The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tambourine

“Franklin, enough. This is absurd.”

Franklin glared at Lydia, his ice queen’s arms crossed defiantly. The evening’s discussion had hit a snag, the two once again locked in a bickering match. Her obstinance was yet again standing in his way of undoing that tightly-wound bun of hers. She arose from the living room sofa and stretched, making her way towards the stairs.

“Look, Lydia, if you think hypnosis is as outdated as trepanation, then it would behoove you to simply allow me to demonstrate that to you for certain. Don’t you think?”

“Franklin, I don’t let other doctors prove to me that my sanguinous humor is out of balance by allowing them to drain my blood. I rely on the centuries-old medical corpora that show empirically that such a procedure is pseudoscientific. Why would I allow you to do a silly thing like hypnotize me?”

“I would affix leeches to you, but they’d starve,” Franklin spat, eyeing his wife’s natural severe pallor. Lydia narrowed her eyes.

“Very coercive. Goodnight, Franklin,” she said brusquely, turning on her heel and climbing the stairs.

“Lydia, wait. Please, I’m sorry,” Franklin said, heading after her. “Just give me one shot. If you insist on clinging unyieldingly to the scientific method, then at least allow me to adhere to it with a simple experiment. If it truly does nothing for you, then consider me beaten. I will never mention it in your company again.”

“Wow, tempting. You really are desperate, aren’t you?” Lydia asked with her usual brand of smug monotone. She turned around slowly, heading back into the living room. The certainty of being right and a chance to gloat? Priceless. “Fine. I’ll give you and your puerile little watch one genuine humoring, nothing more.”

“Excellent! Ahem. I mean...very well,” Franklin muttered, trying to conceal his excitement. Lydia raised her brows.

“If only I could decipher your intense fixation on such a ridiculous practice,” she said, setting herself back down onto the couch. “A distinguished doctor in the current year, espousing Mesmer. It’s ridiculous. So, what next? You’ll wave your little pocket watch at me, magically sending me spiraling into a state in which I’d follow your every command?”

“Well, something like that. The human mind, as you well know, operates under no such magic. Hypnosis is simply a tool used for exploration, like any other in the therapist’s arsenal. Your intense bad faith skepticism towards it is frankly rather surprising for someone so thoroughly educated in the realm of human behavior.”

“You know I don’t entertain past lives, false memories, or any other New Age ilk, Franklin,” Lydia replied matter-of-factly, reclining horizontally on the sofa. At the very least she should be comfortable if she was going to waste her time.

“The scope of proper hypnosis invokes no such thing, my dear,” Franklin said. “One of the more popular misconceptions. It’s simply an exercise in intense focus and relaxation, which results in a high degree of responsiveness and suggestibility in subjects. Its use as a tool in the therapeutic setting is not to be underestimated. In fact, I think you may be quite surprised as to what can result from a hypnotic induction.”

“If you say so, Doctor,” Lydia sighed, tongue firmly in cheek. “I will eat my hat if you can manage such a feat by simply making me stare at a flimsy, undulating pocket watch.”

“Then I should only hope you like pork pie,” Franklin said with a smirk. That rapier wit again. “Besides, Lydia, it doesn’t matter where you look. Watching the watch is only a secondary exercise in concentration. You don’t really think that any technique I’d utilize could be reduced to a mere cruise show trinket, do you?”

“Well, knowing you’re a Freudian, I don’t think you’d really want to hear my answer to that,” she said with a self-satisfied smile. Franklin’s ears twitched. Lydia was nothing if not a seasoned burster of bubbles. No matter; he’d make her pay for it. He detached the pocket watch from his tweed waistcoat and poised it above his wife’s head, just enough so to induce a measurable amount of eye strain.

“Oh, boy. I suppose I should be becoming veeeerry sleepy now?” Lydia said with a small chortle. She did have to admit that the watch itself was quite eye-catching; it had a glossy gold plating with intricate engraved designs that caught light in an enticing enough manner. If Franklin was going to go Svengali, of course he was going to go all-out.

“Maybe,” Franklin said, taking a seat on the coffee table adjacent to the couch and subtly swinging the watch. He lowered his voice, inconspicuously switching to his deeper register. “But maybe not. Sleep is not always a prerequisite to the hypnotic state, my dear Lydia, contrary to the etymology of the term. Some even refer to it as purposeful exploitation of the placebo effect—which, as you know, is widely-recognized, clinically observed...and very, very real.”

Silly as she felt watching the watch, Lydia really had set out to indulge her husband’s whims. Surely even the most absurd ideas deserved their days in the court of science. Her dark eyes amusedly but dutifully followed the pendulous watch as it swung lazily from side to side, glinting in the dim, orange light of the tableside lamp.

“You’re doing very well, darling. Though your eyes may wander away from the watch, just remember that that’s normal. You will find that they always eventually come to rest on it, swinging back and forth. Back and forth. And the more you gaze into the watch as it swings back and forth...back and forth...baaack...and forth...the more you feel the tension in your muscles easing. You feel yourself taking full, slow breaths, releasing more and more tension with each exhale. In...and out. In...and out.”

Lydia began to feel a small pit of nervousness blooming in her gut listening to Franklin’s verbal meander. Loath as she was to admit it, perhaps his mesmer-babble might’ve contained a small kernel of truth. After all, the placebo effect was indeed formidable, a key feature of human consciousness. And so maybe if he told her enough times with enough conviction that she was feeling more relaxed, then she might indeed feel more relaxed. But his loftier claims still remained questionable. She could simply tell herself to relax, for one. And how could one expect to make radical behavioral changes with mere placebo? Even if he had somehow lulled her into what could be considered a “trance”, he still wouldn’t be able to make her do anything of note, let alone anything out of character...right? Her brows furrowed as her husband continued.

“Hypnosis is no black box shrouded in mystery, Lydia,” Franklin said, reading his wife’s resistant body language. “It’s a perfectly normal state of mind, brought about by intense concentration. Just like you’re doing now, concentrating on the watch as it swings back and forth. We as humans enter trancelike states all the time, there is nothing wrong with it. Finding yourself enthralled by a good book or film, or even an enchanting daydream, induces a similar state of altered consciousness and focus. Simply allow yourself to relax completely and relish the feeling of utter rest and relaxation, feeling your body sinking, becoming heavier and more tired, limp and relaxed. Feeling the stress of the day release as you breathe in and out. That’s right, relaxing completely, feeling your eyes growing weary.”

Lydia suddenly felt her eyelids flutter involuntarily, a sensation that made her heart skip a beat. It was late after all, and she’d had a full glass of wine with dessert. Of course she’d be fighting sleep lying on the couch with the lights dimmed, Franklin droning on in that deep, velveteen voice he loved to show off. She did have to admit that she found it one of his most attractive features. Really, come to think of it, maybe now wasn’t the best time to try and prove her husband wrong on account of his charlatan mesmerism. Because despite her low-grade anxiety about this exercise, she had felt markedly more relaxed and sleepy over its course. It couldn’t possibly be that it was simply because Franklin was telling her to be, it had to have been incidental. Correlation did not imply causation.

“Nota bene that just because I am tired to begin with does not mean I am being entwined with your hypnotic binds,” Lydia murmured, her voice lacking its usual edge—more subdued and tranquil than she perhaps intended. Franklin smirked.

“Of course, my dew-flecked rose. As I’ve said, a hypnotic induction is different from simply falling asleep. There is much overlap, many of the same brain waves and such. But it’s so very different, it focuses far more on relaxing only the conscious mind, leaving parts of the ego and id open to—”

“Ah, and here comes Freud, here to have sex with my father. That’s alright, I’ll do it myself,” Lydia interrupted. There it was. Franklin rolled his eyes. Even as she was clearly following his lead, she had to lob her typical barbs. He bit his tongue. Now she had to pay.

“Fine, alright,” he said, maintaining his calm, measured cadence. “Call it the subconscious, the unconscious mind, whatever you like. All just semantics. What’s important is that this technique eases you into an open state of suggestibility, your mind willing and ready to absorb instruction.

“Now...it’s okay to relax, Lydia. I want you to relax your body and mind, exhaling both your tensions and your reservations. In...and out. In...and out. That’s good, just like so. You may find that keeping your eyelids open in such a state is becoming more and more difficult the longer you resist the urge to close them. You might not feel that way at all, of course, you may even want to keep them open. But I’m sure they feel tired and worn out after such a long day’s work, and keeping them focused on the watch would become harder and harder, such a strenuous task, eyelids becoming heavier and heavier the longer you keep them open. Heavier and heavier, more and more relaxed. Thus, it may just be that you find it more comfortable to close your eyes. Your thoughts, good, bad, neutral, all flow through you, none of them sticking around for long, like mere passerby in your mind. And so, you may find that the longer you gaze at the watch, the more fatigued your eyes become, the harder it is to focus on those thoughts as they pass. They may slow to a trickle, perhaps even ceasing completely.”

Lydia felt her eyes almost vibrate in strain as she refocused on the watch. She felt her eyelids sticking, blinks becoming longer and longer, her thoughts and mental dissents quieting. She felt a faint incredulity and disappointment about the growing potential that Franklin was right and she was wrong—a world gone mad. The more her eyes locked onto his watch, the more she resisted this suggested sleep, the more it nagged at her. And the more it nagged at her, the more she wanted nothing but to relax and embrace the slumber that so temptingly beckoned her. And he was simply making gentle suggestions, not even very assertive in their construction. Worst of all, she was...following them. For no good, explicable reason. Lydia sighed, feeling her enervated body sinking further into the couch cushions. Her eyes almost tugged closed right then.

Even if she did still want to put a stop to the exercise, or lob another bon mot at her husband, her body was becoming relaxed to such a degree that it was all beginning to feel like too much effort. Of course, Franklin duly noted this, admiring his wife’s strong, typically well-postured figure in a rare state of languid torpor.

“You may find a feeling of even deeper heaviness rising through your body now, from your feet and legs up through your...torso,” Franklin said, eyes trailing up Lydia’s legs to her slender waist, cinched in a billowy silk blouse. “Through your shoulders and arms, your neck and your beautiful face, all so very heavy and relaxed now. Heavy and relaxed. And you may find your eyes, filled with strain, are becoming increasingly heavy as well, so difficult to keep open. And the heavier your eyelids feel, the more drowsy you feel, becoming sleepier and sleepier the more you force them open. It would be so nice to simply allow your eyes to close, focusing only on my voice.”

Franklin watched Lydia, admiring her in her state of struggle. Usually, his patients were more willing to oblige the exercise and embrace the induced trance state to begin with, but Lydia clearly went into this trying to prove him wrong on some level. It made it ever so much more worthwhile then, to watch her eyelids flutter, her eyes rolling back fully. As he’d suspected, despite the skepticism she’d shown, she was making an excellent hypnotic subject. Another spot in the psychological journal would soon be his.

“There’s no need to force your eyes open, my dear. If they are heavy and strained, so hard to keep open, getting heavier with each deep, relaxing breath, then simply allow them to close and listen to the sound of my voice, feeling yourself slipping deeper and deeper into a warm, comfortable, drowsy bliss. That’s right, eyelids so heavy, closing by themselves...closing...deeper and deeper.”

Lydia’s eyes finally flickered closed, her claret lips slackened. Franklin grinned, setting the watch down.

“You are now comfortably relaxed and asleep. You will remain asleep until I tell you otherwise, and your body will feel so heavy and relaxed that you will not want to move. It feels good to listen to my words, Lydia, and it feels good to follow my directions. In fact, each time I take you deep into this sleep, you will go deeper and deeper, becoming more and more pliable to what I say. Your subconscious is absorbing and responding to my instructions, while your active, conscious mind is becoming vacant, taking a much-deserved rest. Envisioning the watch in your head, I want you to take deep breaths, in...and out. Each breath takes you deeper into your sound, relaxing sleep, deeper and deeper. Deeply asleep. And as you envision this watch, in all of its sparkling charm, you find that it calms you, centers you. It allows you to heed my commands. You feel the rest of the world simply melt away, the couch beneath you but a comfortable yet faraway sensation. You feel your limbs are so heavy, so very heavy and tired, that you cannot move them, not even if you wanted to. Not even if I were to tell you to. Pick up your arm for me, Lydia.”

Faintly aware of the words spoken to her, Lydia stirred a bit. Well, that was a simple enough task. Lifting her arm wasn’t a particularly offensive instruction. Why shouldn’t she do it? Of course, she wasn’t hypnotized, but she would do it even if she wasn’t hypnotized, which proved that she wasn’t hypnotized. Right. She moved her arm as she was told, hanging it in the air.

“Open your eyes for me.”

Lydia slowly opened her eyes, fixed on where she thought her arm would be. She could have sworn she’d raised it in the air like Franklin had asked her to; instead, it was seemingly affixed to the couch cushion. In fact, she couldn’t lift her arm up at all, no matter how her muscles tugged. Normally, she’d panic at such a revelation, but she felt so relaxed and dazed that it seemed like only a minor inconvenience that her arm was glued to the couch cushion. She did remember wanting to prove Franklin wrong, but now any ideas on disproving his crackpot theories seemed so far away, so insignificant. As they came to her mind, they vanished just as quickly. Obviously, they must not have been very important. More importantly, Lydia could not remember the last time she had allowed herself to relax to this degree, and whatever this feeling was, it sure felt nice and soothing. Without thinking, her mauve eyelids slipped closed again, to Franklin’s amusement. An astounding subject, indeed.

“Wonderful, darling. Deeper and deeper down, more and more relaxed and blank. You may find that the more relaxed you become, the fewer thoughts pass. And eventually, you may even find that your conscious thoughts cease altogether. What are you thinking of now, dear?”

“Far away,” she breathed. “Can’t think.”

“Lydia,” Franklin said, trying to avoid letting his smile come through in his speech. “Do you...care for this sensation?”

“Ohhh yes. Soothing,” Lydia said, her voice dreamy and sedate. She took a long, deep breath. “I...er...sorry, what was I saying?”

Franklin had never, in three years of marriage, heard her talk quite this way before. Juxtaposed with her usual articulate, barbed dialog and commanding voice, he was finding himself rather attracted to this side of Lydia indeed. He’d feared that she was simply humoring him and consciously going along this entire time, but judging by her vehement rejection of hypnosis to begin with, Franklin was beginning to think that maybe he had actually accomplished something.

“Are you comfortable, Lydia?”

“Could do without my hairpin,” she replied.

“Alright, then. You’ll find that your limbs feel light and easily mobile now, but still relaxed and loose. Sit up for me, please.”

Lydia complied, slowly rousing from her supine position into one seated upright, her lithe body sinking into the upholstery. To Franklin’s amazement, she sat silently awaiting his instruction, eyes still closed.

“Why don’t you let that hair of yours down?” Wordlessly, Lydia obeyed, unpinning her tight bun and shaking loose her thick, jet black ringlets, letting them fall carelessly around her face. She exhaled in comfort.

“You look gorgeous, you know,” Franklin said in a low voice, finding it difficult now to conceal the level of lust bubbling inside him. Always a sucker for his wife with her hair down, he took the pin away from her and spent a moment ogling.

“Thank you, Franklin,” she said softly, her lax, parted lips barely moving. Franklin blinked in surprise—Lydia typically rebuffed compliments of her appearance, despite her obvious beauty. “That feels much better.”

“Lydia...your blouse is a bit warm, isn’t it?”

“Hm. Not very.”

“It’s rather warm in here to begin with, I think. Doesn’t that blouse feel like it’s becoming so warm and constrictive?” Franklin asked. It was time to have a little fun.

“I...suppose.”

“What if I were to tell you that every time I said the word ‘tambourine’, you became so warm that you felt the instant and insatiable need to remove your shirt? Could you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

Wow. Okay.

“Alright, then. When I snap my fingers, you will awaken from your trance, remembering our induction but unaware that it worked. However, when I snap my fingers again, you will fall back into the same deep, relaxed sleep that you are in now. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“And...awaken!” Franklin said, snapping his fingers. He wondered whether she would retain the session, as he gave no particular amnestic instruction.

Lydia’s eyes blinked open as she tried to regain her bearings. She definitely recalled having a hard time keeping her eyes open during that induction, but no such mystical magnetism as promised. As she thought, she must have just fallen asleep.

“Well, Franklin, I don’t think you succeeded, but your dull litany seemed to have done the trick putting me to sleep,” she said with a simper. She once again stood up and stretched.

“Very well, my love,” Franklin replied with a grin, rising in tandem with Lydia. “Surely you wouldn’t want a loud tambourine disturbing your rest.”

“A...tambourine?” Lydia asked, brow quirked in confusion. Unbeknownst to her, her hands were working deftly to unbutton and untuck her blouse. “Have we left a window open? I feel a draft in here.”

Franklin couldn’t help but snicker at his wife obliviously stripping in front of him. She could certainly turn up her sex appeal when she wanted, but she typically wasn’t so blatantly lacking in inhibition, even with he.

“Is something funny?” Lydia asked, hands on her hips.

“Just...look down,” Franklin answered, putting a fist to his mouth in an attempt to suppress his laughter. Lydia glanced down to see her salmon-colored blouse clearly and entirely unbuttoned, lacy red bra standing out against her ghost-white skin. Immediately she looked back up at Franklin, glaring at him.

“What did you do to me?” she snapped, holding her shirt closed.

“Why, whatever do you mean, dear?” Franklin asked innocently, looking at the ceiling. “I didn’t do anything, remember? Hypnosis simply doesn’t work. It’s actually not even real, you said so yourse—”

“You know what I mean,” Lydia growled, stepping closer to Franklin and pointing a finger into his chest. “You...did you tell me to do this?”

“Lydia, a woman as smart as you knows what you’d be admitting right about now, correct?” he asked with more than a pinch of smug. Lydia balked and her countenance shifted from incredulous to defeated, her lower lip locked in a pout that Franklin had to admit was very cute.

“Fine! Fine, your little experiment worked on me, alright?” she said dolefully, plopping herself back down on the couch. “I, I was…”

“Say it,” Franklin demanded sternly, arms crossed. Lydia flinched.

“...I was wrong,” she said with great hesitation.

“And?”

“You were right. Hypnosis is...ugh. Real,” she sighed.

“And?”

“...And?”

“And you are so easily hypnotized!” Franklin exclaimed, brimming with glee.

“Am not!” Lydia whined back. She cleared her throat. “I’m...sure it took a while.”

“Out for the count in under five. I timed you. With my watch. Remember it?”

“Oh, just shut up, Franklin,” she grumbled, head in her hands.

“I’m sorry, dear. I don’t mean to bloviate. It’s just, I knew you’d be a good candidate. And you were. I just had to prove it to you.” Franklin sat himself back down on the couch next to his wife, wrapping his arm around her. “You know, hypnotized subjects only do things within their realm of acceptability in active consciousness. The trance and suggestion simply provides the push they need.”

“No, no,” Lydia moaned, shaking her head at vague memories of the experience seeping back. She began to realize that he could’ve easily made her forget those, too. And she didn’t quite know how to feel about that. “I couldn’t really think. I had some idea of what I was doing, but it all made so much sense when you were saying it. Too much sense. Everything was rationalized. I didn’t know what I was going to do next, I just wanted to do what you were telling me to do. I think.” Franklin nodded. Maybe he’d underestimated just how excellent of a subject she was. There did exist a rare few...

“Congratulations, Doctor Stern,” Franklin said dryly. “After two postgraduate degrees and almost a decade of psychiatric research, you’ve finally discovered the simple power of suggestion.” Lydia slowly looked up again, her tired gaze meeting Franklin’s from behind waves of dark hair.

“The worst part of it all is,” she started despondently, nervously biting her lip and trailing off. “I think I may have kind of...enjoyed it.”

Franklin could’ve laughed. What a great irony it was to have a wife so skeptical of his abilities so suddenly transformed by them.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it was just all so relaxing. I don’t remember the last time I felt that way. Eminently comfortable and not a care in the world. It was...dare I say tantalizing.”

“Well, very well, then. You know, it’s possible to have all sorts of fun with hypnosis.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Like your blouse, for instance,” he said, gesturing to her still-unbuttoned blouse. “You never fixed it, for one. I could command you to strip down to the studs for me, and you’d do it all without so much as a blink.”

“That’s what gives me the willies,” she said with a shudder. “I know you’re right. I hate that you’re right. I’ve no idea why I’m so susceptible to such mind games.”

“Why, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Franklin said in earnest. “It’s not like you’d ever do something reprehensible. And most highly hypnotizable subjects are not those who are weak-willed. On the contrary, they are usually intelligent, competent, imaginative people.” He cupped Lydia’s cheek at this remark, and she gave him a small smile. “By the very nature of the phenomenon, they’re the ones who respond best to the technique. And of course, your eyes roll all the way back.”

“What?” Lydia asked, her tone flattening.

“Well, er,” Franklin stammered. “One of the empirical observations for hypnotizability is the degree to which the eyes roll back into the head. And, uh. You were all sclera, baby.” Lydia groaned again.

“Franklin, please. A few more of these sessions and you’re going to make me a Soviet sleeper agent because I’m the perfect little brainwashing specimen?”

“Come on, that’s not even possible. You wouldn’t even make for a very good spy. Don’t worry about it.”

“I wish I could stop worrying.”

“Would you like my help with that?” Franklin asked. Lydia hesitated. Could the only way to curb her newfound fear be to confront it? A form of exposure therapy just might work.

“Well, if you think you can. I don’t know how easy it is to replicate a trance state like that.”

“Simple as this,” Franklin said, producing a resonant snap of his fingers. Immediately Lydia’s eyes rolled back again and she went limp, her body melting against the sofa.

“Very good, deeply asleep, letting your whole body relax. Whooole body...” Franklin marveled at Lydia’s sheer suggestibility, watching her muscles slacken in real time. “If you are scared of being in this state, I’d like to allay your fears. You can trust me to be your caretaker and guide. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Only I may tell you what to do in this state. What you do or say in this state is between us, with no judgement. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then get up and start strippin’, honey!”

With sudden aplomb, Lydia’s eyes flew open and she arose from her seat, shaking her curly tresses about. She met Franklin’s gaze intensely, poised her shoulders back, and allowed her silk blouse to slide down her arms onto the floor, his eyes widening in amazement. She began swaying and rolling her hips expertly inches from his face, his hands reflexively reaching up to cradle her behind.

“Lydia...sweet, supple Lydia…” Franklin mumbled, nearly losing his train of thought as his hands roamed his favorite territory. Where the hell has this Lydia been? “When...when I say the word ‘tractor’, you will find the intense desire to doff your skirt. My command of ‘brie’ will compel you to doff your shoes. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.” He didn’t see that word getting old anytime soon.

“Your own thoughts are becoming more and more subdued, all you can do is follow my direction. As your mind quiets down, relaxing into a soft haze, you find that everything seems so big, so complicated to your pretty, girlish little mind. All you want and know now is to please me, and feel sexy doing it. Sexy and aroused.” Lydia smiled wanly.

“Aye aye, cap’n,” she giggled, idly twirling her hair as Franklin’s strong hands toured her curves. A giggle? From Antarctica personified? God was smiling upon him today.

“Tractor,” Franklin rumbled lustfully, unwilling to even conjure a sentence for context at this point. He wanted her naked, and he wanted it now. True to form, Lydia unzipped her skirt and allowed it to slip off her hips and onto the floor.

“Oh, no, did I do it good?” Lydia asked in uncharacteristic confusion, looking down at her legs. Though she was barely any taller than five-three, her strong, shapely legs immediately commanded Franklin’s attention.

“Boy, did you,” Franklin said, hooking his thumbs around the elastic band of Lydia’s cherry-red panties. No, an ounce of discipline should remain—at least for now. He brought her closer, leaning his face into her soft, bare stomach. “Come here, my pet.”

“Okay,” Lydia said with a smile, wrapping her arms around Franklin and sitting on his lap, facing him. She began kissing him and grinding lightly against his groin, much to his surprise.

“Ah, ah, Lydia,” Franklin gasped, unprepared for such heat from her so soon. “L-Lydia...quick question.”

“Mm?” she asked, nuzzling his neck.

Lydia always excelled more than he in all matters of hard science, and could rattle off chemical mechanisms of action like most could the alphabet. She would never turn down an opportunity to explain how Prozac worked to even the grocery store clerk. This Lydia, though…he just had to hear it.

“Remind me again of the mechanism behind the selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor?” Franklin asked. Lydia pulled back, looking at her husband in bemusement.

“Select...huh?” Franklin beamed and began trailing kisses up Lydia’s arm. She moaned involuntarily, eyes closing. “I’ve heard that one before. I think it’s….I believe...mmmm...I beliieeeve that’s kinda nice,” she murmured, giggling in pleasure. “I dunno. Those words were really big. What’dja say again?”

“Good girl,” Franklin purred, kissing his way to her neck. She shivered. “What say you of brie?”

“Mmm. The best cheese,” she giggled again, reaching behind her to clumsily knock her heels off. Much better. Their lips reacquainted and Franklin’s strong hands trailed from Lydia’s bum down her bent legs, grasping her feet and kneading them. She moaned with an abandon so rare, he could not remember the last time he’d heard it—if ever.

Lust was utterly coursing through his veins by this point, and judging by the slight dampness he felt on his slacks, the lovely creature snuggling him was not far behind. He enjoyed the pleasure of unhooking Lydia’s lacy bra himself, casting it aside and grasping her petite but shapely bosom. The sounds she made were driving him so insane that he nearly ripped off her remaining underwear right then and there, but he exhibited some (quickly dwindling) restraint.

“To the bed?” he asked, breathless.

“Oh, please,” she breathed, wrapping her arms around Franklin’s neck. He wrapped his arms around her and stood, carrying her up the stairs. Normally, she was loath to even have her chair pulled out for her; carrying was for special occasions. And this was as good a time as any.

Into their room they went, Franklin carefully seating Lydia onto the edge of the bed and hurriedly undressing, growing restless at the sight of his pale siren nearly nude. He still could not reconcile what a departure from her usual gravity this was, Lydia of all people reveling in carefree bliss. For once, it seemed as though the ice had somewhat melted.

“Lydia...blow me,” Franklin muttered crassly, too sex-addled to utilize the scores of more tactful vernacular he possesed. Of course, it hardly mattered—she dutifully went to work, teasing his head with her mouth. She usually showed disdain for oral sex, but Franklin remembered that he had told her to please him and feel sexy doing it. It only made sense that she should oblige. And oblige she did, working her way as far as she could up his shaft. Franklin let out a guttural cry, from both primal physical reward and mental conquest. Not wanting to waste his shot, he withdrew from Lydia’s eager mouth and yanked down her underwear.

“What’s wrong? Did I do bad?” Lydia asked ditzily, tilting her head and licking her lips.

“No, you did fine. You did very....very...fine,” Franklin growled, guiding her to lay down on the bed. He mounted her and began teasing her with his cock, basking in her expressions of carnal rapture. Taking his cue, Franklin entered slowly and began riding her rhythmically, drinking in her dizzied expression. To his shock, it was not long before Lydia began audibly whimpering. Her body seized and then released in waves. leaving her breathing raggedly. At this, all he could do was finish inside of her, prompting aftershocks of pleasure for both parties. Franklin retreated and laid next to Lydia, both panting.

“Awake,” he said, snapping. Lydia’s eyelids cracked open, and she slowly sat up and stared at Franklin. Regret began seeping through him as he braced himself for a verbal lashing.

“Franklin,” Lydia said firmly. The witch had returned.

“Yes, my dear?” Franklin said, unable to eliminate the fear from his voice.

“That was some of the best sex we’ve ever had,” she replied bluntly, still out of breath. “I still don’t know what you did to me, but I’ve never felt like such a...a...a horny slut before in my life. And frankly I think I play the part rather well.” Franklin couldn’t believe his ears. She wasn’t mad?

“You couldn’t have been faking that, Lydia.”

“I wasn’t. You know me, I couldn’t have. I was simply on autopilot, enjoying doing as I was told. For some reason, my conscious mind considered it okay. As long as you were telling me to do it, it was okay.”

“Well, then. I give you carte blanche to slut it up for me in this house, sugar blossom.”

“You always know how to charm,” Lydia said with a yawn, rolling over onto Franklin’s wooly chest.

“I do my best,” he replied, stroking her hair. A silent, tender moment was shared between the two of them, moonlight streaming through their bedroom window.

“God, this paper will be the envy of next month’s journal,” Franklin thought aloud.

“This what?” Lydia asked, her muffled voice rising.

“My, my,” Franklin stuttered. Oops. “My, paper, entry...into my personal journal...is going to—”

“Franklin, you cannot breathe a word of this to anybody,” she said, sitting up. “I’d be a laughing stock amongst my colleagues, I’d never be taken seriously in our field again, I’d, I’d—”

Franklin panicked and snapped his fingers, not knowing what to expect. Lydia stopped mid sentence and blinked, gaze unfocusing. She’d forgotten what she was going to say. Scratch that, she’d completely forgotten what they were talking about. It was definitely something important this time, though. Conscious thought began draining from her head, but Lydia tried her best to fight the urge and stay somewhat present.

“My dear, don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit? As a researcher, you should know that this is for the sake of science. Isn’t that right?”

“For science?”

“That’s right,” he cooed. “And there’s little nobler than testing on oneself. Self experimentation. Isn’t that right?”

“Well…the ethics are...nuanced…” Lydia murmured, eyes flickering.

“You should be glad to be the subject of a published paper.”

“Glad?” she replied, frowning.

“I’ll anonymize you, of course. Nobody has to know it’s you. And an authorship credit would certainly be in order.”

“Glad,” Lydia said with a satisfied grin. “Wake me.”

“Wake you?”

“To shake...hands. You may be able to...hypnotize me...but I-I’m no boob,” Lydia said unsteadily. Franklin snapped again, clearing the glassy emptiness from Lydia’s stare.

“Very well. Now this will hold up in court,” he said wryly, shaking his wife’s hand.

“It’s important, Franklin,” Lydia said with another yawn, settling into a position for sleep as she was too exhausted to do much else. “It’s been too long since I’ve authored an interesting paper. I want no chance of you reneging on this.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Franklin said, slightly offended that she implied that he would. “I was going to ask you anyway. You know, we’ll be the envy of the APA. Dr. Goodman can shove his paper on sexual compulsives where...you know. The sun don’t shine.”

“Oh, Franklin, you prig,” Lydia said. “Just say ‘up his ass.’” He grinned and wrapped his arm around her, guiding her again towards his chest. Lydia felt herself smile as she laid her head and closed her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Franklin looked down at her, mildly taken aback. He’d have to ask her to elaborate in the morning. For now, he ought to let her rest.

“You’re welcome, Lydia. You are welcome.”