes were taken up by claiming a table, sliding into a booth, ordering drinks, and starting our surveys of the menu.

“I recommend the meat loaf, or the chicken salad.” He smiled over at me, and put his menu down.

I shook my head, feeling a smile creep onto my own face. Chicken salad it was then. He knew what I liked. “I don’t remember you being charming. What is this? Trying to convince me you aren’t a monster?”

“You already know I’m a monster, and what type. No, I’m just being... Well, I’m not treating you as a toy I own.”

“I guess you don’t have to charm sex slaves much, do you.”

“Not once they are trained, no. Before that...”

“I don’t remember much charm from the guys who kidnapped me.”

“Too bad. That’s actually how I worked my way in, you know: I bet a group that I could bring back a girl within two hours, straight off the street, and have her arrive half-trained and docile.”

“And it worked?”

“Took me two and a half, but they didn’t complain.”

“Ok, I have to know how you managed that.”

“Hypnosis. I walked into a bar, found some girl who was just there to get laid, and started talking to her. Managed to put her under, and then convince her to play-act being a ‘sex-slave’. I knew it wouldn’t hold for too long, but it got her back to their place.”

“What happened to her?”

“I turned her over to them, gratis, as my entry card. Never even touched her myself. They sold her off someplace.”

“You don’t seem bothered by this.”

A long pause. The waitress coming to get our orders helped. “I never told myself I was better then them. I’m not. And I can’t say I was aiming to make the world a better place. I just wanted to test my skill, and to get my cousin back.”

“And the people along the way?”

“Are people. Just like any others. I focused on two people: myself, and my cousin. And I’ll admit I treated my cousin more as a goalpost than anything else.”

I knew that face. I had loved it once. Parts of me still lusted after it. But I stared at it unable to recognize the person there. “That... Is probably the coldest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I never said I was nice. I’m a sociopath: people are just objects to me. I know that, and I deal with it. The world can handle a few sociopaths, as long as they recognize that the only thing that protects them are that the rules apply to them as well. The world can handle a sociopath in a house on the hill, in a development, just like any other person there. It can’t handle the one in a mansion who takes anyone he wants as a sex slave. The one fits in, and doesn’t break things by not recognizing people, the other will eventually destroy what he relies on for his own comfort. The people I associated with didn’t realize that. And so I destroyed them, because they endangered me.”

I didn’t have anything to say to that.

We sat in silence until the food arrived. Don seemed fine with that. I was just trying to sort things out in my head.

The first bite of the salad was delicious, but I wanted some conversation. “So, how is your cousin?”

Sadness. Again, the trained-in urge to do something about it. “Diminished. She was always so... She was a person who the world couldn’t hurt, you understand? Full of life, ready to take on anything, and always knowing it would turn out for the best. Because she was smart, and charming, and beautiful. Because people liked her. Now... She’s learned that those aren’t always protection enough. For someone who trusted her whim for everything, now she barely trusts anyone.” He laughed, a joke at himself. “She trusts me more than anyone I think. I haven’t explained how I found her to everyone.”

I got that joke. It wasn’t funny. “Sounds...” Like a lot of the girls in the recovery groups. The ones that hadn’t had him as their master. Those of us that did have him had rebounded faster. He’d made sure of that, we knew it. “I’m sorry.”

“Its ok. Its what I expected, really. I just wish...”

“Yes?”

He looked me in the eyes. The hypnotic stare; I could feel myself falling into it. “I could fix her. You know that. Make her happy again. But...” He looked away, and I could breathe again.

I took a moment to compose myself. He could fix her. I knew what he meant. I’d seen it. “But it wouldn’t be real. It wouldn’t be her, and it wouldn’t be her choice.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t get you.”

“Hmm?”

“How is having a harem of sex slaves ethical, but ‘fixing’ your cousin not? One moment you’re a stone cold self-admitted sociopath, the next you don’t want to tamper. I don’t get it.”

“It’s all in the situation, I guess. When I had you, I was responsible for you, and I had to deal with people who expected me to be able to handle you in a certain way. I protected you, and myself, best by treating you within how they expected. Here and now, I have to treat people how they are expected to be treated now. And I’m not responsible for her.” A pause, as he held something back. I’m sure of it. “Anyway, I bent my rules a lot back then.”

“My rules are that people have the right to choose their own life, as long as it makes them and the people around them happy. If they don’t, something needs to be fixed. Your own minds would not have made you happy when you were mine, so I fixed what I needed to. Now my cousin is trying to be happy, and can, if she just figures out how. I have no right to interfere, unless she asks.”

“And when you recruited girls to be new slaves?”

“That wasn’t ethical, and I knew it. I did it anyway.”

“Not going to justify it?”

“No. Each act is ethical or not on it’s own. And it wasn’t for ethical reasons I entered the world I did.”

“You did it because they took something from you, and you wanted it back.”

“Yes.”

“Did you? Get it back?”

“There are hints of her in there. And her family is happy to have her back.”

“And that’s enough.”

“No. But it’s what was possible.”

No it wasn’t. “Why did you give it up?”

“Hmm?”

“You had money, sex. Power, of a sort. As far as I can tell, no one was likely to catch you. You could have taken her, fixed her, and kept her, which you’ve admitted you wanted to do. You could have kept it all. Why didn’t you?”

He thought about that a moment. “Because I mean it when I say that the world can’t survive that type of sociopath. It has to either remove them, or be broken in the long run. Even sitting at this table and ordering a meal means I have to agree to treat the waitress, the cook, and half a dozen other people as equals, as if they have the right to their life. If I break that, then no-one is safe, including me. I broke it for a while, but with the internal agreement that I would fix things when I was done. When I got her, I was done, so I had to fix things.”

“So it was ok, as long as you had a good goal?”

“No. But I accepted the consequences of my actions.”

“You’re not in jail. Everyone else in that ring is.”

Finally a question he could enjoy answering. “I can’t say that I didn’t try to change those consequences, as much as I can. But...”

“Yes?”

He took his time to answer. “Look, I said I fit in better in that world than in any other. Part of my consequences is knowing that, and knowing that there is no chance I’ll ever be back in that world again. That I’m stuck in this world that everyone can live in, that doesn’t fit.“

There was nothing I could say to that. Nothing at all.

“Mind if I ask you a few questions?” He asked.

“Go right ahead.”

“How are you doing? What are you doing these days?”

It wasn’t the question I’d be expecting, whatever that was. “I’m doing ok, I guess. I’m doing a long internship at a hospital, sorta being an apprentice doctor. Apparently my education is a little odd in that area.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I couldn’t send you to a medical school, for obvious reasons, but it seemed a good idea to have each of you pursue your passions as well as you could.”

“Well—for all of us—thanks. We’ve done a lot better because of it. We could get normal jobs and careers right away, where some of the others...” Some of them were still trying to find a way to re-enter the ‘normal’ world. “Anyway, I’m still in therapy. Mostly as an example to the others at this point I think, but it’s nice to have a group that understands all the odd little things that are left in our heads.”

“I can imagine. Heh, it’s the reason I put in that trigger that let you find me.”

“I was wondering about that. None of the others can remember anything about you, and suddenly six months ago I not only knew what you looked like, but I could remember your real name, which I’m sure you never told us. What... What did you do?”

“When I called in, the day I went to the police, I activated a trigger that restored your old personalities, and kept you from finding me. But... I’d hoped I could talk to one of you eventually. So I put in that if you ever wanted to find me and didn’t want to hurt me, you could remember who I was. I even gave you enough to find me. That’s it.”

We’d finished our food by this point, and he was getting the check. We were in no hurry to leave.

“Anything else? Anything else you left in my head?” I was still horny as hell, and I was sure that was something.

“That’s... Well, it’s a bit of a hard question to answer. I wanted any hypnotherapist you went to know what I’d done, but at the same time I wanted to free you from their effects. And, of course, I couldn’t test any of this beforehand. I remember I told you to imagine a box, of sorts, that you put my sex-slave suggestions in, and that you had control over. In theory, that meant that you could examine all of them, and drop them as you wanted to. In practice... I don’t know how well the box might have worked. Something might leak, something might just disappear, anything could happen really. Without reinforcement eventually any suggestion will wear off, and there’s nothing to reinforce any of this. I just had to hope it worked.”

“So you don’t know if you left anything behind?”

“I know I tried to remove everything. But I couldn’t check, for obvious reasons. I don’t suppose you’d let me check now?” His face said he didn’t expect me to, and it was offered as a knowingly bad joke.

“No, I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

“Yeah. I’m not sure I could check actually: You don’t trust me at this point, so anything I tried to do hypnotically would have to fight that. Anything in the back corners of your mind... You probably wouldn’t let me back there again. And... I’m not sure I could trust myself.”

I stifled the impulse to ask what he meant by that. I could imagine, I think. And I didn’t really want to.

“Anyway.” I almost jumped at his change of tone. “I’m guessing there are people who will start to worry soon if they don’t hear from you, and I’ve got things I could work on back at my place. Shall I walk you to your car?”

I did have people I should call. And time had flown; it was time to go.

The walk back was in enjoyable silence.

“Well, here’s your car. I’m glad you came, it was nice to talk. Feel free to call or come over anytime.”

“Thanks. I was good to talk to you too.”

He stepped away. “Oh, I have one more question, if I may?”

“Shoot.”

“Looking back on it, did you enjoy it? When I owned you?”

He knew I’d enjoyed it at the time, but that wasn’t what he’d asked. I... “I... I think so. You... You took good care of us.”

He nodded, then walked through his door, shutting it behind him.

I stood staring at it for ages.

“So how did it go?”

I dropped back onto the motel-room bed. “Fine. He was a perfect gentleman. I had a good time.”

“Tiffany, this wasn’t a date.” Sara was my best friend growing up, and the one person who done the most to help me rebuild after my enslavement. She was also one of my few current friends who I could both talk to about this and who wasn’t in my therapy group. She wasn’t going to overreact, and I’d known her forever. The obvious choice for my safety phone contact.

Even if she was laughing at me now.

“I know. Anyway, we talked, he took me out to dinner. We discussed old times.”

“Really, this wasn’t supposed to be a date.”

“Shut up.”

“Shutting up. Did you find out what you wanted to know?”

“I don’t know. I think so. I’m still processing it all.”

“Why did he do it?”

“Which part? Join the underground, take us as slaves, or end it all, setting us free?”

“All of it. I’m at least as curious as you are.”

“He joined because they took something of his, and because he could. He took us as slaves because it was part of joining the underground, and because he wanted to. He set us free to keep himself safe, and because he was done.”

“Ok, the first two make some sense, though I want to know what they took. Did he explain that last one?”

“Yeah, and I’m not sure I understand it yet myself. The simplest part is that he was done: He got his cousin back. That’s what they took from him: The red-haired girl.”

“The who?”

“He had this picture everywhere in his mansion. A red-haired girl none of us had ever seen; we just called her the red-haired girl. Anyway, she’s what started this. They kidnapped her like they kidnapped me, and he decided to go after her. Once he had her back, he was done.”

“So this was all justified because he got his cousin back?”

“No. That’s the weird part. He doesn’t try to justify it. He says he’s just as bad as the guys in jail, even calls himself a sociopath. But he says the world can’t support sociopaths like them, so out of some sense of self-protection he only stayed long enough to get her back. Then he tried to fix things as best he could.”

“And why did he want to fix things?”

“Because...” I tried to recall, as I disentangled myself from the phone cord. I’d have used my cell-phone, but doing this from the motel’s land-line meant I had to go back to the room to make this call. Which meant I’d gotten away. Maybe not safe, but... “Because it was his responsibility. He made a mess, so he had to clean it up. Something like that. He said something about accepting the consequences of his actions.”

“He’s not in jail.”

“That’s what I said. I get the feeling that he wouldn’t have minded jail, if that was required. He talks as if this life is punishment.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t have a harem of sex-slaves to brainwash.”

“Ok, he’s twisted, officially. And they didn’t lock him up in the loony bin?”

“He’s sane. That’s not an official diagnosis, obviously, but he knows the results of his actions, and thinks about how they affect others. He just... He doesn’t think of those consequences the same way we do. I think he may actually be the sociopath he thinks he is.”

“Now you are scaring me. Are you sure you’re safe there?”

“Yes. He knows I’m being watched, and I think he assumes he’s being watched. He’s not going to do anything, he wouldn’t want to get caught. Besides...”

“Besides?”

“He went on and on about his ‘ethics’. Something about how he has to let people choose their own lives, or else they can take his choice from him, I think. He knows he bent them when he... Anyway, they are important to him.”

“Important enough to trust your life to?”

I paused. “Yes. They are what gave me my life back, I think. That he wanted to try to fit what he was doing within his ethics. Even...”

“Yes?”

“...I think they are the reason me and the rest who were his slaves are doing so much better. He couldn’t set us free, but he could be ethical within that, so he allowed us all to train in what we were good at, and he made slavery as pleasant for us as possible, in his own twisted way.”

“He brainwashed you to love being his slaves, you mean.”

“Yeah, but it meant that he treated us as people.”

“He treated you as objects. Literally, in some cases.”

“Yeah, but he’s a sociopath: People are objects to him.”

“Ok, now it sounds like you are trying to defend him, and I’m not even understanding what you are saying. He treated you as objects, therefore he treated you as people, because people are objects? What?”

“Yeah, something like that. I’m not sure what my point was myself. It’s just... He knows he’s ‘evil’ by most people’s standards. He doesn’t try to hide that, in fact he accepts it, but he still feels he needs to help society handle him. I get the feeling that he feels otherwise civilization would collapse.”

“He’d collapse civilization? That would be impressive.”

“Not on his own. But if it had to function with people like who he wants to be. Like who he was, when he owned me.”

“But you said he’s a sociopath. So why does he care?”

“Because he figures he needs civilization. That it’s worth it, somehow.”

“So he’s an idealistic sociopath.”

“No. Yes. Maybe.”

“Ok. Sounds confusing to me. Anyway, how did you feel about it? How did you react?”

“Well, first off I had to handle the fact that seeing him still makes me instantly horny.” I wanted to give Sara a smile.

I think I got it. “How does that fit into his ‘ethical’ stance?”

“I don’t think he knew. He told me what he tried, when he set us free. Apparently he did his best, but programming people isn’t the easiest thing in the world. He tried to separate out all the programming he’d put in us, but it may not hold perfectly.”

“And some of it’s leaking?”

“Maybe.” I laughed. “It could just be that fucking him is what I remember about him. I see him and I remember the best sex of my life, over and over and over...”

I swear I could hear her rolling her eyes. “Is that really what you remember about serving him? Hot sex?”

“It was what I was focused on at the time. I was thinking about sex twenty-four-seven, and having it more than once a day on average. Not always with him, but still. Thinking back reminds me of that mindset, especially when I’m facing him. It’s hard not to remember how I used to fantasize about kissing that face.”

“Remind me again why you wanted to talk to him.”

My turn to roll my eyes. “Because I wanted to try to make sense of what had happened to me. I needed to know how he saw me.”

“So, how did he?”

“I... That wasn’t a question I felt I could ask, directly. He saw us as objects, sex slaves. Probably sex toys, really. But we were also a part of his effort to get his cousin back, and in a weird way I think we were the only ones he trusted.”

“Ok, I’m not even going to try to work out what you mean by that. I’ve already got a headache. You got back safe?”

“Yes.”

“And you aren’t going back? He’s not turning you back into his sex slave again tonight?”

“No. He did say I was welcome to drop by anytime, and it was nice talking to him, but I’m not on some leash that’s going to be retracting. I’ll be back in town tomorrow. Still a free woman. I promise, you can see me for yourself.”

“Good. I’m going to say good night.”

“Night, Sara.”

Tiffany:

So I went to see him, last weekend.

Meredith:

Went to see who?

Jasmine:

Went to see who?

Tiffany:

Him. The guy who used to ‘own’ me.

Rachel:

They let you see him?

Meredith:

How did you find him?

Rachel:

Oh, right. You were one of his girls.

Tiffany:

I can remember who he is. Name, face, everything.

Tiffany:

Yeah, the guy who turned everyone in.

Meredith:

How can you remember? I can’t even recall what color his hair was.

Tiffany:

Do you want to meet him?

Meredith:

No.

Jasmine:

Yes.

Tiffany:

That’s why.

Tiffany:

I asked that question; He said he put a last command to forget anything that would identify him, unless we wanted to meet him.

Meredith:

Why would you want to meet him?

Tiffany:

(And not hurt him.)

Meredith:

Anything else he put in?

Jasmine:

I want to say thank you.

Rachel:

What if he’d done something?

Tiffany:

He says not.

Tiffany:

I wanted to find out what he had to say. Why he did everything.

Jasmine:

He wanted to help. Why else?

Jasmine:

He got information on everyone and then went to the police.

Tiffany:

I told my best friend where I was, and what I was doing. If I hadn’t called in, she’d have called the police.

Meredith:

Jasmine, he was just like the rest. He just got smart first.

Tiffany:

Meredith, I found out who the red-haired girl is. His cousin.

Meredith:

His cousin? You sure?

Tiffany:

(And he says he didn’t put anything else lingering in. He just ‘boxed up’ everything he’d put in, so our therapists could find them.)

Tiffany:

Pretty sure.

Rachel:

Red-haired girl?

Meredith:

A girl he’d covered his mansion in pictures of.

Meredith:

He used to stare at them for hours.

Rachel:

So, why did he do it?

Tiffany:

...

Tiffany:

It’s complicated.

Tiffany:

He wanted his cousin back, and he wanted to try the lifestyle.

Meredith:

And that justified what he did to us?

Tiffany:

No. He doesn’t claim it does.

Tiffany:

He doesn’t claim to be any better than the rest of them, actually.

Rachel:

So how does he justify it?

Tiffany:

He doesn’t.

Meredith:

Of course he does.

Tiffany:

No, really. He admits his cousin was just an excuse.

Tiffany:

He did it because he wanted to.

Jasmine:

He wanted to take them down.

Tiffany:

No. He wanted to live that way.

Tiffany:

Still does.

Meredith:

So why doesn’t he?

Rachel:

So why did he turn everyone in?

Tiffany:

Because if he didn’t, he couldn’t claim to be civilized.

Rachel:

Huh?

Meredith:

So he does claim to be better then the rest.

Tiffany:

I don’t understand it myself.

Tiffany:

Just in that he accepts and understands the consequences of his actions, and they didn’t.

Meredith:

That just makes him sound worse.

Tiffany:

I think he might agree with you.

Rachel:

So he’s not repentant?

Tiffany:

Not really. He admits it wasn’t a good thing to do, but he didn’t sound sorry.

Meredith:

He hurt people. He’s not sorry?

Tiffany:

People aren’t people to him. Even he admits it.

Jasmine:

I think you’re seeing him as you want to see him.

Meredith:

I think you are seeing him as you want to see him.

Tiffany:

Perhaps. But most of this is exactly what he told me.

Rachel:

So, what was it like, talking to him?

Tiffany:

Odd. Surreal. I kept thinking about what it felt like to kiss his body...

Meredith:

You were horny, weren’t you. Just like the old days.

Tiffany:

Yeah, but I’m not sure if that was something he meant, or just something from what I expected and remembered.

Jasmine:

Just like the old days?

Tiffany:

We used to get horny whenever we saw him.

Meredith:

It was something he’d programmed into us.

Rachel:

And it still worked?

Tiffany:

As I said, I’m not sure.

Tiffany:

It may just be that I remember what we used to do together.

Rachel:

I’d think that would mean you were less interested in sex.

Meredith:

He made us enjoy it.

Tiffany:

He made us enjoy it.

Rachel:

Wait, you mean when he brainwashed you?

Tiffany:

Yes.

Tiffany:

It didn’t matter what we were doing, having sex with him was better than anything else, ever.

Tiffany:

In our minds.

Rachel:

And you went back to talk to him?

Meredith:

That’s the part I’m trying to understand.

Tiffany sighs.

Tiffany:

I wanted to know. To see what he had to say for himself.

Meredith:

So what does he say?

Tiffany:

That it was what he wanted to do, and that he knew it was wrong, but he did it anyway.

Jasmine:

No one can think the way you describe him.

Rachel:

People think in odd ways.

Tiffany:

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you.

Meredith:

Are you going to see him again?

Tiffany:

I don’t have plans to.

Tiffany:

Hadn’t really thought about it.

Tiffany:

Anyway, I should go.

Meredith:

Keep us informed.

Rachel:

Goodbye.

Despite talking about it endlessly with Sara and the ‘ex-slaves’ chatgroup, the conversation I’d had with Don wouldn’t leave my head. Understandable, I guess: He’d been my world for two years, and I’d spent most of the time since trying to understand what that had done to my psyche. New input would take time to assimilate; as true with ideas as it is with medicine.

Still, I wanted someone with a better idea of what I was dealing with’s opinion. Luckily, I worked in a hospital.

“Knock knock.”

Sandra, Dr. Sandra Campbell, Phd. (psychology) looked up from her desk. “Tiffany! Come in. What’s up? One of your patient’s giving you problems?”

That’s usually why a doctor visits the staff psychologist. But Sandra was a friend as well, and was occasionally willing to give advice for non-patient problem.

“Not at the moment. I do have a couple of questions for you though, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, though you do know that you should really talk to your therapist about stuff that concerns you.” This was her standard boilerplate, but she meant it. If I asked something that started to deal with anything I should be talking about in therapy, Sandra would clam up: She didn’t want to interfere in someone else’s course of treatment.

“It doesn’t, not directly anyway. I went and visited one of the people I knew during the away period over the weekend.” Not everyone at the hospital knew I’d been a sex slave, and I meant to keep it that way.

Sandra had been told before I’d met her. “If they have any issues that need dealing with, they really should see their therapist.”

“I don’t think he has one.”

“Everyone rescued from...” I saw it register. “’He’?”

I nodded.

“I wasn’t aware any of the guys they caught were in jails near here.”

“He’s not in jail.”

I got a long, hard look. “Shut the door and take a seat.”

No problem. She waited until I had followed instructions. “If he’s from when you were enslaved—and he’s not in jail—either he is in hiding or he’s the guy who turned everyone in. I’m guessing you’d go to the police for the first.”

“Yes, I would. No, this was the guy who turned everyone in.”

“If I remember the file they gave me, he was your ‘owner’, wasn’t he? And you were not able to provide any description of him.”

“Yeah. Apparently that’s worn off, or been canceled. Anyway, I can remember him now. And I found he lives about three hours from here.” Got to love the East Coast. “I decided I wanted to see him and ask... Well, why.”

“Sounds reasonable. So, what did you want to ask me?”

“What is a sociopath?”

There was a moment of careful consideration before she answered. “A sociopath is someone who does not feel empathy for other people, in the short form. They may understand that others have feelings on an intellectual level, but they do not care on an emotional level. Other peoples feelings, wants, and desires will be completely ignored by them.”

“Can a sociopath handle living with other people?”

“Sure. They are often very good at it: They are quite often charming and personable people. Do you think he is a sociopath?”

“He says he is.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. Keeping a harem of slavegirls against their will would be a fairly big hint.”

She had a point there.

“Can they be a good person?” The question slipped out.

It took Sandra a long time to phrase her answer. “I think that would depend on what you mean by ‘good’. A sociopath typically has no problems with lying or cheating to get their way, for instance. But if they wanted to be, sure. It is not a moral designation.”

I sat and pondered for a moment, unable to think what else to say. “Thanks.”

I was pulling back the chair to stand up when she interrupted: “No problem. Be sure to talk to your therapist about this, ok?”

“Sure.”

I won’t recount the conversation I had later that week with my therapist. I’ve already gone over that ground anyway. She basically agreed with me that understanding him was probably a good step, and that I was probably a little obsessed with him at the moment, but that was understandable. Understanding should help clear that up.

You may have noticed a lot of girls in my life. There are: I may be one of the more sane of the ex-slaves, but I still have trouble trusting guys. I’m not skittish around them, but all my really good friends are women. Like all but of a couple of my fellows, I was single and not dating.

Not that I didn’t have admirers. We had, after all, been picked for attractiveness at one point. Don had helped in that as well: instead of beating us and working us so that we aged prematurely, he kept us ‘happy’ and had us on diets and exercise to keep us looking young. I’d tried to keep them both up afterwards, with varying success. But the admirers weren’t friends. Some were people I knew, or even worked with, but if I wanted to hang out, or talk about something it was always another girl I called.

Most of the admirers were harmless: Fellow workers at the hospital who would try obliquely for a date, that sort of thing. The worst group though was at the gym.

Gyms are nice; they allow you access to better equipment than you could afford on your own, and they don’t take up space in your apartment. The disadvantage is that other people are there. Sometimes that’s an advantage, I’ll admit, but if you know what you are doing and have the willpower to keep working out, it’s usually a disadvantage.

Best way to explain is an example. Tuesday night, a couple of weeks after I’d first visited Don is a perfect case.

I worked out in the apartment gym; it was free with the rent, it was convenient, and it was well-stocked. It was also open to all residents, without exception. By the terms of the lease they couldn’t kick you out.

I was using the open space for an aerobics routine. Plenty of space and a good mat were better then my cramped apartment and hardwood floors for this. The apartment amenities didn’t extend to classes, so typically I had the space to myself, although there were almost always people on the machines. I worked out a bit on them as well, but my main workout was the routine I’d learned while in the mansion. One of the other slaves (now an aerobics instructor) had come up with it for us, and it had been easy for me to keep going, though I’d modified it a bit.

I was halfway through when they walked in this night. Past the warm-up, and into the main course of the exercise. At first I ignored them as they gathered around the back wall; a group of college boys home for the summer. I’d seen them around a bit, but hadn’t paid much attention, and I didn’t know their names.

In fact, what brought them to my attention was a just-heard drunk-whisper: “See, I told you it was worth coming down here to watch.”

I tried to ignore it, but it made me self-conscious. The original version of this routine was R-rated: I’d toned it down quite a bit, but it was still more than a little suggestive. Normally I didn’t think twice about it (walking around nude or near for two years cured most of us of any modesty issues we might have had), but knowing that they were intentionally down here just to watch me brought it to the front.

They had positioned themselves behind me, so I could just barely see them. Probably also so they could get a good view.

Now that I was aware of them, I could hear more. Drunk guys don’t giggle, but basically that’s what they were doing from what I could tell: Pointing and giggling. I heard suggestive sounds coming from them, but I decided to cut my routine short before they got to directing them at me.

Which led to another problem: The other reason they probably gathered where they did was because it was right next to the door, and therefore less of a walk. Close enough, in fact, that one guy was leaning against it, keeping it shut.

“Excuse me.” I stood back just far enough to be out of reach, but close enough (hopefully) to make my intentions clear.

“You want something?” Well, there went that hope.

I ignored the leer that came with the statement like I ignored the scent of alcohol that came with it. “You are blocking the door.”

“What’s it to you? Would you like someone to open it for you?”

I swear he thought he was being subtle.

“Perhaps you can make it worth my while?”

Ok, this was getting ridiculous. I wasn’t worried that they’d hurt me: We weren’t even alone, after all. But I’d rather they didn’t get the chance.

He mistook my hesitation for acceptance, and started forward. It was half lunge, half stagger; they were drunker than I’d thought.

I stepped out of the way, let him fall on his face, and let myself quickly out while his buddies were laughing at him.

I hurried back to my apartment. Yeah, it was just a bunch of drunk college boys. Yeah, it was an unusual occurrence. Yeah, I was never really in any real danger. Still I was having flashbacks to the early days of my enslavement, before Don had acquired me.

It took a moment in my own space to dispel the shakes.

What is it about men that when they look at a good-looking woman they think they own her?

That is actually a common discussion on the former-slaves chat-group. We’ve never come up with a good answer.

It occurred to me that I had someone else I could ask.

Don’s phone number was in the file I’d compiled on him, with his address. I hadn’t wanted to face him unprepared, after all. A few seconds found it and he picked up on the second ring.

“Hello, Donald Wooten speaking.”

“Hi Don, it’s Tiffany.” I wondered if that would be enough. There was an eagerness in his greeting that was slightly unsettling.

It was, though he sounded surprised. “Tiffany! I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear from you again. What can I do for you?”

“Were you expecting someone to call?”

“Not really, but there are people in your area code who I enjoy talking to, and from whom a call wouldn’t be unexpected. You are a pleasant surprise instead.”

Transparent flattery, but he was good at it, honestly. “Thank you. Anyway, this is going to sound like an odd question, but I thought you might be able to give an answer.”

“If I can.”

“Why do men think they own any pretty woman they look at?”

There was a pause on the line. “I’d say there are no odd questions, just odd people to ask... I guess I can see why you’d ask me. I am one of the few people in the world who managed to make that thought a reality, after all. Hmm.”

“I’d say that rather we—men in general—don’t really think we ‘own’ every pretty women we look at, but that we expect someone to, and the women herself doesn’t count. This probably goes back to basic biology: Any unmated female is up for grabs, basically. Competition is against other males for the females, and that’s hard-wired in. In a way, we aren’t really saying that we think we own you, but trying to convince you that we already do.”

“And what’s the women’s place in all this? Does she even get a choice?”

“Biology would say maybe: Human society has veered back and forth between societies where she would and ones where she doesn’t. Basically, if she has a chance to successfully resist she has a choice, if she doesn’t then she doesn’t. Current society says she does, but even a hundred years ago her choice was limited. In some parts of the world parents still choose for you, and usually the males are allowed to state their preference while the girls aren’t.”

“And then there was your world.”

“Yes. Where we assumed you did not, and had the power to enforce that.”

“How can that be right? How could any society have survived like that?”

“We went a bit further than that. You weren’t just property, you were replaceable property. We had no obligations, no restraints other than the amount of time and money it would cost in how we treated you. Stable societies never go quite that far: They assume women, or whatever the property class is, has some rights, and the holder has some obligation because of that hold. They are protectors, at the very least, and probably suppliers as well, and the failure of their duties in those areas will result in public censure at the very least. Societies where one gender is little more than a sex object... A few insects and fish have something similar, but nothing more advanced. Nothing that lasts, anyway.”

“So why do men act like that?”

“Because even if it doesn’t last, it’s a workable evolutionary strategy, from the male’s point of view. In a war, or times of crisis, it’s often found on the edges and a few children will be born from it. As long as it works sometimes it’ll stay in the biology. And I doubt any man acts like that all the time. Just when they can get away with it. Either because it will likely work, or because they know nothing will work, so they might as well. The rest of the time they are going to stick to something that has a chance of working.” He paused. “That does assume they are in control of their actions: This is the type of behavior I’d expect from someone who’s drunk, so ‘in control’ doesn’t always apply.”

Lecture over, he finished up. “Anyway, I’m doubting you just asked this question for no reason, so may I ask what brought it up?”

“Oh, I just had a bad experience with a group of drunk college boys who came to watch me work out. That’s all.”

He thought about that a moment. “They must have shaken you up pretty bad, to make you call me. What did they do?”

“Nothing, honestly. Just made a few comments. Nothing more. I just...”

“Yes?”

“It... reminded me of the night I was captured, a bit. And it’s a question we’ve discussed in therapy groups fairly often. Most of the time... It’s easy to just forget and pretend we’ve never had anything but a ‘normal’ life. Just block it out: That’s the quick way back on our feet. But every time some guy makes some comment like that... It always reminds us. All of us. A couple of the girls still can’t walk down the street without a can of mace in her hand.”

“Well, I doubt my explanation will help settle the arguments in your therapy group, but I’m glad if I was able to help ease your nerves a bit. Unfortunately knowing why doesn’t help much with what to do about it really.”

“That’s ok. I more just wanted to see if someone could come up with a good reason for them to act like jerks.”

“I’m not sure that was a ‘good’ reason, but it’s a workable one at least. Which is usually all you can ask for when it comes to people.”

“Well, thanks, and sorry for disturbing you.”

“Think nothing of it. It’s not like I do much these days.”

“What do you do these days?” It wasn’t something I’d managed to turn up in my personal research of him, and I’d wondered.

“These days? I’m mostly retired, actually. I had some decent investments back in the day, and I’ve managed to keep the money. It’s not a fortune, but it is enough that I don’t need to work if I don’t want to and am careful. I can’t really see myself going back to a 9-to-5 job.”

I tried to imagine him in an office, and failed miserably. “Yeah, I can see that would be odd.” Imagining him reporting to someone else as a boss... The mental picture just didn’t work.

“Anyway, I do have a few other things I do, trying to fill the days. I’ve always enjoyed writing, reading, and all that, so I’m giving it a bit of a shot. As a matter of fact, that’s who I thought you might be: my agent. He’s in your neck of the woods, from the area codes. In fact, I’m meeting him on friday, just to go over some stuff.” A pause, as a thought occurred to him. Or at least so I assumed from the sound of his next words. “Since I’ll be in the area anyway, would you like to go out to lunch or coffee or something? Nothing major; I just enjoy having someone to talk too, that’s all. My treat.”

That was probably not a good idea. “Sure. Lunch should work, I think.”

“Great. Where should I meet you?”

Someplace far away from where I work, for preference. “You know St. Mary’s hospital? Just meet me in the front lobby. 12:30 should be fine.”

“Great, see you then. It will be nice to see you again.”

“It will be nice to see you too.” This time my mind agreed with my words. But... Why?

By friday I’d mostly calmed down. I mean, yes, he knew where I worked now. But it wasn’t like that wasn’t public knowledge anyway: if he’d wanted to know before he could have. For that matter my address was listed in the phone book, he could probably look that up.

I still wasn’t entirely sure why I’d agreed to this meeting, but on the other hand I wasn’t exactly sure why I’d called him in the first place. It had just been an impulse. I was looking forward to seeing him again, the reason for which was fairly clear: I was still more than a little obsessed with him. Which come to think of it explained my impulses.

I just... Most people spend their lives never questioning if their impulses are their own. I’d spent two years unable to fight impulses which were not my own. As much as I try to pretend otherwise, that leaves a mark. I’ll never be quite as sure of myself again.

I was looking forward to the meeting, and I was sure this was my own idea. If there had been a question of that, I’d have called it off. Or just not shown up.

I was late; a patient had a bigger issue than expected, and I’d run over. Oh well. Donald didn’t seem to have minded waiting. “Sorry I’m late.”

I probably would have gone on, but he immediately answered. “Not a problem. You are a doctor: patients come first, always.”

I told an errant string of thought in my mind that he was not rebuking me. Patients do come first. That’s why I do what I do. “Thanks for understanding anyway.”

“Think nothing of it. So, is there any place good to eat around here? I assume you have to get back fairly soon.”

“Yeah. Quizno’s is just around the corner, if you don’t mind just something light.”

“Quizno’s sounds great. Lead on.”

I led the way. We walked along for a little way. “So. Why did you want to meet up?”

That seemed to be a hard question. “Mostly, I just enjoyed talking to you the other day. As I said; it’s rare that I get any chance to talk with people who understand that time in my life. You were there, so you have a chance to.”

“Yeah, I was there, but I can’t say I understand what you went through. It’s not like our experiences were similar.”

“No, I guess not.”

I hadn’t meant it that way. “Look, all I mean is that I can try to understand, but from my point of view you had no problems. Unless it was choosing which of us to sleep with that night!”

“That was never a problem.” He laughed. “Whomever caught my eye at the moment was enough. Although I did try to not play favorites.”

“Did you have favorites?” It was an old question, really: We’d debated. Each of us had wanted to be his favorite. We’d argued it, vehemently, in the slave-quarters on occasion.

He took the question seriously, and thought a moment. Long enough for us to arrive at Quizno’s in fact. The discussion got tabled until we got to a table.

“I had girls who I liked at the moment; usually the newest addition, just for novelty. But, honestly, I kept myself focused on what I was there for too much to really form real favorites. Mostly because if I let myself let go of that purpose I’d have a tendency to forget it, and then... Well, I was already flirting with being what I can’t stand.”

Well, if he’d said me I’d have had to wonder if he was just being polite. “So, you tried to keep in mind we were just game-pieces on the board.”

He winced at that. Good for him. “Yeah, basically. I couldn’t get involved, at any level. You weren’t even markers, really. Just tools. And perks. I’ll admit that. I enjoyed having all of you at my beck and call. I’ve already told you I miss it.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“I’ve got nothing to loose, or gain, either way. I might as well.”

“Even you don’t believe that.” I had to call him on that one.

“Ok. I might gain trust by being honest. Maybe a few more talks. But it’s probably just as likely to drive you away, if you hear something you don’t like.”

“I like the truth.”

“Thanks. I... I’ve bounced this stuff around in my head for ages. But it is good to bounce it off someone else.”

The psychologists had gone over and over that with us. Not everyone had wanted to talk. “That I think I understand.” I looked at my half-eaten sandwich, and at the time. “Look. I should get going.”

He stood up, although he hadn’t finished his food either. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me.”

“No problem. Call next time you are in town.”

It was courtesy, to cover a retreat. I had enough to think about for the moment. He seemed to understand, and stayed at the table as I left.

I took my time getting back to the hospital.

Tiffany:

He says he never had any real favorites, by the way.

Meredith:

You went to see him again.

Tiffany:

No. He came to see me. At work. We had lunch: I’d invited him.

Tiffany:

He was in the area, and asked. I said yes.

Meredith:

When was that?

Tiffany:

I... I called him. I wanted his opinion on something.

Rachel:

Are you sure you know what you are getting in to here?

Tiffany:

Yes. I’m just talking to him, nothing more. And I’d wanted to ask him a question: How men could treat women as if they owned them.

Tiffany:

Not just him, but men in general.

Rachel:

He’d be the one to know, I guess...

Meredith:

What brought that up?

Tiffany:

I had an incident in the gym. Nothing major: Just some drunk college boys. I handled it.

Jasmine:

Good for you.

Meredith:

And you immediately called him.

Tiffany:

Not immediately. And I thought we all might like his answer.

Rachel:

Did he have one?

Tiffany:

Yes, he did. A pretty good one, actually.

Tiffany:

Basically, he said it’s because it works as a survival/reproductive strategy. Not all the time, but enough. Men compete with each other for mates, basically.

Meredith:

And women don’t count.

Tiffany:

Not always, not in every society. Which you have to admit is accurate.

Meredith:

So, after this conversation, he asked if he could see you again. And you said yes. And then you asked if he’d had any favorites.

Tiffany:

It didn’t happen just like that. We talked. Other things came up.

Rachel:

Wasn’t he dangerous to talk to? I think I remember one of you saying that.

Tiffany:

Yeah, his specialty was hypnosis, and brainwashing.

Tiffany:

He could, and did, recruit girls on the street on occasion.

Tiffany:

But it was a public place, and people would have noticed if I’d gone missing. And looked at him first.

Rachel:

Just be careful, ok?

Tiffany:

I am being careful. And he can’t afford to try any tricks again: the cops know him now. I’m sure he’s watched.

Meredith:

He’d better be. Watch yourself.

Sara was recently between boyfriends when he called next. Recently enough to not want to be hunting for the next, but past the ‘all men are scum’ stage. (It had been a bad breakup.)

Given her dislike of spending Friday nights alone, standard practice was for one of us to go to the other’s place at times like that. Watch a movie, talk girl-talk. This week it was mine.

We’d just put in our usual fallback movie when my phone rang. Sara turned the TV down, but let it play. It wasn’t as if we hadn’t memorized it by now.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Tiffany? It’s Donald Wooten. You said to call next time I was in the area...”

“Oh, yes. Of course. How are you doing?”

“Not bad. I didn’t really mean to call, but I figured since I was stuck in town for the next couple of days... Meetings; I thought it would just be the day, but it seems it’s going to take a couple. Add a bit of car trouble, and I figured it was best to just stay in town. None of which you care about. Sorry. Anyway, I thought I should return the gesture, and if you are free sometime this weekend. It’s always nice to talk.”

Well, that was certainly coherent.

“What?”

I heard him steady himself. “Sorry. This was probably a bad idea. I just am in town for the weekend, and thought I might try meeting up with you again, if you were interested. As I said, a bad idea, but I found myself at loose ends for the moment.”

Much better. That actually sounded like him.

Ok, it was tempting to meet up again. I’ll admit it. But under the circumstances, it was probably a bad idea. Besides, it was short-notice. “Maybe another time. I’ve got plans for the weekend.”

“No problem. Anytime. Thanks.” And he hung up.

Which really should have been the end of it.

“Who was that?” Sara asked.

“Donald Wooten,” I answered, heading back for my space on the couch. “He’s in town for the weekend, and wanted to say hi. Also, I think he’s a little drunk.”

“Really?” I didn’t like that tone in her voice. “You know, I wouldn’t mind meeting the guy. Just to see him. You’ve talked about him enough.”

“I’m sure we could call him back, if you really wanted to.”

“Sure: Better than watching ‘Pirates’ for the umpteenth time. And the chinese will reheat just fine.”

“Fine.” I picked up the phone, and hit the callback. The hotel receptionist answered. “Donald Wooten’s room please.”

They connected me. “Hello?”

“Hi, Donald. This is Tiffany, calling back. I’ve got a friend who thinks she wants to meet you, and we’re free at the moment. Up to taking two women out to dinner?”

“I think I can manage it. The hotel restaurant good enough for you?”

Given the hotel the receptionist had named, yes it was. Or we could go from there to one of a half-dozen places I knew in the downtown area. “It’ll do as a first plan. I think we can meet you in the lobby in, say forty-five minutes, and we can decide together what’s best. I know the area around that hotel.”

“Sounds like a plan. See you then.”

“See you.” I put the phone down and turned to my friend. “Ok, he’s agreed to meet us in the hotel lobby. We can eat there, or we can find someplace nearby.” I named the hotel, and had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen. “Think you are ready to head in? I told him three-quarters of an hour.”

“Let me clean up a bit.” I figured as much.

It took us fifty minutes to get there. Donald was waiting in a chair in the lobby. Just sitting there, no magazine, newspaper or anything.

He used to do that, every once in a while. He was awake, but he’d be thinking about something, and we were never sure what. Just sitting there, mostly still, and doing nothing obvious.

A couple of the girls had thought it a bit creepy. Which was about as bad a thought as we’d been allowed to have about him at the time. Myself, I hadn’t minded. I could work around him without disturbing him (if I was quiet), and otherwise... Well, it was just another part of him.

He noticed us soon after I spotted him. By the time we reached him, he had risen to his feet.

He put on his best smile. “Hi. Sorry I was confuzzled on the phone: I hadn’t really thought through want I wanted to say when you answered. Glad you came.” He looked over at Sara, and the smile quirked. “I’ll admit I’m re-reading my notes on you, Tiffany. From them, this must be... Sara. Am I right?”

Sara stepped back a pace. “You talked to him about me?”

“I often got the those I um, had care of, to talk about their friends, early on. Built rapport. You were (are?) one of her best friends, and I wanted to know what type of people they looked for in their friends.” The grin went a bit evil. “Trust me, she didn’t really have a choice.”

“I don’t even remember it.” Was my response.

“Well, you were tired, and drugged, and half in a trance at the time...” He held up his hands, in mock-surrender. “Dinner. Public place. Nothing more, I promise. Scout’s Honor.”

“You were never a Boy Scout.” Sara, starting to react to his charm.

“Actually, I was. Came in useful, knowing how to tie knots...”

He got the laugh, from both of us.

“So, where do you want to go? The restaurant here, or do you know someplace nearby? I can’t say I know the town: I’ll put myself in your hands.”

“Here’s fine.” Sara answered, for both of us. It was one of the best restaurants in town, after all.

“Well, then, after you...” He bowed and showed us the way.

“So, there she was, covered in milk, hair all over the place, and she holds out the tray, without looking at it, and says ‘Cookie?’.” Sara roared in laughter. I blushed, remembering the scene. Covered in milk yes, and not much else, and hoping he’d take that cookie and dip it someplace...

“Were there any cookies left on the tray?”

“Not one. What was left of them were on the floor.”

I’m not sure exactly how this became a swap-embarrassing-Tiffany-stories session, but these two had far to many between the two of them for my peace of mind.

So I was relieved when looked at his watch and faked being surprised at the time. “Well, I can’t say why they want meetings on a Saturday, but they do, and I’ll have to be ready for them. Which means I’ll need some sleep, and should call it a night.” He rose, and made graces to Sara. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

After convincing her of that he turned to me. “And thank you, for even considering coming over. I know I wasn’t very convincing on the phone: It was an impulse, remembering you were in town. I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable.”

Hmm. Maybe that glance at me before he checked his watch wasn’t my imagination. “No problem. I had a good time, honestly.”

He bowed, and we said out goodbyes. Sara waited until we were out of the lobby before saying anything. “Well, he’s very charming. I’ll say that.”

“That he is. He should be.”

“What do you mean by that?”

I stopped her. “You do realize being charming, personable, was his stock in trade, right? It was what he did. He was charming, polite, personable, and could charm you right into a cell, and then charm you out of your mind and make you like it.”

“Then why do you talk to him?”

“Because I know what he is! And I know that he won’t try anything. Not with me.”

“And he would with me?”

I searched the heavens for the patience to deal with this. “No. He expects to be watched, at this point. And it wouldn’t meet his ethics. He’s not going to let himself slip.”

“So, what’s your point?”

“Just... Don’t expect that just because he’s polite, charming, and personable that he’s a nice person. Or that he cares.”

“Being charming is just an act to him, right?”

“No. It’s not an act. He wouldn’t be so good at it if it was an act. It’s real. He is that charming, that personable. He... While you are talking to him, he is focused on what you are saying, and is genuinely interested. And when you step away he’ll forget all about you. It’s not that it’s an act, or that he isn’t interested. It’s that he doesn’t care, one way or the other, what the result is.”

She looked at me. “And why do you care what I think of him?”

“I just don’t want you getting the wrong impression, ok?”

“Look, I just wanted to see what he was like. You talk about him enough.”

“So what did you think?”

“That he was charming, personable, and that he knows a lot of good stories about you that you never tell.” She grinned at me.

I shouldn’t have told her he’d called.

Sunday afternoon, the sun is shining, there’s not a cloud in the sky, and it’s a cool summer day, and I’m supposed to stay inside? No way. I put away the medical textbook I was supposed to read though sometime soon, and headed out to the park.

I don’t know any better place to walk, enjoy the day, and just unwind. I used to like the zoo, but... Well, these days, I emphasize with the animals in the cages. In the park, they wander free.

I brought popcorn, for the ducks.

It’s a short stroll to the duck-pond, once I’m off the subway. I managed to make it a long stroll. I was enjoying myself.

My normal seat was taken. “Donald?”

He startled, then turned to my voice. “Tiffany? Hi. I just felt like taking a walk. This looked like a good place.”

I laughed. “It is.” Ok, so there’s one major park in the city, about a block from his hotel... “You didn’t get this out of that book you have on me, did you?”

He looked puzzled. “You lived in Iowa before.”

Um, right. I moved here afterwards, to be near friends, and because I got a job in the city. Sara had offered to help me get back on my feet, since my mom couldn’t fit me with her. Besides, the initial ‘counseling’ had been here, so I just stayed on.

Most of the girls fled; though there were a couple others in town.

“Sorry. Just, your comment on reading back through your notes the other night threw me for a bit.”

“Yeah, I can see that. I wanted to remind your friend what I was, and I wanted to let you know I had been reading them. Mostly I read them because you’d all kinda blurred together in my memories, and I wanted to separate you out again. Also, it helps me remember what happened for the manuscript I’m working on. I kept a bit of a diary, but details on you girls didn’t make it in, usually, beyond names and dates. But I felt you should know.”

“What did make it in?”

“Names, places. Evidence, really. I kept it both to help myself remember why I was doing what I was doing, and as my insurance policy when I left: I didn’t want anyone coming after me.”

“What did you do with it?” I said, moving to take the other half of the bench.

“Gave it to the police. A copy at least.”

“Oh, yeah. I should have realized. And that was your plan the entire time?”

“One of them. The one I considered the most likely, I’ll admit. I had others, but this one was simple, would work, and would get me free of any major legal entanglements, so I wouldn’t have to spend my life hiding. At least, if it went right.”

“Which it did.”

“Yes.”

The ducks liked the popcorn.

I broke the silence. “I had a good time on Friday.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry if we made it uncomfortable for you... You were just the one thing everyone at the table had in common.”

I waved that off, and waited.

“I had a good time too. Thanks for changing your mind.”

“No problem. It was Sara’s idea, but she didn’t have to try too hard, I’ll admit.”

“Well, I’m glad we didn’t fatally embarrass you. And it was nice to not be alone for awhile.”

“You’re often alone, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “The people who know what I did... Are uncomfortable around me. Those who don’t, don’t really know how to deal with me. They make assumptions that just don’t work. And I find I don’t really have a lot in common with most of the people I run into. Add in that I don’t have a full-time job, and my family... is suspicious of me. Or rather, they want to know things I don’t want to tell them. Anyway, I don’t really have much chance to deal with people.”

“Do you get lonely?”

He considered the question. “I’m not sure if I understand the question anymore. I was alone when I owned you: I had to consider everyone I dealt with as a potential enemy. I was alone before that: I was a geek; an outcast, who stuck with his books and his classwork. Lonely... It’s either a constant state for me, or it’s something I just don’t feel anymore.”

I couldn’t think of a reply to that. Time for a topic change. “So... You’re reading your notes on me. Besides just separating me out of the crowd, what brought that on?”

He managed to make a joke. “That’s not enough?”

I replied with a mock-glare. “No.”

He laughed. “Fair enough. I was curious. I wanted to know if there had been anything different about you, that you would talk to me now. If I did something different, or if something had happened... Plus I wanted to remember when we’d met, so I don’t refer to things you don’t remember.”

“So, what did you find out? Was there something different?”

“Nothing much; no more than anyone else. You were one of my first purchases: Girls who were already enslaved when I got them. I was still working out my training program for that situation. You had a lot of surface resistance, enough to put most the of guys off. It had gotten you a reputation as a handful, and there were a few bidders for you, who’d wanted someone they could punish... I thought you’d be a good showpiece: Someone to help cement my reputation in the community.”

“Once I got past that surface resistance, you crumbled. Just fell into your new role, really. Not completely uncommon, but not the normal either. My notes show you as smart, capable, and fairly intelligent, with an interest in medicine and helping people. Once I had you trained to obey me, I made the decision that with your skills and mind you’d make a good aid during training. I worked on re-directing that desire to help towards ‘helping’ girls be slaves. You were fairly good at that.”

I remembered that...

“Other than that... Bright, curious, imaginative. With a fairly good grasp of what was beyond the surface of things. I kept you on a stronger refresher course than usual: I was worried you might realize what had been done and break free, without giving me any signs of it.”

“And all that adds up to?”

He shrugged. “Hard to say. One data point isn’t enough for a pattern. Nothing screams that you’d be the one to end up talking to me again.”

“Who would you have bet would be the one to end up talking to you again?”

“If I’d had to guess... Laura, probably. One of my last captures, and one I’d captured and trained myself. She adapted quickly, and fairly enthusiastically.”

“She was a lesbian.”

“One of the reasons she adapted quickly: I gave her a way out of the closet, and plenty of sexy girls to make out with.”

I laughed: She had enjoyed that. And it had made programming her so much easier.

“But that would have just been a random guess, really. Basically who might have resented it the least, and enjoyed it the most.”

“Probably a decent way to guess.” I wasn’t going to mention that Laura had used her slavery as an excuse to come out to her parents. Blamed it on residual programming.

“How about you?”

“What?”

“Who would you have guessed? And no picking yourself. If you’d been asked on the day I set you all free.”

I hadn’t actually thought about it, myself... Let’s see. “Hmm. If I’d had to guess...” I went through faces, trying to remember what I had thought of them, back then... “Anita. She adored you.”

He obviously didn’t think highly of that. “Of course she did: she’d resented being taken so much, it was the only way I could get past her defenses. Once that was gone... Well, I expect she ran for the hills.”

I tried to recall what’d become of her. Whatever had happened, we hadn’t crossed paths much since. I had no idea where she was now.

I was saved from asking if he’d wanted me to be the one to get back in touch by a dart to the back of the head. “You missed!” Came the call behind me. We both turned, just in time for the next dart to hit Donald in the forehead.

“You might want to watch the civilian casualty rate.” Donald said, holding out the yellow foam dart he’d somehow caught.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there.” It was hard to tell if the intended target of the darts was a college or high school student. My bet would have been college: There was one not far off.

Three darts hit him while he was talking to us. Mostly on the ‘armor’ he was wearing.

“Hey! No fair! I was distracted!”

“All’s fair in love and war.” This voice came from the trees.

“Yeah? Well, then...” He grabbed the dart from Donald, fired, and sped off.

Donald looked at me. “This happen much?”

I had to laugh. “Not usually.”

“Well, nice to know I get treated to a show.” This did not help me stop laughing.

He was laughing as well, just not as hard. “Oh, yes, only the best for our visitors here.”

That got some stronger laughter from him. He shook his head, and looked down: There was another foam dart at our feet. Exactly how or when it’d gotten there, I have no clue. “You know, there are times I miss being the master of all I survey.”

“You wouldn’t have stopped that. You probably would have joined in.”

“If I had the time, yeah. If you can’t take time to enjoy life, what’s point? But I would have made sure you picked up after yourselves, and that you kept it contained.”

“’Contained’. Right. Like you kept those escapades you were relating to Sara contained.”

He pretended to sound offended. “They were. They didn’t affect anyone but my ‘household staff’ and myself.”

I wanted to argue, but he was right. We had kept it contained. But... “You only joined in because it always turned into an orgy.”

“Well, there are some benefits to being an evil brainwashing specialist...”

And we’re back to laughter again.

That’s how the rest of the afternoon went: In laughter.

Rachel:

So, are you still in contact with your old master?

Tiffany:

We’ve talked a few times. He’s got some deal going on, and he’s in town every few weeks.

Meredith:

Just talked?

Tiffany:

Lunch a couple of times.

Rachel:

And?...

Tiffany:

And what?

Meredith:

Just you talk to him a lot for someone you weren’t planning on talking to ever again.

Tiffany:

When did I say that?

Meredith:

Just after you saw him again for the first time.

Jasmine:

If she wants to see him, why can’t she?

Tiffany:

I’m not ‘seeing him’. We’re friends.

Meredith:

Because she was his slave. And he was good at recruiting people.

Meredith:

No one said you were.

Tiffany:

And I wasn’t planning on not talking to him either. As it has turned out, we’ve kept in touch.

Rachel:

So, how’s he doing?

Tiffany:

Decent. He’s lonely, and he doesn’t really have a place where he fits in, but he’s trying.

Meredith:

Now it sounds like you are feeling sorry for him.

Tiffany:

I do, in a way. He gave up everything he wanted, because he thought it was the right thing to do.

Tiffany:

And he ends up lonely and alone for it.

Jasmine:

So you do admire him.

Tiffany:

He did good, in the end. He may have messed a few of us up, and he may have been one of the worst out there, but he stepped back, and he gave those of us he could as much back as he could.

Tiffany:

He may be a monster, but he’s a monster who recognizes that.

Meredith:

Uh-huh.

Meredith:

Well, I’m off for the night.

I left the chat soon after Meredith, just dropping out.

Did they have a point?

I mean, I did admire him, in a way. He was an evil man, who recognized his own evil, and tried to combat it. He had more self-control, just to sit talking to me, than anyone I’ve ever met.

Justifiable, really. He wasn’t a complete monster.

If he had been, I would never have been set free, after all.

I do know he’d never made a move on me. Not one. I respected that. It wouldn’t have been right, but it couldn’t have been easy, being reminded of how you used to own someone, and not even hinting you wanted them back.

It was sometimes hard for me, just remembering what it used to feel like. Not hard, really, just... awkward. We’d be talking about something, how someone used to do something, and I’d remember fucking him while he decided how to handle that same person. Or feeling cheated because he’d had to deal with some issue that’d been brought up, that we were now discussing like equal adults.

I hid it. He didn’t need to see that from me. And it wasn’t part of who we were now, not really. It was more like the shadow of who we used to be.

It took me a long time to get to sleep that night.

“So, how’s Donald doing these days?” Sandra asked the next day at lunch.

“Do I really talk about him that much?”

She did a double-take over the cafeteria tray. “This a sore spot?”

“I’ve just gotten a couple comments recently... Including some last night, that I’m still working through. Nothing major, really.”

“But enough to set you off.”

Well, yeah. I shrugged. “Just thinking about it today.”

She thought about it for a moment. “Well, you do talk about him a fair amount. Not obsessive though. Just... Often.” A beat. “What do you think of him?”

“He’s nice. Charming, gracious, intelligent. He understands how people think, and has thought about how he thinks. It’s a different perspective. I enjoy talking to him. He’s still trying to come to terms with his past life in his own way, and he doesn’t have the benefit of therapy.”

“So are you trying to be his therapist?”

I laughed. “He wouldn’t allow that even if I felt qualified; I’m too recently out of therapy myself.” About three weeks at this point. “No. But it is interesting to watch him think it through. I’m just curious, really.”

“Still think he’s a sociopath?”

“Oh, definitely. And he knows it. Which just makes it more interesting, in it’s own way...”

“So you’re just trying to figure him out.” She said, taking a careful sip from her drink as she finished.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not likely to meet anyone else like him.”

“You have a point there.”

“Anyway, what’s going on with 12-A?”

Donald slid the toy gun into the bush. “What are you doing?”

“If he can’t find it, he’ll go away.”

We were in the park. We often met up there (on purpose, these days) when he was in town. We both enjoyed it, and it was a chance to get out. “Just give it back to them, and ask them to leave us out of their game.”

Apparently a Nerf-gun club had formed at the University, and they staged regular battles. In the park. One of the players had run by our bench, and rolled to avoid some darts. He’d lost his gun in the process. Donald had spotted it before the player had even noticed it was missing.

He thought about it a moment, then reached into the bush and headed over to the group. I didn’t follow.

It seemed to take a bit of arm-waving, and raised voices. Finally I headed over. “Come on, we can find someplace else to talk for a while.” I grabbed Donald’s arm.

I saw something flash across his face, as he turned to me. Not scary, just part of him. He shook himself. “Yeah. We can ignore these idiots.”

Which seemed to be enough.

Silence for a moment.

“Sorry, I just got caught up... They have as much right to use the park as we do, after all.”

“Right. We’ll just have to explore a bit.” I smiled at him, and got the response smile back.

He started to reply, and then decided to check his watch. “Wow. Is it that late already? I need to get back on the road.”

I checked the time as well. Nearly six-thirty. Which, since I knew he intended to head home tonight, was late enough. “Supper first?”

“Something quick, so I can get on the road.” There was a café nearby we’d used before: I led the way.

“When are you going to be in town next?”

He was eating as I asked, and took his time to swallow. “It might be a bit, actually. I think this round of agreements is about wrapped up, so I won’t have the excuse.” He paused, then decided. “I was wondering, actually...”

“Yes?”

“A cousin of mine is getting married in two weeks. I always get fussed over at family gatherings, especially weddings; everyone wants to know where I went for all those years, and they also want to know when I’m going to ‘settle down’.” He looked away. “Like that’s going to happen.” And back. “Anyway, I was wondering if I could talk you into coming with me this time. It’d silence some of the fuss, anyway. I can pay for a hotel room for you, and there isn’t a need to bring a gift or anything.”

“You want me to pretend to be your date?”

“I just want someone to run interference for me once.” He chuckled. “And I thought you might be interested to meet ‘the red-haired girl’.”

He knew the joke at this point: I’d explained to him our nickname for her.

And truth to tell, I was intrigued. “Well, I don’t have any plans. Why not?”

“Thanks.” We spent a few minutes going over addresses, directions, and logistics. “Anyway, I do have to get on the road. Thanks, and see you there.”

“See you.”

The wedding was... A wedding. Beautiful, sentimental in all the right places, the bride glowed, the groom didn’t believe his own luck. Everything a newly wedded couple could ask for.

His family looked at me curiously, but were too polite to say anything, mostly.

I finally caught up with Phoebe, the red-haired girl, at the reception. “Hi. Phoebe, right? I, um, wanted to meet you. I’m Tiffany.”

I recognized that quick glance: check to make sure she was seen, so that she could safely talk to someone new. She’d been hurt more than most. “Hi. You came with Donald, right?”

“Yeah, we are... Old friends, who ran into each other recently. We met while he was ‘away’. I wanted to meet the girl he’d gone after.”

“You knew Donald then? How did you meet him? You’d heard of me? How...?” She ran out of questions she could put into words. Either that or they’d all run into each other, and she couldn’t sort them out at the moment.

“Yeah, I spent some time with him... I was, well, I was a slave. Someone else who he rescued, on the way. We knew he was looking for you, although he wouldn’t talk about it much.”

“So, how did you get here?”

“We ran into each other in the city, recently. Recognized each other from... Back then. Got to talking, that’s about it.” I smiled back at her obvious hunger for information.

At her insistence we took chairs.

“What was he like? He never talks about it.”

I knew he didn’t want her to know what he’d done, exactly how he’d found her. It wasn’t my place to break that. “He was...” I tried to think back. To remember through the blinders I’d had on at the time. “He was charming. In his element, really, playing an elaborate game of cat-and-mouse, where the mouse was just as likely to eat the cat as the other way around. He never let on what he was really up to, always showing what would advance him in the game the most.” I had a question, in return. “One thing I’ve always wondered: What was it like when he found you? What did you do? What did he do?”

I knew I shouldn’t have asked. I’ve seen that haunted look that formed in her eyes way to often, even in my own mirror, to think it was a good idea.

Before I could retract the question, she answered. “I didn’t recognize him at first. I was... Well, I was in brothel. Locked in a room. He came in, and said I should go with him. I didn’t question. He had clothes for me, I put them on. I didn’t really look at him until we drove up to the Embassy... I figured he was a new owner: I’d had a few. It wasn’t until he spoke to the guard at the gate...” This pulled her back together. ““Donald Wooten and Phoebe Sanders. American Citizens. Here to report a crime, and seeking sanctuary.” I hadn’t heard my own name in so long...” She wiped her eyes, and took a deep breath. “He got me sent to some nurse’s office, while he talked to some legal counsel. I don’t know what they said, and I know they left the Embassy for a while, but they were back quickly. We only left it again to head to the airport: A full armored escort. They had a lot of questions for him, and for me, but... After that initial talk, he stayed by my side as much as he could. Was by my side when I said hi to my parents again.”

“That must have been something.” I remembered my homecoming.

“It was. He refused to talk about how he’d found me, where he’d been, or anything. Just said he went to go get me.” She looked at me. It was a question.

“It’s not my place to say. I will say that my meeting him was... Similar.” Except he’d just taken me home with him, and stuck me in a different kind of locked room.

“So you didn’t know him long.”

“Oh, I... Stayed with him, for a few years, after some therapy. Helped him find others, and eventually you. He sent everyone he’d had helping him back to where they came from once he finally found where you were.”

All true, in the strictest sense.

“There were others with you?”

I nodded. “He had a little team. People he’d helped along the way. He broke contact with us, deliberately, I think. Wanted to go back to a normal life.”

“Sounds like he went to a lot of work...”

“He wanted you back. And I’m very glad he did. As are a lot of others.”

“He helped a lot of people, I take it.”

I just nodded.

“What happened to the guy who owned you? When Donald freed you?”

She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer. I wasn’t sure how to answer... “He... Well, the police dealt with him.”

“He’s not dead then?”

“No. I’ve even talked to him. Just to see what he had to say for himself.”

“Oh.” Her eyes sought Donald. “When the police found mine... There was a bullet in his head. I’ve always wondered... Do you think he did it himself?”

That wasn’t what she’d wondered. Did she want the truth?

Donald could have done it. Easily. And been all sweetness and kindness a moment later.

“What do you think?”

She turned to me. There was venom in her eyes. “He could have. To get out of what he really deserved.” Oh. She was one of those.

“Doing that, just to make ourselves feel better, makes us no better than them. Let him go.” It was the answer from the group-therapy sessions.

“You’ve never wanted to punish the man who held you?”

I kept my eyes on her. No matter how they wanted to head to Donald. “I... I had a better ‘owner’ than most, I think. I can’t say I always could look past what he’d done, but... Holding vengeance didn’t help.”

She tilted her head, looking at me oddly. “Some of the girls... They managed to fall in love with the guy who held us prisoner. I could never quite understand them.”

It was a question. “I...” I took a deep breath. “Mine knew what he was doing. He wanted us to fall in love with him, and was good at making us do so.” It wasn’t quite an answer, but it was enough.

“But it was artificial?”

“I realized that when Donald freed me, yes.”

“And how long did it take to get over it?”

I couldn’t help it. I looked at him. “I... Real or not, I felt it. It doesn’t just go away.”

“So, what do you do?”

I turned back to her, and shrugged. “I go on with life. I have a job, I help people: I’m a doctor. Day by day, just like anyone else.”

“You’re lucky.”

Yes. I was.

“Phoebe! There you are! And who is this?”

She knew who I was. She was Phoebe’s mother, and I knew they’d all been talking about me. “Tiffany Lawrence. It is nice to meet you.”

“She knew Donald when he was ‘away.’”

“Really?” She was interested now.

“Yes. We... worked together. As much as anything, I’m here to meet the person who inspired him to... Well, everything he did. Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Phoebe.”

“Same here. We’ll have to talk more sometime.”

“I’ll look forward to that.” I said, honestly.

I paced the hotel room.

Phoebe hadn’t really learned all that much from me during that conversation. But I’d learned something. About myself.

I hadn’t been able to deny I was in love with Donald.

And I knew full well he wasn’t capable of returning that. Not in the fairytale way.

Was this something he’d done? I wouldn’t put it past him.

But if he’d done it, I wouldn’t have been questioning it.

Unless I’d discovered it before he wanted me to?

I’d been ignoring the fact that he still made me wet, even just to think about him. Oh, not wet-and-ready-and-needy that it had used to be, at least, I don’t think so, but my body was interested in him.

And intellectually, well, he fascinated me. I knew what he was. I could see it, on occasion, peaking through. But he hid it so well, and he knew it was there too. I wanted to know how someone could get to where he was: To understand that he didn’t care about people, but to also understand that he had to pretend to care, and do it so well that he would be held up as a caring hero.

I hadn’t wanted to think my heart was interested as well.

But could I trust it? Or was it... Well, what he did so well.

There was only one way to be sure.

I carefully laid myself on the bed. I used to know a lot about hypnosis: Donald had taught me himself. I’d never used it on myself before though.

Trance came slowly, but I knew what it was. I turned myself inward, to look at my mind. To look for compulsions.

I found... Exactly what he’d told me I’d find. I could even ‘see’ it clearly, in my mental eye: A box, locked. Bound in steel bands.

On the side there was a little folder, that had been locked in a side compartment. It held his name, his face, and everything I’d known about him.

Something I’d already opened.

I had to know.

I opened the box. I had the key. It was mine, and mine alone to use.

They were all there. I could see them, feel them as I pulled them out. The desire for him, that overrode everything else. (My attraction hadn’t been but a shadow of it.) The need to serve him. The absolute trust in him, and him alone.

The knowledge that I’d been put on this Earth for a purpose. And that giving him pleasure, making him happy, was it.

There were others. I spread them around me, on my mental playground.

He’d told me the truth. My feelings for him were my own. I was sure of this, now. He had not messed with my head.

The question was what I was going to do about it.

I... I knew what he wanted. He’d told me himself: He missed his mansion, his slavegirls.

He wasn’t interested in a wife.

And I had enjoyed my time serving under him.

A part of me couldn’t believe I was contemplating this. I’d spent so long, working to make sure I was free. That I was my own: A strong, independent, woman. Someone who stands on her own two feet.

Not falls to her knees on command.

But I did love him. And, for him, I was willing. For him, I wanted to. He deserved it, really: he deserved to be happy. He’d helped so many, done so much, it just wasn’t fair for him to be alone, and wanting something he could never again have.

And I had been happy. Happier than I’ve ever been, before or since. Part of that was him, but...

In all the pieces I’d pulled out, there wasn’t any that said ‘be happy you are enslaved.’

He had apparently never needed it. I had apparently never needed it.

I carefully went through, and put back everything that had to go back. I’d been a recruiter, and a trainer. That part of his life was over, I wouldn’t need them anymore.

Then I woke myself up.

“Donald?” I knocked on his door.

‘Master’, I wanted to say. But there were things he needed to say, first.

His room was right next to mine. Since he’d booked them both, and was paying for both. A part of me wished he’d saved the money.

He opened the door. “Yes?” He was obviously ready for bed.

Well, I’d seen him in less. “May I come in? Please?”

“Sure.” He stood aside. “What’s up?”

I took a deep breath. “Promise me I can keep my job.”

“What?”

“Promise me I can keep my job. I’m helping people, and I’ve worked hard to get it.”

“I’m not sure what a promise from me will do, but, sure.”

“And my friends. They are off-limits to you, and I can keep in touch with them.”

“Of course they are off-limits. What are you talking about?”

“And that I can keep in touch with them. Promise.“

“Ok, I promise. Your friends are off-limits, and you can keep them. Now, what is this about?”

I let out the held breath. “And you always keep your word. It is something you pride yourself on.” I knelt. “I... realized I’ve been falling for you. For a long time. Before I found you again, even, I think. These past months... I’ve loved you with my whole heart, my whole mind. You are a good person. Even if you are a monster. And I know you’ll never want a wife, never want an equal. You’ll probably never even understand what I mean when I say ‘I love you’. But I enjoyed my time as your slave. It was the happiest time of my life.” I dared a look in his eyes. “And that was not an instruction you’d given me.”

Eyes back where they belonged. “I belong to you. I found the box you left in my mind. I’ve opened it, and I pulled out everything. If you want me to recruit again... I am unable to stop you. But I don’t think you will. The rest is out. I know what it is to have a purpose again.”

He sat in front of me, lifted my chin. He wanted to see my face. I kept my eyes down. “You are telling me you want to be my slave again?”

“I am your slave. I always have been. I just... Took a vacation for a while, when you sent me away.” It cost to ask of him, again, but... “Please, don’t send me away again.”

“And those promises?”

“I worked hard to become ‘free’. Tiffany Lawrence has a place in the world, and this slave couldn’t give that up. It means a lot to her. She needed to keep those, to know you at least respected what you had made her become by setting her free.”

Oh god. Third person again. It had been ages... And ‘Tiffany’ was something separate. Someone separate.

“But is this what you want? To be my slave?”

The nod was automatic, and emphatic. “Yes. This slave... has only ever wanted one owner. And nothing has matched being owned.“ When would he just accept me?

“Then...”

My heart and my will flowed out in the kiss that followed.