THE SOCK DRAWER
Elle Murphy, hypnotherapist, author, and covert domme, came upstairs to find her husband Louis Wentworth hard at work at the desk in his second-floor study. Characteristically enough, Louis’s desk was piled high with books, some with post-it notes protruding from the pages and others open face-down on the desk. There was a formidable-looking volume entitled MEDIEVAL MAGICIANS AND SPIRITS, an oversized atlas of the United States, and a colorful Young Adult novel entitled CRUSH CONTROL. In his hand, Louis was holding a mass market paperback entitled DEATH IN VENICE AND OTHER STORIES. So rapt was his concentration that he started up with alarm when Elle put her hand on his shoulder. “Shhh, shh, darling,” she said softly. “It’s just me.”
Louis gave her a big smile, combining equal parts of liking, eagerness to please, and flat out desire. “Elle,” he said. “Have you ever seen ‘Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein’?”
“Of course, darling,” she said. One of the many things Louis loved about his wife was the breadth of her interests. She read contemporary fiction, she followed the professional journals—but she also loved horror and sci-fi movies and dopey TV shoes as much as he did. “It’s a foundational hypnosis film, like TRILBY or DRACULA,” she said.
“Yes,” Louis said. “It’s seems a bit far-fetched. “Maybe vampires can hypnotize people with their eyes alone, but I’m not sure humans could do it—at least, when someone resists the way she does.”
“Oh, indeed?” Elle said, raising an eyebrow quizzically. “That almost sounds like a dare.”
“Oh, you could it to me easily,” he said. “If I cooperated.”
“And if you didn’t?” she asked in a rising tone.
“Well, that’s my question,” he said. “How hard would I be to hypnotize? Remember the two boys in MARIO AND THE MAGICIAN?* One was utterly under the hypnotist’s spell—he jumped up whenever the hypnotist asked for a subject and was proud of how completely he went under. The other told the hypnotist he would resist—and he nearly succeeded.”
“I’m not sure I agree with that, Louis,” she said. “He ends up dancing on stage just like the other boy.”
“Yes, I guess so—but Mann says it is a valiant struggle.”
“Valiant but futile,” Elle said. “He’d already given in the minute the volunteered to resist.”
“Well, here’s what I’ve been puzzling over,” he said. “Which of those am I? Frankenstein’s daughter says her will is too strong—then goes under when Dracula looks into her eyes. And she stays hypnotized for the rest of the movie. So I wonder—am I strong-willed? Am I the silly boy who goes under at the twitch of a finger, or the valiant lad who tries so hard?”
Elle smiled. “Are you worried you are weak-willed?”
“I am?” He looked stricken.
“No, darling, of course you’re not,” she said at once. “Think about your mind for a minute—so powerful, so busy, so creative—you are a challenge—a real challenge—to hypnotize. Usually I am lucky but it’s a struggle, I can tell you that!”
“Really?” he seemed relieved.
“Oh, yes—anyone as smart and creative as you are has the inner resources to resist hypnosis whenever he wants. I am just lucky you allow me to put you under most of the time.”
“I’m trying to think of a time when you weren’t able to…. Not sure I can.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “You’re sweet to say so, darling, but I remember my failures—to learn from them—and there are plenty of them.”
“I can resist? I mean—yes, I can resist! But of course I don’t want to. Usually.”
“Yes, darling—let’s prove it, shall we? This will make you feel better. I will try to put you under, you fight me—it’ll be quite a struggle. If you win, I will do the dishes for a week. And if I win—”
“What if you win?”
“Oh, if that should happen—if I win, let’s just say, oh—I know, say you have consented to let me do anything I want with you while you are under.”
“Oh-okay—okay, sure, that’ll…work. Sure, good plan.”
“You sit right here, Louis, that’s it, and I will stand here—so here goes, just like the Dr. Frankenstein scene in ABBOTT AND COSTELLO—look into my eyes and tell me what you see.” Her eyes caught and held Louis’s, and she snapped her fingers by his ear.
After a few minutes, she said, “See, Louis? Nothing! I am very lucky you cooperate with me, because otherwise I couldn’t do a thing.”
He blinked. “Yes—yes! Of course. I’m kind of surprised—it was easy.”
She yawned. Having lost their contest of wills didn’t seem to bother her. “I guess you won some time off from dishwashing,” she said. “I’ll need you to remind me how to do it! I am going to put my feet up for a minute or two, then dress for dinner. What about you, Louis?”
“Um—” he looked over at his messy desk, covered with a week’s worth of scribbled notes, news clippings, marked-up magazines, old maps, books flopped open face-down, and half-drunk Diet Cokes. “You know, I probably should neaten up my desk. It will get me started tomorrow morning.”
“What a wonderful idea, darling,” she said. She walked into the bedroom while Louis sorted the papers, dug out manila file folders and labeled them, reshelved the books, and gathered up the half-full cups of coffee and soft drinks. He carried those to the kitchen and returned with a roll of paper towels and spray cleaner. By the end of the process, his desk was as neat as a bank manager’s, with each of this writing projects contained in a different fclearly labeled older. He smiled, then sauntered into the bedroom where Elle was relaxing with the new issue of VANITY FAIR. “Cate Blanchett,” said the cover line. “LOVE HER AND DESPAIR!”
“What are you up to now, Louis?” Elle asked idly as she flipped through the photo spread.
“I—um—I don’t know,” he said. “I am going to—you know what? I think I ought to clean up my sock drawer—it’s gotten a little jumbled.”
“Really?” Elle said. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Louis pulled the drawer out of the dresser and began to sort through it, sorting the socks on the rug in front of him. There were nearly a dozen odd socks, and almost as many that had sprung holes. There were dress socks he hadn’t worn since leaving New York, and a number of athletic tube socks that had been worn so many times no amount of washing would ever make them anything but dingy grey.
He put the unmatched, torn, and unwearable socks into a paper bag, then neatly stacked the clean pairs back into the drawer. “Marie Kondo says that making balls out of socks ruins their spirits,” he said. “Instead, you’re supposed to pair them up and fold them flat—there!” He looked at the drawer, now only three-quarters full and neat as a pin, with satisfaction. “I suppose we should think about dinner—whoa!” He had turned and caught sight of his wife, who had changed clothes as he was cleaning the drawer, and now was slipping on a pair of Material Girl sandals—cobalt blue suede, with 3″ heels—Louis had bought her a few months ago. The shade MATCHED the dress she had put on—a high-necked blue knee-length Ralph Lauren cocktail sheath, with a ruched skirt gathered at the waist. She had slipped on a pair of sheer stockings—as always, she chose the ones with seams up the back. Now she was at work on her lipstick and eyeliner.
Overall, she looked like a wet dream walking.
“Yes, Louis?” she said, without looking away from the vanity.
“You look fabulous! What’s the occasion?”
“Occasion? No occasion—just a quiet dinner at home with my fella,” she said. She pursed her lips in the mirror to work on her lipstick. He temporarily lost his train of thought. “Speaking of dinner, what have you planned?” she asked.
Louis thought about the flatiron steak, fresh rosemary, bibb lettuce, and couscous he had shopped for. It would be a delicious dinner—but it hardly seemed worthy of the goddess in blue he saw in front of him, and it would be just as good if he cooked it tomorrow. Beyond that, he had won Elle’s services as dishwasher for a week—and for Elle to do actual dishes seemed somehow wrong. Kitchen duties were his.
“Elle, you look so gorgeous tonight I think I’d rather take you to Greene’s than cook—could you bear it?”
“Well, I was looking forward to a quiet night at home—and it’s awful at Greene’s , they have so many good dishes it’s hard to choose one, and those dessert!—on the other hand, if it means so much to you, of course I’ll go. I have to warn you, though, I feel like I could murder a couple of glasses of Bruichladdich Black Art 5.”
It was the most expensive Scotch Greene’s had, but Louis didn’t blink at the prospect of buying his wife as much as she wanted. “Anything your heart desires,” he said. “Let me spruce myself up a bit. Not that I need to worry too much about my outfit, do I?”
“Why ever not?” she said, peering at herself in the mirror as she put on a pair of Mexican silver earrings.
“Because, Elle, I am going to be sitting next to you. No one will even know I’m there.”
She waved a red-nailed hand in the air. “Silly boy.” But she did not seem entirely displeased.
A few hours later, the pair returned from dinner, agreeably full of branzino and French-style green beans. They’d also split a bowl of Greene’s famous Turkish delight and walnut sorbet, Thus they arrived home in a merry and romantic mood. Louis had hung up his coat and was coming up the stairs to the bedroom when he stopped cold as if struck by lightning.
“Elle?” he called out in a tone of surprise to his wife, who’d gone before him into the bedroom.
Her head appeared around the doorframe, and the look she gave him was tender but mischievous, even a bit arch.
“Elle, is there something about tonight I’m not remembering?”
“Actually, yes,” she said. “Look at me, Louis.” She caught his eye and snapped her fingers and—
“Oh, my god,” he said as he recovered his memory of what had happened earlier that evening.
TWO HOURS EARLIER
“—look into my eyes and tell me what you see,” she was saying, when she snapped her fingers next to his ear.
At once his face relaxed, his eyes closed, and his head lolled to one side. She reached out and stroked his head with her hand and said, “All the way down, that’s right, all . . . the . . . way down.”
For the next few minutes she had instructed him as to his duties. His desk was messy. He’d be happier the next day if he straightened it up—and he’d spend less time looking for things and annoying his wife by asking whether she knew where they were—so as soon as he woke he would have a desire to clean the desk. Then there was the matter of his sock drawer, which had become so unruly that odd socks were spilling on the floor. He’d sort that out at once, and doing so would probably take long enough that he’d be unable to cook the dinner he’d planned. Anyway, when he saw the outfit Elle had changed into, he’d have the sudden urge to take her to Greene’s and amuse her over dinner while she drank Bruichladdich Black Art 5. He’d stayed sober to drive them home. And when they got home, he’d—
NOW
“Elle?”
“Yes, darling? Something you want to ask?”
“Did you program me to do anything now?”
“Why do you ask? How do you feel? How does it feel to know that you followed my suggestions to clean your desk, and your sock drawer, and to take me to dinner, without knowing you were my puppet?”
“It feels—it feels . . . it feels incredibly sexy.”
“Yes, Louis,” she said. “It does. That’s because you’re realizing you have no resistance at all to me. None. You’ve given in completely. My will is stronger than your will. My will is your will. My eyes, my breasts, my legs are more powerful than you are. Just looking at me makes you feel obedient and attentive. You are my property. You are like my purse or my hair. And it is sexy to know that I can program you whenever I choose, whether you are awake or asleep, and you will only know if I choose to let you know. It’s sexy because I always know what is best for you. I know how you feel. Right now—your clothes—they seem awfully hot to me—wouldn’t you be more comfortable naked?”
Buttons flew as Louis tore off his shirt, then slid his trousers off,. Soon he stood sweating naked in front of his wife. She, meanwhile, remained fully dressed, cool and comfortable, looking like a magazine fashion spread.
She stretched out a languid hand and pointed to the rug in front of her. “Kneel,” she said.
At once Louis was on his knees. “Look at me, Louis,” she said. “My eyes are like Dracula’s—look into them and tell me what you see—you can’t look away! You are so aroused, knowing that you can’t resist me, aren’t you?”
“Ye-ye.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yes, Elle,” he finally managed to say.
“Would you like to touch yourself, darling?”
“Yes, Elle.”
“You can stroke, Louis, while you look at me and feel even more strongly how submissive you are and how much dominance I have over you—that’s good. Three—four—five. Good! Now stop!”
Louis groaned. “Oh, god, Elle.”
“Maybe later I will let you touch some more,” she said. “For now, though, I want you on your feet. Now! Right now!” She clapped her hands as he rose. “At attention, Louis! That’s right—you’re a soldier! Shoulders back, eyes front—that’s right—at attention. Good, Louis. Now I have a few things to do before bed. I will speak to you later.”
“Stand here like this?” Louis said.
“Yes!” She snapped her fingers. “At attention! And speak when spoken too!”
She passed out of his field of vision. Louis felt awkward and strained as he stood, waiting for new instructions. He wondered how long he’d be able to stand like this—surely not long. But then, strangely, he began to relax into the attention pose; his muscles felt right, as if this were the most natural position in the world, as if it were the one he felt most comfortable in, as if he could stand there as long as Elle wanted him to—and of course he could because he would do whatever Elle told him to do, whether he remembered her telling him or not, as he didn’t remember her telling him to neaten his desk or clean his sock drawer, and he remembered how relaxed he had felt when following those suggestions—he’d had no distracting thoughts. It was just what he was doing—it was what he was doing next—he had felt peaceful and quite as if he were in a dream, as if he were underwater, his eyes unless he had sunk under the sea, down, down, down into the darkness….
A few hours later, dawn found its way into the East Hills, and its first rays picked out the sight of Louis Wentworth sleeping at attention, his eyes closed and head lolling to one side. Nearby, Elle, tucked into her silk sheets, blinked awake and stretched luxuriously.
At the foot of the bed she saw Louis. She could not suppress a smile. “Louis, darling, what in the world are you doing?”
He slowly woke and found himself at attention. “Was I—was I here all night?”
“It appears so, Louis—remember we agreed that if you lost our little contest I could do whatever I wanted with you?”
“Well—ye-es, I guess so—but you made me stand her like this all night?”
“Oh, darling, I didn’t make you do anything. I made a suggestion—and you know my suggestions always make you feel so good—how do you feel?”
Louis explored his muscles and was surprised to find himself feeling good—not strained or tired, but simply comfortable, as if this was the position he had been born to hold for hours or days.
That thought was, all of a sudden, incredibly sexy. It was even sexier when his wife raised a hand and beckoned him to her with a finger. “Kneel, little man,” she said. And so he did, walking across the room on this knees.
She was standing by the bed, shaking out her hair, and she slipped off the silk pajamas she had slept in. “Do you remember our nice dinner, Louis?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, looking up at her.
“Did you like the dessert?”
“That walnut sorbet—yes, it was delicious.”
“You’re going to have some more,” she said. “Look—you can taste it!” She reclined naked on the bed. She grasped his head firmly and guided it between her legs. “So yummy—YES! That’s where it is, no hurry—yes, Louis, right there, it’s so good—so good—SO …. GOOD!”
Louis had four helpings of walnut sorbet before breakfast that morning. Afterwards, Elle had business in town, so she left him with a kiss and a wish for him to have a good day.
She was fairly confident he would; she had talked to him the night before while he stood motionless on sentry duty. He would probably clean up the kitchen, make the bed, carefully hang up the clothes Elle had tossed aside last night and this morning, and then settle down to a productive writing session. At midday he’d eat a snack and kill time by doing a little online shopping. (Elle needed jewelry to set off the blue dress he had liked the night before.) After that he would realize his closet could use some work, and neaten it up. Not until he was done would he connect that impulse to what had happened with the sock drawer; when he realized Elle had been pulling his strings all day, he would suddenly feel tired and sleep. He was going to undress, get into bed, and into a deep, deep sleep.
Soon after, Elle would arrive, having stopped by the public library to pick up the new Philip Pullman novel. As it happened, the library was quite close to the shopping mall, and so Elle might have some bags as well as the book. When she found Louis in his slumbers, she would—not to put too fine a point on it—eat him alive.
Perhaps several times.
Louis was not the only one who liked extra helpings of dessert.