The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Contract

By BlackNight99

The young woman paused at the entrance of the storefront office building and regarded the sign beside the door: Dr. Richard Cordman. Psychology. Hypnotherapy.

She took a deep breath and reached toward the doorknob, then stood, mesmerized by her reflection in the dark glass that fronted the low building. When was the last time she’d dressed like this? A real dress … purchased only hours before, chosen almost entirely on the recommendation of the saleswoman at the mall department store. Knee-length hem, fabric clinging to her gentle curves, neckline low-cut, revealing cleavage that was augmented by the underwire bra (also recommended by the saleslady, who had taken her client’s inability to choose feminine attire as a challenge). She had had only $300 in cash – her “pin money,” hidden from her mother (or THAT would have been gone, too!), and the saleslady had made sure that she’d had enough left over, after the dress and the bra and the panties and the hose and the high heels, for an inexpensive “makeover” at the cosmetics counter. She looked … sexy. She hoped, at least, that she presented that false image. Another deep breath. She turned the knob and walked into the office.

The reception area was deserted, not surprising this late on a Friday afternoon. On the counter, beside the receptionist’s window, she found a clipboard with a form attached, her name scrawled in at the top. She picked it up, sat down on the naugahyde-covered couch and started filling in the blanks. A few minutes later, just as she was finishing, the inner office door opened, and the frame was literally filled with the bulk of a large man. He looked, to her, like a football lineman. Big. Muscular. Dark. She blinked up at him, then quickly threw her gaze back down at the floor, embarrassed by his penetrating stare and smiling, congenial face.

“Dr. Abernathy, I presume,” he commented with a voice more mellow than deep.

“Gail,” she said in a quiet voice, still unable to look up at him. “Thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice, Doctor.”

“It’s my pleasure. Please come in.” She allowed him to hold the door for her, which posed a small problem as she had to maneuver her tall, thin frame around his hulking body. Their bodies rubbed together slightly as she did so, and she repressed a small shudder. Then she had to let him pass again, as he led the way back and into a comfortable, manly office. The room held a sofa along one wall, an easy chair in front of a large, old-looking oak desk, and the inevitable psychiatrist’s couch in the middle of the room. The blinds were open, and the late afternoon sunlight brightened the mood. She took the chair in front of the desk and waited patiently while he seated himself and spent several minutes reading the form she’d filled out; then he sat back and studied her unabashedly. She found it impossible to meet his eyes, and kept hers on her hands, which were clutching her knees.

“I know you, don’t I?” he commented, at last.

This seemed to startle her immensely. “No! I mean, no. No, I’m sure we’ve never met.”

He wrinkled his brow. “I’m certain I’ve seen you somewhere. Are you in TV or something? A model?”

“No. I’m nobody. I mean, I’m nobody important. And I’ve never met you. I’m sure.”

He glanced back at the forms. “AH! I know! You live in that apartment complex down on South Grand, don’t you?”

Her eyes shifted. “Um … yes. I live at ….”

“Yes, I have the address on the form. I live right next to you … in the complex right across the street. Small world.” She said nothing, staring down at her hands. He pulled a yellow legal pad toward him and started writing, talking as he wrote. “Refuses to be led into normal conversation.” He glanced up, but she didn’t react. He sighed and studied the form again.

“You’re a ‘Research Genetic Data Analyst,’” he continued. “With a PhD. I’m guessing that you’re on one of the WashU genome teams. Human?”

THAT made her look up. The corners of her mouth twitched upward, and she regarded him with a bit of awe. “Disease,” she answered.

“Cancer? Which type?”

Again she regarded him with wonder. No one, obviously, had enough knowledge to ask such questions. “Prostate,” she answered.

“On behalf of the members of my sex, I’d like to offer our profound thanks.” But now she fell silent yet again, studying her hands on her knees. He pulled the yellow pad back toward him and wrote, muttering loudly “All attempts at flattery and humor completely useless.”

“I … I’m sorry, Doctor,” she began, faltering. “I … um … we really need to talk about how I’m going to pay for your services.” She never looked up.

“There’s really no need to worry about that now,” he said confidently. “I accept all major medical plans. If you’re part of the Washington School of Medicine, I’m certain that you’re covered for whatever ills you might have.”

“No,” she said gravely. It had been the most emphatic word that she’d uttered since she’d met him. Still, she didn’t look up at him. “No. I’m not going to let the school know that I’m seeking psychological help. I don’t want ANYONE to know. I will not use insurance, or let anyone know that I’m seeing you. Confidentiality is fine … but people have a way of finding out things, especially if there’s a paper trail. Eventually, they’ll know what I came to you for. No one would ever understand. It’s simply too bizarre. I can’t risk anyone ever knowing. We need to agree on some other form of payment.”

“Other form?”

“I don’t have any money,” she said quietly.

That made him sit back and regard her in a different light. “Just so I understand who I’m dealing with here, Doctor …”

“Please, call me Gail. It’s important that you call me by my first name.”

“Gail. All right. You can call me Richard. Now …”

“No. I think I should call you by your title. We need to establish a psychological hierarchy.”

“I’LL be the judge of things psychological!” he told her sternly. He sat back again and stared hard at the young, tall, pretty blonde sitting silently across from him for a long minute. He picked up the form again. “Okay,” he continued with quiet authority. “Let me engage in a bit of earnest observation. You are probably the youngest PhD I’ve ever encountered. Twenty-three years old. Definitely the prettiest. You’re a member of one of the best medical schools in the world, engaged in building a DNA model that’s going to eventually save countless lives. Money should NOT be a problem for you … and yet it is. Fame could be yours … and yet you are one of the most introverted young women I’ve ever met. You are engaged in a profession where RESULTS is the most important thing … and yet, when you have a personal problem, discretion is the overriding factor.” He paused again. “It’s time to tell me the reason you’re here.”

“First, we should agree on a method of compensation, Doctor.”

“I’ll decide what is first!” he said loudly, forcefully. She jerked her shoulders as if she’d been struck. He took a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone. “Whatever ails ‘ye, young Gail, I can guarantee you that it’s nothing new. I’ve been in this business long enough to believe that I’ve heard just about everything.”

She took a shuddering breath. “I want you to make me fall in love.”

He blinked. “Say what?”

“I consider myself pretty well read. I’ve always read at least two books a week. I’ve done that for as long as I can remember. I recall reading about a case in which a hypnotist took one of his subjects into such a deep trance that she was able to ‘remember’ past lives.”

“You’re talking about The Case of Bridey Murphy,” he said, with a hint of exasperation. “There’s no definitive evidence that her ability to see into the past was real.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she countered, looking up at him at last. “My point is that she was placed into a hypnotic state that was much, much deeper than anything that had been tried before. Ultra-deep hypnotic trance is quantifiable. It’s been done. It’s possible.”

“And you think that if I place you into such a hypnotic state, I can ‘make’ you fall in love?”

“I know you can,” she said quietly.

“And what makes you think I can do that?”

“Because I KNOW you can,” she countered calmly.

That made him pause. He considered it philosophically. “You think that if you BELIEVE strongly enough, you can MAKE it happen,” he said, almost as much to himself as to her.

“WE can make it happen. Yes.”

Again, he sat back and regarded her for a long minute. Again, she couldn’t meet his gaze, and let her own fall. Finally, he heaved a deep sigh. “Who’s the lucky man?”

She gave her shoulders a uniform twitch upward. “It doesn’t matter. YOU can pick someone.”

“WHAT?!”

Once more, she jerked, startled. She looked helplessly up at him, and for the first time, tears sprang into her eyes. She opened her mouth to comment further, but obviously couldn’t.

He couldn’t think of anything to say for a long minute. “Alright, I HADN’T heard it all!” he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. He looked imploringly at her. “You want to fall in love, but you don’t care who you fall in love WITH?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” she said, trying to bring her tears under control.

“Okay. From the beginning, now. What’s this all about?”

“We HAVE to talk about how I’m going to pay you first,” she implored. “I’m in debt. I don’t have any money to spend. It’s one of the reasons I chose you ….” She stopped abruptly, as if she’d said something she shouldn’t.

He narrowed his eyes. “And just why DID you choose me? What makes ME your first choice out of all the psychologists in the greater St. Louis area?”

“I read your profile on the internet,” she said quietly. “It’s because of who you are … and WHAT you are.”

“Oh please,” he groaned. “Please tell me this doesn’t have something to do with my race!”

“What?” she asked, truly startled. “Oh. No. No, of course not.” She hesitated. “I chose you because you specialize in hypnosis. And … um … because you’re single.”

“Single?”

“Not married.”

“I KNOW what ‘single’ means!” he shouted at her. “What difference does THAT make!?”

But now she was crying in earnest. Tears were streaming down both cheeks as she looked pleadingly up at him. “I. Don’t. Have. Any. Money,” she said, punctuating each word. “I KNOW that it’s going to take hours and hours of private sessions to get me into a deep enough trance to do what has to be done. Secret sessions! Hours of them! What do you charge? A hundred an hour?” He didn’t answer. “Two hundred?” Again, he sat silently as she wept. “I can’t pay you! And so, I took what little money I HAD, and I bought these clothes … in hopes that … in hopes that I could look attractive to you. In hopes that you would find me … find me … desirable. Sexually.”

“Oh, God, Gail,” he muttered quietly.

Completely distraught, she pulled her knees up to her body, leaned over sideways against the arm of the plush chair in a fetal position, and sobbed bitterly. He let it go on for too long a period, and then he rose, snatched a fistful of tissues from a pop-up dispenser on the desk, and went to her side. He shushed her gently, laying a beefy hand lightly on her shoulder. He felt that he’d never been good enough at “soothing” patients. Finally, she sat up again, miserable, stabbing at her eyes with the tissues. Not knowing what else to do, he returned to his desk.

“Gail, you seem to have thought this all out beforehand. You MUST have known that I can’t become emotionally involved with a patient.”

“It doesn’t have to BE emotional,” she said quietly. “And I wouldn’t BE your patient … not officially. You could just see me as … as a friend. It would just be an agreement between friends. You know?” She heaved a shuddering sigh. “That’s what I THOUGHT, anyway.”

He smiled and shook his head in wonder. “Let me get this straight. You want me to see you, as a friend, for hours of hidden, private hypnotherapy. You want me to MAKE you fall in love with a person of MY choosing. And then, in return, you want to give yourself to me sexually … as a friend, of course, for … what? Some set period of time?”

“Yes,” she answered, a little more firmly, as if for the first time, she thought that he might actually go along with the scheme. “Something like a one-for-one hourly swap. If it took you, say, ten hours of hypnosis, then I could … um … be yours sexually for ten hours. You know? Or something like that.” She sat for a moment in deep contemplation, her tears finally forgotten. “Or we could agree on two-for-one, since I don’t have much experience.” She blushed. “Well, actually, I don’t have ANY experience. I’ve never actually BEEN with a guy, you know? I guess that you’d have to take some time teaching me. So, we’ll make it two-for-one.”

“Two-for-one,” he said quietly, covering his mouth with his hand, trying hard not to laugh. He cleared his throat. “And what, exactly, would you let me DO to you during this little pay-back period?”

“Anything you want,” she answered, earnestly. “Anything! I’ll do anything you want!”

Again, he cleared his throat to avoid laughing. Was ANY girl really this innocent? He put on his most officious face for her benefit, wheeled his chair to the side, in front of his computer terminal, tapped a few buttons, and then started typing furiously.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” he said, his typing never slowing. “I’m guessing that this is a relatively new concept for you … something that you’ve just thought of today. Tell me what happened.”

For the first time, she smiled brightly at him. “That’s a pretty neat trick, Doctor,” she said.

“What’s that?” His typing never slowed.

“Typing one thing while you’re saying something else.”

“I teach a course at SLU, and this drives my students nuts,” he said, matter-of-factly, his fingers never slowing. “Writing something on the board while saying something else. Not hard to do, but it keeps their attention. Now, tell me! I’m your doctor … um … friend … uh … friendly doctor.”

She giggled, then grew sullen once more. “My mother left me again.”

“Again?”

“She’d done it before. While I was still in high school, five or six years ago. She took everything. All the money, anyhow. She’d fallen in love with this dork from Paris … France.”

“I know where Paris is.”

“She just took off. I was still a minor, officially, and the county wanted to stick me in a foster home. But I swung a deal with my counselors, since I already had enough placement credits to graduate early, PLUS skip my first two undergraduate years … and I’d already qualified for a full ride at Mizzou, and so I just forgot all about her and moved right into a dorm, you know?”

He finally stopped typing and worked with the mouse for a moment. “Yes. I get the picture.”

“And so, I got through school, there in Columbia, and then through grad school here, and when I got out, I moved right into the project I’d been involved with as a student; and they really wanted me, because my thesis caused this monumental stir where most of the big work was being done in Copenhagen … Denmark.”

“I know where Copenhagen is, Gail.” The printer against the wall whirred into action. He got up and walked over to it.

“And then, six months ago, she just showed up again. She told me that she didn’t have a place to stay, and so I let her move in with me. I could afford an apartment now, and I had an extra bedroom, and so I didn’t really mind, because most nights, she didn’t even come home. But I was never really around, either … not during the days, you know? I really only SAW her once a week or so, when we’d go out for lunch, or something. She told me that she didn’t have any money, and I really had more than I needed, you know? So I got her a credit card on my account with her own name on it. And then she told me that she wanted to help out more around the place, and so I let her mail the rent payments, and the utility payments, and the insurance payments. And I never really thought about it, you know?”

He returned to the desk with a single, printed sheet of paper and sat down again. “Yes, I know.”

“And then … and then this morning, she told me that she was leaving again. She told me that she’d fallen in love with this guy that had something to do with lumber up in Toronto … Canada.” She looked up, saw he was about to comment, and held up her hand to stop him. “Yes, I know. You know where Toronto is.” She sighed. “She told me that her new lover needed money really bad, and that she just HAD to give it to him, even though it wasn’t really hers to give, you know? And later, after she’d left, I got this funny feeling, and I started checking things out. And my credit card was maxed out … right to the limit! And the rent hadn’t been paid in THREE months! Or the utilities, or the insurance, or ANYTHING! And, it’s going to take me months and months to get everything back together, financially.”

“I’m sorry, Gail.”

“But as she was leaving, we were sort of fighting. And I told her she wasn’t acting very sane, you know? And she said: ‘What do you know about it? You’ve NEVER been in love!’ And then she walked out, and I sat down, and I thought about it. And I thought and thought …. And I just suddenly realized … she was right! In high school, I’d only gone out on two dates … and I was so nervous that I got physically ill! And then I absolutely refused. Never again! And I didn’t. Not all through college, even though there were just two years of it. But I didn’t mind, because I was so busy, you know? And grad school was just a blur. And now, I’m ALWAYS busy! I mean, I’m only suppose to work eight hours a day … but right off the bat, I started working twelve. And now, everybody just assumes that’s what I’m always going to do.

“And Mother was RIGHT! I’ve never loved ANYBODY! Not once! Not ever! And now … now I’ve just GOT to know what it’s like! I HAVE to! Before I do anything else … ever … before I do one more thing, I need to experience it. And I’ve read romance novels! I KNOW that I’ll probably just get a broken heart. But at least then, I’ll know that I HAVE a heart to be broken! And so, I thought up this plan. And I want to DO it, Doctor.” She was crying again. “Please.”

He regarded her tenderly. “Gail, you don’t need hypnotherapy. All you really need is to sit down and talk this out with me … or any other expert in the field.”

“Please,” she repeated plaintively. “Please, Doctor? I just know this will work. I’ve thought about it and thought about it! I just know that ultra-deep hypnosis exists, and that you can put me in a trance that deep because I KNOW you can do it. I BELIEVE you can. And I’ll let you do anything while I’m in a trance. Anything at all. And I’m prepared to pay in the only way I’m able. It’s going to work, Doctor. Please?”

He sighed and slid the paper across the desk toward her, facing her. He put a pen on top of it. “Sign that,” he told her.

Without hesitation, she signed the bottom of the paper and slid it back across the desk to him.

He gritted his teeth. “READ it!” he told her, controlling his anger. Once again, the paper slid across the desk’s surface. She dutifully picked it up and read it.

I, Gail Abernathy, am hereby entering into this contract with my good friend, Richard Cordman, in order for him to provide certain services that I desperately need. I understand that Richard will place me under exceedingly deep hypnosis in order to perform these services. I understand that the hypnosis sessions are going to be numerous and time-consuming, and I promise that I will follow Richard’s instructions to the absolute best of my ability while he does this. I understand that, as part of this ultra-deep hypnosis, Richard will compel me to fall in love with an individual of his choosing. This is what I want. This will take place during the coming long three-day weekend of January 14th. At the end of these sessions, but before I am compelled to acknowledge my love for this aforementioned individual, I will repay Richard by becoming his sex slave for a period not to exceed twenty-four hours. I really want this to happen. I desire Richard, sexually, and I long for his sexual control. I endorse this contract freely and of my own will and aspiration.

Yet again the contract slid across the desk. “Now YOU sign it,” she told him.

This seemed to catch him completely off guard. “What good would that do?” he asked.

But now, she was meeting his gaze, seemingly without fear. Now, she realized that her dream was within her grasp. “Please, Doctor. I promise you that this is the last thing I will ask of you for the next three days.”

He contemplated her; contemplated the contract; then picked up the pen and signed below her name.

And so it began.

* * *

He rolled back his office chair and stood up. “Come here,” he ordered softly, sternly.

Without hesitation, she stood and walked around the desk to him, standing very close to him, staring up into his eyes, waiting expectantly. He stepped back a pace and rotated the swivel chair so that it faced her. “Sit down.” She turned and did so. He pushed the chair toward the desk, so that she now occupied the position that he had so recently vacated. She felt his warmth in the chair.

Walking around to the front of the desk, he leaned forward and picked up the newly signed contract. He folded it twice and put it into the breast pocket of his sports coat. He then took a fresh sheet of paper, picked up the ink pen, and drew a single, straight line down its middle, lengthwise. He slid the sheet across the desk so that it sat directly in front of her, then switched on the desk lamp and fiddled with it for a moment. When he had finished, the lamp was shining a single spot of focused light directly on the center of the paper.

“I want you to stare at the very center of that line,” he told her. “Concentrate very hard, only on the very center of the line. I want you to relax your entire body, and focus your thoughts on the line.”

She leaned forward and looked down at the page. “Are we going to do it now?” she asked in quiet awe. “Are you going to hypnotize me now?”

“I don’t want you to say another word, please. Do not speak unless I ask you a question. Okay?”

“Okay. I’m sorry,” she responded softly. She brought her left arm up and rested her forearm along her edge of the desk, leaning forward across it, so that her breasts were resting on it as she bent over the sheet of white note paper. Then, she rested her right elbow next to it, propping the side of her face with her palm, staring intently at the dark, thin vertical line.

He walked to the window and twisted a rod next to the edge, and the vertical blinds rotated shut, plunging the office into late afternoon dusk. The spot of light on the paper seemed to make it glow. “The line is very straight,” he told her in a voice that was both strong and soft. “I’ve always had a knack for being able to draw a straight line. Not many people can do that, actually. The line is very, very straight.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Shhh!” he ordered softly. She didn’t respond. “You are going to fall asleep, very soon now. You know that. You want that. You are anxious to take this first step, but you must be patient. Just look at the line. The long, straight line. Look only at the center of the line. Relax. Now, take a deep breath.” He waited until she had complied. “Very good. Now another. Good. Relax, and clear your mind completely. Your mind likes to run on and on, just like the line, on and on forever. But now, I want you to concentrate only on the center of the line, and let your thoughts stop there. The line runs on and on, but that is of no consequence to you. You don’t care about where the line goes … on and on. Just let it go. Your thoughts have stopped there. Right in the center. Just let them stop. Just let them go. And don’t worry about the line. On and on and on and on. Relax. Just let the line go. Just let your thoughts go.”

She had allowed her head, still supported lightly by her hand, to lower closer to the page.

“As your thoughts stop in the center of the line, and as the line goes on and on and on without you, you will begin to feel at peace with the idea that the world is going on and on and leaving you here … here in the center. And you know that’s alright. Leaving you here, so relaxed, so peacefully calm and relaxed. Just like you do at night, when you go to bed, and you just let the world outside go on and on, just like the line is going on and on, while you empty your mind and wait for sleep to come. And you are SO tried at the end of such a long day. And without thoughts to hinder you, because you’ve let all of your thoughts go, and the world is going on and on without you, as you get SO sleepy now. So sleepy.”

Her elbow was sliding outward, away from the paper, as her face lowered closer and closer to the page.

“Let go, Gail. Just let the world go. It’s time to surrender. It’s time to sleep.” He paused for a long moment until the time was right. “Sleep!”

* * *

“…six, seven, eight, nine, ten.”

She blinked, confused, not sure, for a moment where she was. “Oh,” she said, opening her eyes wide, trying to KEEP them open. “Oh, gosh.”

“How do you feel?” he asked softly, so that she had to strain to hear his words.

“I … um … I feel … sort of like when I wake up from a nap, but I haven’t slept long enough. I feel … um ….”

“Sleepy?”

“Yes. Sleepy,” she mumbled. The room was dark. Was she still in his office? Yes, she must be. There was the sheet of paper, sitting on the desk in front of her.

“What do you see?” he asked. Somehow, he was standing just behind her. He was resting his huge, heavy hands on her shoulders, leaning forward behind her, whispering in her left ear.

“The line,” she said softly. “I see the line.”

“And what does the line make you do?” This time, he was whispering in her right ear.

“It … um … it makes me fall asleep.”

“Yes. And it makes you SO tired, doesn’t it?”

“Um … yes. Tired.”

“And SO sleepy. So sleepy.” This in her left ear, again, so softly that she could only just hear it.

“Yes. Sleepy. Please?”

“Please what?”

“Please make me sleep. Please?”

“Sleep.”

* * *

“… eight, nine, ten.”

She couldn’t keep her eyes from rolling upward. “Oh … oh, gosh. I can’t … um … I can’t wake up. What’s WRONG with me? I’m so ….”

“So tired,” he whispered in her left ear.

“Yes.”

“So sleepy. So very sleepy.”

She tried to blink, but her eyes wouldn’t stay open when she wanted them to. “Yes. Sleepy. Why is it so dark? I can’t see the line anymore.”

“So sleepy,” he whispered gently in her right ear.

“Oh, Richard. Please. Please make me sleep. Please?”

“Yes. Sleep.”

* * *

“… seven, eight, nine, ten.”

It was dark. She was standing in the middle of the room. Was it still the office? Faint light was filtering through the blinds, but she couldn’t make out anything. And she wasn’t really standing, either. He was behind her, supporting her, his arms around her upper waist. Her arms were hanging, leaden, at her sides. She leaned back into him. He felt … good. He was whispering in her ear.

“Tired … Sleepy ... Sleepy …. Sleep!”

* * *

“… nine, ten.”

Her back was pressed into a wall, and his body was pressing into hers. Her arms were around his neck, and his hands were on her waist. There was light here, but it was unfamiliar. A hallway?

It was a burdensome effort to talk. “Oh, Richard. What have you done to me?”

“I’m not allowing you to completely wake up. Each time I take you back under, you go deeper than the time before. Deeper and deeper.”

“Deeper and deeper.”

“Yes. And now ….” He leaned farther forward, crushing her with his bulk, pressing his lips beside her left ear. “Sleepy. So tired. So sleepy.”

“Please.”

“Sleep.”

* * *

“… six, seven, eight, nine, ten.”

She was sitting in the passenger seat of a strange car. He was behind the wheel. She blinked several times and tried to sit up straight, but she kept nodding forward. Apparently, they were stopped at a traffic light.

“Lean toward me, Gail. Do it now.”

She tried, but the seat belt wouldn’t allow it. She slipped the shoulder strap off while leaving the lap strap buckled up, and leaned steeply toward him. He did the same toward her, until his lips were against her ear.

“Sleep.”

* * *

“,,, eight, nine, ten.”

She was in bed, lying back against soft, downy pillows. The sheets were softer than any she had ever slept on. They felt absolutely marvelous against her bare body. She believed, for a brief moment, that that thought should be bothering her. He was leaning over her. Smiling down on her. She struggled to keep her eyes open, and tried vainly to smile back. He leaned down.

He’s going to whisper in my ear again, she thought.

And he did.

* * *

“ … four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.”

She finished counting, opened her eyes, and stretched languorously, yawning. She felt … good. Great. Wonderful. And she thought: I’m naked.

She’d seen the fabric the sheets were made from before somewhere, and it took her a moment to recall. It was the stuff a baby’s crib sheets are made of … a soft cotton knit. Her nipples rubbed gently against the cloth as she shifted. Her arms were on top of the light blanket covering her, and she reached one hand up, and then down underneath the sheet to see if she was wearing panties. She wasn’t. He’s seen me, she thought to herself. He’s seen all of me. The concept made her blush mildly, but no more. She belonged to him, she figured. She had signed a contract, more or less agreeing to do anything he wanted for the next three days. She knew sex would be a part of it. She should try to stop being so self-conscience. But of course, she wouldn’t. She had always been shy. She always would be.

The room was strange to her, and yet somehow, it brought her comfort. There was a border of vines and flowers painted along the top of each beige wall, an urn of artificial roses on a table in the corner. Pictures adorned the walls, though the light was soft, and it was hard to see them properly. A woman had decorated this room, she realized. She shifted her attention to the bed she was in. It was a four-poster bed, deep and plush and soft. Slung across the foot of the bed was a thick cloth something … at first she believed it to be another blanket, put there in case she got cold. But now, she rose from the high bed, pivoting to put her feet on the floor, and she found the thing to be a thick, soft terrycloth bathrobe. She slipped it onto her nude form and tied the cloth belt about her waist in a bow. It was too long, and dragged the ground slightly. It must be one of his robes.

She approached one of the pictures and stared at it in the soft light of the bedside lamp. It was a still-life of some flowers. There was another, very like it on the opposite wall. They were both done in oils. For the first time, she noticed a framed photograph on the bedside table, and she picked it up. It showed a pretty, dark-skinned woman, slender, physically fit, sitting in a straight-backed chair with children kneeling all around her. One child was standing, handing her a picture. Her head was thrown back in laughter, and all the children were laughing with her. She found it to be a marvelously interactive photo. It was the kind of picture that made you want to rush out and volunteer for something.

For the first time, she became aware of a delicious aroma, and she opened the door and padded barefoot down a short hallway and into the apartment’s kitchen/dining room. It was a large room, brightly lighted, warm and cheery. He was hustling around happily, stacking a few dirty dishes in the sink. He smiled at her, but acted as if he was expecting her there. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” he husked in his deep baritone. She sat on a barstool and watched him rinse a bowl and put it in the dishwasher.

“What’s that amazing smell?” she asked, smiling back at him.

“Friday is Pizza Night,” he answered.

“You cook your own pizza?”

“Absolutely. Nothing but the best. And just the way you like it: thick crust, pepperoni, onions and green peppers.”

She laughed. “Is there anything about me that you DON’T know?” she asked, pointedly.

“Lots. But I’m getting there.”

She blushed and looked down. “What happened to my clothes?”

“Dress is in the closet,” he answered, pointing toward the hallway. “Everything else is folded up in a drawer in my dresser. You’ll get it all back when you leave.”

“Do I really have to be naked, Richard?”

“You are NOT naked. That’s my very best robe. But psychologically, if I can keep you at a physical and emotional disadvantage, I can manipulate you deeper, quicker. Professionally, I’m never allowed to do this, of course. But you insisted that we NOT be professional, didn’t you?”

She blushed. “You’ve seen me.”

He barked a laugh. “Oh, yes. Yes, I have.” He stopped puttering and gave her his attention. “You are an incredibly beautiful woman, Dr. Abernathy.”

She blushed even more. “Stop that! And anyway, that’s not true. I’m gangly and skinny and clumsy, and my breasts are too small, and ….”

“Your breasts are fantastic,” he said, trying to sound serious, but failing to control his look of humorous awe. “I have NEVER seen nipples like yours! They’re really …”

“Richard! Stop!” she squealed, laughing. She took a deep breath and sought frantically to change the subject; aware, for a few moments, only of her stiff nipples rubbing against the terrycloth fabric. “I seem to be calling you ‘Richard’ now. Am I mistaken that you’ve been taking liberties with posthypnotic suggestions?”

He grinned broadly. “Very good, Gail. I couldn’t have ‘good friends’ calling each other by their titles all weekend.”

“And just exactly where is our contract?” she asked.

“Good point.” He walked over to his sports coat, which had been draped over a chair back and fished it out of the breast pocket. He unfolded it, smoothed it out, and slapped it against the refrigerator, using little magnetic flowers on each corner to hold it. “We’ll just leave it here, in case we have to call in a lawyer for consultation.”

She snickered, and was about to comment when a timer issued a loud ding. He whirled on the oven, opened it, and took out a steaming pizza pan. “Wine in the refrigerator,” he said to her. “You like Chardonnay. I’ll take Merlot, under that cabinet.” He nodded to his left. “Wine glasses over the dishwasher.” She found herself moving before she realized she was doing so … following his directions, pouring the wine while he cut the pizza. He carried everything into the living room, gave her a tray with her plate on it, and aimed the remote control at the TV. They sat at opposite ends of the sofa and watched “UP,” a Pixar flick. She immediately found herself immersed in the movie, the food, the wine, the comfortable setting. She never once thought about their strange arrangement until after the movie was finished. Glancing at the wall clock, she was amazed to find that it was after 11:00.

She stood. “Richard, I … um ….”

But he was standing up with her, close to her. VERY close to her, so that she stopped speaking and looked up into his eyes. Slowly, he was lowering his face toward hers. He’s going to kiss me, she thought. But at the last instant, just as she was pursing her lips, he slid his next to her right ear and whispered something.

* * *

“… seven, eight, nine, ten.”

His soft voice echoed from a distance, and she raised her arms above her head and stretched and yawned and smiled across the room at him as he stood in the doorway of the sunny bedroom. His beaming grin broadened suddenly, and she became cognizant that the bedclothes had slid down, baring her breasts, her long nipples pointing accusingly at him. She blushed and snatched at the sheet, pulling it upward, succeeding in covering only one of the pale globes, and blushing even more furiously as he laughed at her attempt at decency.

“Get up!” he ordered. “Bathroom’s the first door on the left. Bacon and eggs in twenty minutes.” And he was gone.

Everything was her brand. Her exact brand of toothbrush, toothpaste, cleansing soap. In the shower, her brand of shampoo, conditioner. Her brand of razor, which she felt compelled to use on her legs and under her arms. She studied her pubic hair, and trimmed it, using the razor. He would be taking her soon, she knew. She would be giving herself to him … trying hard to please him, sexually. It was part of the contract. And he wanted her. She saw it in his eyes.

The kitchen was a different place in the sunlight. He smiled brightly as she sat down at the table, trying to adjust the robe so that it wouldn’t gap open at the top. “Coffee?”

“Just orange juice, please.” She waited while he filled her glass. “Was that a date last night?”

“I think it was a date,” he replied, dishing out her eggs. “Felt like a date to me. Did it feel like a date to you?”

“I’ve only had two dates,” she replied. “In high school. I threw up after each of those.”

He grimaced. “Then I guess it wasn’t a date.”

She pointed at a sliding glass door. There was a small deck beyond the door. And beyond THAT, off in the distance ….

“That’s my apartment,” she said emphatically, pointing.

“I told you your building was across the street from mine.”

“Not just my building,” she said. “That’s my apartment! Right there. That one, on the third floor!”

“Yes,” he said. Was he acting guilty about it? “I mentioned that I’d seen you before. Right?”

She looked back down at her food, and they ate in uncomfortable silence for a minute. Then, she felt compelled to keep the conversation going. From the table, she had a view of a wall she hadn’t seen the night before, which bore a studio portrait of the same beautiful woman who graced the picture in the bedroom. “Is she your girlfriend?” she asked him, between bites.

His bright smile seemed to slip suddenly; pain flashed in his eyes for just an instant before he pasted the carefree expression back in place, obviously believing she hadn’t seen the brief transformation. “That’s my wife,” he said, with a cavalier wave of his fork.

Piecing puzzles together was her profession. This one didn’t take much mental gymnastics. If he was still with his wife, he wouldn’t risk being caught with a blonde in the apartment. If he was divorced, he wouldn’t have her picture displayed all over the house. Plus, his personal profile said “single.”

“You’re a widower,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t a check-block on the form,” he explained, refusing to drop the smile. She could see it in his eyes; he was waiting for her to ask the obvious question. She decided that she wouldn’t do it, no matter how curious she was.

“She was very beautiful,” she said, returning her attention to her food. “What was her name?”

He blinked at her. “Jasmine.”

“She was a very lucky woman.” She set her fork down and looked up at him, ignoring his open stare. “What are you going to do to me today?”

He blinked again. Started to speak. Cleared his throat. Took a breath. “I’m afraid it’s going to be more of the same old drill for you. Asleep. Awake. Asleep again.”

“Deeper each time,” she said quietly.

“Yes. We should be close tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll finish it. You’ll be ready to fall in love after that.”

“And then, I’ll pay you for your services.”

“That’s what the contract says.”

“Yes, that’s what the contract says.” She thought for a moment. “We don’t have to wait, if you don’t want. I could start paying you today … tonight. I … could do it in shifts.”

He couldn’t suppress the laugh. “Shifts? Christ, Gail, where do you come up with these ideas?”

She shrugged. The robe slipped off of her left shoulder. “It doesn’t make much difference, really. It hasn’t escaped my notice that whenever you say ‘Jump,’ I do it without even thinking about it. You’ve done something to me. You’ve practically made me your slave. I’m virtually naked … and yet I’m somehow almost comfortable with it. You whisper in my ear, and I melt into a puddle at your feet. You don’t have to wait, Richard. You can have me anytime you want me.”

He rose, and with a quick jerk, he snatched the one-page contract from the face of the refrigerator, the magnets all remaining in place. He slapped it down in front of her. “I do my part first,” he said pointedly. “I don’t expect any ‘payment’ until the job is done.”

“Alright,” she said in a small voice. “Have you given any thought to who the man is going to be?”

“The contract doesn’t say anything about it having to be a man,” he pointed out.

She sat suddenly erect, blinked several times, and looked down at the page. She couldn’t stop her lips from moving as she read. “Aforementioned individual,” she muttered. She looked up at him. “Richard! I never meant to have you make it a ….”

“It’s not your concern,” he interrupted. “The ‘individual’ has been left entirely up to me.”

“But, I’m not a lesbian!”

“Gail, you’re equating love to sex. For NORMAL people, sex is a natural follow-on to love. I guarantee you that if you love a woman … really love her … then sex will just follow naturally.” He got up and walked around the table to her.

“But … but … it’s not that I’m opposed to that sort of relationship for OTHER people. It’s just that I’m not … I’m not ….”

He was standing behind her now, and she froze as she felt his hands on her. Deftly, he slid the other half of the robe down her arm, and his huge, muscular hands were now resting on her bare shoulders. Skin against skin, flesh against flesh. He’s touching me, she thought. He’s finally touching me. She felt his breath against her ear, and her whole body began shivering in anticipation. “It’s … not … your … concern,” he hissed softly in her ear.

And suddenly, it wasn’t. “Not my concern.”

“So tired.”

“Tired.”

“So sleepy.”

“Oh, Richard ….”

“Sleep.”

* * *

“… eight, nine, ten.”

“Oh, Richard …”

“Sleep.”

* * *

“ … seven, eight, nine, ten.”

She could hardly keep her eyes open. Oh, when would this ever end? She was sitting in a wooden armchair in front of the table, and the tabletop was covered with scattered sheets of yellow legal paper, scribbled notes scrawled all over them. She blinked, and found it almost impossible to make her eyes open again. She made out, upside-down, the word “Munchausen?” The word “Sadist” had been crossed out numerous times, almost angrily. “Masochist!” was underlined emphatically.

“Richard, what …?”

But he was behind her. “Sleep.”

* * *

She heard numbers, echoing in her own mind, and she was able to force herself awake. Groggily, she looked up, and her heart swelled. Pieces of yellow paper were balled up and thrown savagely on the floor. The tabletop was still covered in yellow sheets, scribbles had been written, slashed across, corrections written above lines, words in the margins. Two broken pencils lay among the literary wreckage. Richard was bent above a fresh sheet, writing furiously. His head was resting on his left hand, the fingers laced in his curly, short-cropped black hair, as he poured all of his concentration into his writing.

“Richard, what’s wrong?”

He glanced up, startled. Then a look of wonder spread across his face, and he admired her, open-mouthed in awe. “Well, aren’t YOU the surprising one?” he said, smiling. “You’re stronger than either of us thought, little lady.”

And she watched in rapt silence as he dropped the pencil, raised his hand dramatically before him, his middle finger pressed against his thumb. “Sleep!” he ordered, and snapped his fingers.

* * *

“ … nine, ten.”

And she was awake. Really awake. She yawned and stretched and looked around her. It was dark outside. The table had been cleared of all papers, and it had been set for dinner, two tall candles in crystal holders which hadn’t yet been lighted, Waterford wine glasses at each place setting. The steamy smell of garlic and onions mingled with stewing beef. A pan of water was boiling on the stovetop.

“I’ve run a bath for you,” he exclaimed brightly. “Dinner will be served promptly in twenty-five minutes.”

“Richard, what were you doing when I last woke up?” she queried.

“Doing?”

“All the yellow paper,” she said, looking around for some sign of it all. “All he writing you were doing.”

“You were dreaming, Gail.”

She stared at him accusingly, but he wouldn’t look at her, and there was plenty to keep him occupied with his cooking. Occasionally, he paused to sip a martini. With a sigh, she padded down the hall toward the bathroom, but after a second glance behind her, she ducked into the only room she hadn’t yet entered. This was obviously his bedroom. She wouldn’t pry, she told herself, but she wanted to do something to surprise him. She tiptoed to his closet and found a freshly laundered, long-sleeved dress shirt, then carried it back with her into the bathroom.

The water was too hot, and she had to add a modicum of cold before it was palatable. Still, its steamy warmth was luxuriously elegant. She closed her eyes and relaxed, then looked down at herself. Her nipples, long and hard, poked above the surface like two islands on a large, flat sea. She grinned. He likes my nipples, she thought. What would it be like, tomorrow? Would he tweak them? Pet them? Suck on them? She shivered. She had no choice, now. She was at his mercy. The contract said so. The contract left her no recourse. She had no say at all in the matter of sex. She was surprised to find that thought very comforting.

The shirt was too big, of course, and she experimented for awhile with the terry belt from the bathrobe, wrapping it around her waist twice before knotting it, then rolling up the sleeves. She had the top three buttons undone, and her nipples poked savagely at the thin, cotton fabric, so that each little movement reminded her of them, made her even more cognizant of her vulnerability, her sexuality. Bunched up around the waist like this, the shirt rode up, and the long shirttail was much closer to the bottom of her ass cheeks than she had hoped it would be. She tried vainly to pull it down, but resolutely decided that she was going to wear this, even if he COULD see her ass. She brushed her hair with long, quick, strong strokes, and primped in front of the mirror for him. Oh, she wished she had just a little makeup from her purse.

There was a knock at the door. “Hey! Time’s up! Get out of there!”

She dropped the brush and jerked the door open, stepping forward as she did so, and she stood just inches from him. He had to retreat a half-step to survey her properly, raking his eyes up and down her body. She stood as a soldier at inspection, repressing the same shudder that always seemed to rack her body when men looked at her this way. Men were always doing this; always looking at her; always wanting her. But this time it was so very different. This time she knew, knew completely and unequivocally, that THIS man was going to have her. THIS man was going to take her, and it would be soon now. Only hours away now. Soon, he would be holding her, kissing her, petting her, poking and prodding her, pinching those nipples that he seemed to like so much. The contract guaranteed it. Soon he would be grasping, thrusting ….”

“Wow. You look great, Gail.” She opened her eyes (when had she closed them?), and looked up into his tender, smiling face. “But dinner awaits!” he announced. “Come along, my dear.”

He offered her his arm. She took it gently, without flinching at all (which surprised her), and let him lead her back to the table, let him hold her chair. She sat and tugged at the bottom of the shirt, but stopped abruptly when her efforts caused one of her breasts to pop free up top. Frantically, she turned her attention to this new indignity, poking herself back into the confines to the thin shirt. Blushing crimson, she looked up to find him staring, goggle-eyed. But then he shifted his gaze resolutely away, waited only a second, and took another peek. His lips twitched a few times, jerked upward at the ends, twitched a little more, and then he burst into guffawing laughter. She couldn’t suppress doing the same, though Lord knows she tried. And from that moment forward, the evening became absolutely magical.

He served the Beef Stroganov, then dimmed the lights and took the seat next to her, only a corner of the table separating them, the candles transforming their whole world into this one small place in the universe. She’d never been so near a man for so long a period of time, and yet, she barely even thought about that. They talked. And talked and talked. He related a story about how his uncle had taken him camping up in Wisconsin when he was a teenager; hung on his every word about a trip to a graveyard at night and the possible sighting of a ghost; was terrified by his tale of falling through ice on a frozen river. SHE spoke emphatically about her work, amazed again by his questions, his knowledge of medical research procedures. She laughed again. And again. Oh, when was the last time that she’d done that? Had she ever, really been happy? Had she, ever, in her whole life, felt like THIS? She found herself actually touching him … laying her hand on his to make a point, letting him do the same.

And then somehow, without switching gears in the conversation at all, he was talking about HER. It was so subtle, at first, that neither one of them realized that she had become a part of the evening. Had he ever done such-and-such, she had asked; and he had responded naturally, matter-of-factly that Oh yes, Jasmine had insisted that they go there, do that. And then it was: Jasmine and he had seen this play, or vacationed on that beach. The wine wasn’t helping, of course. She had consumed two glasses, and he’d had at least three … on top of the martinis. And finally, inevitably, he told her how they had met at some fundraiser, how she had worked long hours to put him through grad school, how she had volunteered for this or that cause, how she was always volunteering HIS time on the weekends for functions, how he had always resisted, how those moments had become some of the best of his life.

And then, of course, he came to THAT day. She, a certified social worker, had gone to a small home in a bad neighborhood in North St. Louis, even though HE had told her not to go to places like that unescorted. He had TOLD her! And she WAS with another social worker, of course. She HAD taken precautions. But no one knew that a kid in that house had gone through a gang initiation the day before against a rival group. No one knew that this would be a “payback” day. No one foresaw the two cars driving by the front, spraying the house with machinegun fire. No one could foresee something like THAT!

He’d gotten up by this point, pacing, gesturing, and for the very first time, she had seen hate in his eyes. He declared that they needed more wine, and he rummaged through a cupboard before realizing that there was none left in the house, and so he paced the kitchen for a few minutes while he described the funeral, attended by more than a thousand, even though they had been a relatively private couple. But evidently, she had touched that many lives, he said, shrugging, and he sat back down heavily in his chair.

She couldn’t stop herself. She had never been able to bear being near a man before; never been able to touch a man before. But now, she found herself standing, found herself stepping around the corner of the table to him, found herself turning and settling herself on his lap, holding his huge head in her arms, against her breasts, holding him, just holding him. She didn’t even flinch when he raised his head and bellowed in rage and impotent frustration and sadness, and she just held on … held on for dear life.

It took a long two minutes to cry tears that needed to be shed. Then, he stood up, holding her in his strong arms as if her weight was nothing at all, but only for a moment, and he deposited her back on her feet in front of him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he told her.

“I put puzzles together,” she said softly. “It’s my profession. It’s just what I do. And there’s always a key. There’s always … something … that is the clue to the whole problem. I think I know the key to yours.”

He took a deep breath. “And what’s that?”

“If I could build a machine that would take away all of your pain, all of your anger, all of your frustration … but if the cost of using that machine was that you had to give up just one, small, little memory of her … just one out of all the ones you have … would you use it?”

He regarded her in open-mouthed awe for a long moment, and finally smiled down at her and shook his head in wonder. “Alright, Doctor, I guess that does put things into proper perspective.” He paused again. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

She smiled up into his tender eyes.

He took a ragged breath. “Okay, let’s get on with it, shall we?”

She shifted her eyes. “Get on with what?”

“You are going to feel compelled to do something soon,” he told her, tapping her on the tip of her nose. “I don’t want you to fight it. Okay?”

“Fight what?”

“Whatever it is,” he replied, grinning.

And without another word, he bent down to put his lips next to her ear again. This time, however, before he could whisper anything, she turned her head suddenly, abruptly, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Surprised, he withdrew, standing up straight again, but she arched up onto her tiptoes to follow him, refusing to let go, refusing to take her lips from his. His hands grasped her thin waist, undecided, for a moment, whether to push or pull, and then one arm wrapped tightly around her waist while his other hand went to the back of her head, holding it in place. And the kiss went on and on.

They were both breathing hard when he finally pulled his face from hers.

“Is that what I wasn’t supposed to fight?” she asked breathlessly.

But now, his lips were against her ear again. She tried to brace herself, mentally; tried not to let her body shudder with the expectation of the total surrender she knew was coming. “Sleep,” he whispered, and she felt her mind falling and falling; felt her body go limp and hang in his arms; hoping desperately that he would never let her go.

* * *

“ … ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred,” she said softly.

She felt … wonderful. Slowly, she pulled her arm out from beneath the soft sheet and blanket and lightly ran her fingers over her lips, still feeling his kiss. The bedroom was dark, and she had no idea what time it was, but it was obviously the middle of the night. Her fingers weren’t enough, and she gently replaced them with her tongue, trying to remember the taste of his lips.

She sighed. Why hadn’t he taken her already? And he must want to, she decided. He had held her, if ever so briefly, and kissed her, even if it didn’t last long enough. Who was she kidding? Of course he liked to be kissed … all men did. And tomorrow (today?), he would have his way with her … for a period not to exceed 24-hours. But then he would be rid of her; hypnotically transferring her ardor to someone else. Oh, how she hoped it wouldn’t be another woman. It might be, of course. He could MAKE her want that. He could make her do anything. Anything.

Another sigh. Who would her new love be? And, as Richard had so ungraciously pointed out, if she really, really loved him (or her), then she would joyously give herself to that person sexually. But would that person find her pleasing? Would that person look at her the way HE did?

What did he find so enthralling about her nipples? She slid her arm back under the sheet, let her right hand join her left, and gently used them to massaged her breasts, simultaneously. The nipples WERE very long, standing dramatically above her smallish breasts, hard and proud. She gently rubbed them with her fingers and felt an electric tingle below them in the breasts themselves. The feeling made her breath quicken, her pulse race a bit. They DID make her feel good. Gently, she pinched them, pulled them with her thumbs and forefingers. That made her feel even better. Would her new lover want to do this to her? She tried to form a picture of him, of what she wanted him to look like, but every time the picture began to form, it was Richard’s face that materialized in her mind.

HE would be taking her soon. He would be doing THIS to her soon. Oooohh! Maybe he would want to pinch them … like this. Or maybe even harder … like this. Oooohh! She NEVER did this to herself at night, not like she was doing now … pinching and pulling … touching herself … like this. Why had she never thought to do this before? More to the point, why was she doing it now? Oooohh! The shivers were coming more frequently now. Oh, this was … pleasant. Oh, this was heaven!

But Richard wouldn’t stop with THIS, of course. Richard wouldn’t be satisfied until he had put his penis into her vagina. Until he had put his cock into her pussy. Why had she just thought those words? She NEVER thought about those words! But that’s what he would do, of course. That’s what all men thought about. That’s ALL they could think about! That’s all that they wanted! He wanted to put his cock in her pussy. Right here, into her pussy. Right … Oooohh! Right … right there. Right there. Oh, gosh, it was wet. It was so wet! Had she peed a little? But no, it wasn’t urine. It was … slippery. Oily. And it made her finger go in so … easily. Just slip right in. Slip right out. Slip right in. Oooohh! That was nice. That was really, really …. Her whole body jerked suddenly. Omigosh! What was THAT? She’d just touched it with the tip of her thumb. It was right … um … right … THERE! Oooohh! Oh, gosh! Why had she never noticed that thing before? Because you’ve never DONE this before, you idiot, she chided herself silently. Why are you doing it now?!? Oooohh! That’s why! That feeling … that … wonderful … tingle? No, not really a tingle. Oooohh! Well, okay, it was a tingle, but also more than that, really. Like a pressure. Like a pressure building up in her soul. Right in the middle of her very being.

But she’d forgotten about her nipples! She missed that. Okay, she’d tug and pull on her nipples with her left hand, while she slid her forefinger in and out of her pussy with her right. Slide in. Slide out. Slide in. SO slippery! And now, each time she let her finger slide in, she’d touch that THING with her thumb … like this. She jerked savagely. The bedsprings creaked. Oooohh! That one was the best one so far. She’d do that again. Oooohh! That was good. That was really, really good. But her forefinger wasn’t going in deep enough. Robert’s cock would be longer than THAT! She tried her middle finger. That was a little better … a little deeper. And now (why hadn’t she thought of this before?) … now she could slide her middle finger all the way in … aaallll the way in … and now she could use both her thumb AND her forefinger to pinch that … that thing! And now she could switch nipples with her other hand and pinch and pull the other one. And maybe twist it a little? Ooohhh!

And she was doing it faster, now, and that made it even better! And that pressure was building up, as if her soul was about to explode. And the bedsprings were creaking more now. And … Oooohh! … and oh, she hoped that Robert was a sound sleeper and wouldn’t hear her … hear the bedsprings. Oooohh! She would twist the left nipple for awhile like she had been doing the right one. Oooohh! And she was going to do it even faster, because the pressure was just marvelous! Oooohh! And she would … she would … um … she would ….

“AAAHHHH!” she screamed loudly, throwing her head back on the feather pillow, arching her back off the mattress. She opened her eyes wide, clamped her lips shut and prayed he hadn’t heard that. But she’d forgotten to stop rubbing! “AAAAHHHH!” she screamed again. Oh, fuck it! “AHHH! AAAHHH!” Oh my gosh! She just HAD to make herself stop plunging her finger so rapidly into her sopping pussy! And pinching her nipple so hard! And doing that … thing she was doing to that … thing she was doing it to! Oh no! Here came another wave of it, washing over her! “AAAHHH! AAAAHHHH!”

Somehow, she found herself on her knees, her hands still clutching at her nipples and pussy, and her face buried into the pillow, and she screamed out her passion, which was fortunately muffled now. And then she toppled over onto her side, breathing hard, shivering uncontrollably, jerking from time to time, as the feeling mustered enough strength to push itself once more into her body. Her mind was numb with pleasure. Her body seemed to be floating, and she was only vaguely aware that her fluids were so copious that they were forming a puddle beneath her. She should do something about that. She should get up and find some tissues or something. She should … um … she … should …

And she was asleep.

* * *

She spent almost an hour in the bathroom and he let her stay in there, shampooing her hair, spending too long in the shower, washing off the dried deposits from her night of self-induced passion, which seemed to be all over her legs and hands … and even, to her mortification, her elbows. As she dried her hair with the handheld dryer, brushing and fluffing, she smiled to herself. Today was the day. Today, he would take her. Today, the terms of the contract would finally be carried out.

Out in the kitchen, she sat and watched him toasting bagels. The big terrycloth robe kept slipping off of her right shoulder, and finally, she just left it. Her small right breast was only just large enough to keep it from sliding further, stubbornly refusing to let itself be seen.

Richard looked distracted. He tried valiantly to keep up a meaningless banter as he prepared the simple fast, and kept up the chatter as they munched it. Finally, she could take it no longer. Peering over the lip of her orange juice glass, she asked in a small voice what was troubling him. He smiled wanly and took her empty glass, carrying the scant dishes to the sink.

“I’ve gone as far as I can go without talking to you,” he told her seriously.

“Talking to me?”

“Yes. You. Just you. The real you.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, in a voice that was an octave too high. Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong.

“While you are under hypnosis, I’m dealing with your subconscious … the ‘you’ beneath the ‘you.’ Does that make sense?”

“Um … yes, I guess.”

“But now, before we take this last step, I need to talk to the REAL you. I need to find out what you REALLY want. When you’re under, you tell me what your MIND most desires. But often, your mind lives in a dream, and you can’t have those things in the real world. I need to know WHO you want to be … at work … in your personal life … for real.”

She swallowed hard. For some reason, she found she was shaking uncontrollably. “I told you … I want love. I want you to make me fall in love. And then I’m going to give myself to you. Like the contract says ….”

“Oh, come on, Gail. It’s time to stop pretending about that stupid contract.” He walked to the refrigerator and slowly took the magnets off the page. He returned to the table, sat down and held up the sheet of paper dramatically in front of him. Then, with the thumbs and forefingers of each hand, he held it in the middle at the top and started tearing it.

“NOOO!” she screeched, and she launched herself across the table at him like a linebacker diving for a tackle. Taken completely by surprise, he stood up and dropped the page, which fluttered once before she caught it in both hands, grasping it hard, crumpling it, just as she landed with a sliding THUMP on her belly on the table. Then, she slithered backwards, until she was once more at her place. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. With trembling fingers, she put the paper on the table in front of her and began trying to smooth it back out with the palms of both hands.

He could only stare at her with wide eyes. This action had been totally unexpected. Why hadn’t he seen something like this coming? What had he missed? “Um … Gail ….”

“It’s torn,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. She kept smoothing it with her hands.

“Gail, we need to talk about this.”

“Do you have any tape?”

“Gail, you and I need to talk about the things that ….”

“Just a little piece is all we need. It’s just a little tear, right here at the top.”

“Gail ….”

But she wasn’t listening to him, he knew. What had caused this? What was the thing that he’d missed? He bent and righted the chair that he’d toppled. Then he walked to a drawer, opened it, and took out a roll of Scotch tape. Without another word, he went to her side and handed it to her.

She smiled brightly up at him. “Thank you, Richard.” She tore off a two-inch piece and then took excruciating care applying it to the torn paper. “There. Good as new, don’t you think?” She stood and faced him, standing very close.

“What do you want to do now?” he asked her quietly, observing her closely.

To his alarm, she loosened the belt on the robe, and with a gentle shrug, the whole thing slid off of her slender body onto the floor around her feet. “Now, I’m going to give myself to you,” she said quietly. “Just like the contract says.”

He put one of his hands to his head, his eyes raking her lovely, naked body. It couldn’t end like this! He’d missed something! What was it?

“Aren’t you going to take me, Richard? I’m your sex slave for the next twenty-four hours.”

He glanced down at the paper, and suddenly, he thought he had it. “Oh no, Gail. Not yet. We haven’t finished yet, have we?”

She put her arms around his neck, pressing her body into him. “I have to pay you. I have to give myself to you … completely.”

“But that’s not what the contract says, is it?” He watched her eyes carefully.

“It doesn’t?” her voice was thin, unsure.

“It says right there in the contract … I have to finish first. We have one more session, and THEN, when I’m all finished, that’s when you pay me. That’s when you give yourself to me. That’s what the contract says.” He stooped down, sliding out of her grasping arms, and picked up the robe.

Her eyes slid left and right, panic showing behind them. She let her gaze settle, for a moment, on the contract, but she seemed incapable to reading it. “It really says that?”

“Yes,” he told her firmly. She stood, unresisting, as he pushed first her left arm, and then her right into the sleeves of the robe. He tightened the belt around her waist. Finally, he took her hand and slowly led her into the living room.

“You’re going to put me to sleep again,” she said, making it a statement. “One more time, and then I’m going to be your sex slave.”

“No more sleep, Gail.”

She stopped abruptly, and when he turned back to her, he found her eyes clear, the old Gail looking out of them. She began shivering wildly, hugging her arms around herself. “You’re going to do something terrible, aren’t you Richard? You’re about to do something horrible.”

And THAT’S what he had missed! She was a puzzle-solver! It was her profession. Through sheer intellect, her conscious mind was piecing together the things that her subconscious mind was hiding. And now, those two halves were undergoing a violent struggle.

He clutched her hand and dragged her the last little way to the couch, pushing her down and sitting beside her. “I need you to be brave for me, Gail. I need you to trust me.”

“Don’t, Richard. Please don’t!”

He leaned forward and put his lips to her ear.

“Make me go to sleep, Richard. Please make me go to sleep! Make me sleep! Put me to sleep!”

And he whispered: “Remember!”

She sat stock-still for a long moment, her panting breath hard and regular. But eventually, her breathing changed … slowing ... and then it caught in her throat.

“Noooooo!” she wailed, and she was choked by a massive sob. Her body seemed to shrink into itself, collapsing, her back slumping as she bent forward.

“Why did you DO that to me?” she wailed, and sobbed again. Then she looked pleadingly up into his eyes. “I put it in a box!”

“Yes, I know,” he told her gently.

“I put it in a box! I put a lid on it … a tight, tight lid, so it couldn’t slip out! And then I wrapped it up with string, so it was trapped! And then I pushed it into a corner … a deep dark corner, where I couldn’t even see it … like it wasn’t even there! And after a long time, it just went away. Don’t you understand, Richard? It wasn’t THERE anymore!” She sobbed again. “And then, you let it out!” she finished miserably. “You let it out again.”

“I had to, Gail.”

“But WHY?”

“I HAD to! As long as the box was there, you would never be able to fall in love … not REAL love, anyway. You couldn’t even touch a man. You could barely make yourself LOOK at one!”

She shrugged, as if that had no meaning anymore. The robe slipped off of her left shoulder. “What are we going to do now?”

“We’re going to talk about it.”

“What’s there to talk about?” she asked dejectedly. She gazed helplessly into his eyes. “He hurt me, Richard! He hurt me bad!”

“I know that, Gail. But you don’t have to feel the pain now; you just have to understand it! Tell me: Why didn’t your mother stop him?”

“She was asleep … or she pretended to be. She wouldn’t wake up. I screamed and screamed, but she wouldn’t wake up!”

“No, Gail. You’re still looking at it through the eyes of a seven year-old girl. Look back NOW. Look back at it as you are NOW! Why didn’t your mother wake up?”

She blinked and stared at a spot in the middle of the living room, as if she was watching it all unfold again. Finally, she met his eyes. “He gave her some drugs. She passed out. She wasn’t asleep … she was unconscious!”

“I’m not going to pull any punches here, Gail. Your mother is a sick, sick woman … and NOT a very nice person. I’ve never met the gal, but if I had the chance to examine her, based on what you’ve told me while you were hypnotized, I can almost guarantee you what I’d find. I’m certain that she suffers from acute nymphomania, combined with crippling self esteem issues and deep masochistic tendencies.

“And I’m certain that she was trying to seek sympathy from prospective sex partners by purposefully aggravating those psychological problems. When a woman approaches a man at a bar and TELLS him that she’s a nymphomaniac, and TELLS him that she’ll do anything at all that he wants, then she’s TRYING to make the situation worse.”

“Munchausen syndrome,” Gail muttered. “Yesterday, you weren’t trying to figure ME out … you were trying to figure out my mother!”

“She had a string of lovers that she’d entertain almost every night … different lovers! But she at least had the strength to give herself to them only AFTER she thought you were safe in your room. However, after that, she had no limits. Men could do anything to her … anything. Actually, I’m a bit surprised that you were only raped once.”

“I can’t make myself feel sorry for her,” she said in a small voice.

“Quite frankly, my dear, I don’t give a rat’s ass about your mother. But I needed to be able to truthfully tell you that your mom didn’t purposefully just lie there while her boyfriend raped her seven year-old daughter in the same room. And now, I can tell you that, psychologically, she NEVER would have done that. She doesn’t even know that it happened! If she did, she wouldn’t have had the guts to come back to you. But there were limits to her ‘motherly love.’ She didn’t hesitate to abandon you, just as soon as you got that letter of acceptance from the college. And she didn’t hesitate to use you and cheat you, once you were an adult.”

Gail had stopped shaking, and her eyes were dry. “You’re not going to make me fall in love with some man … or woman … are you?”

He smiled wanly. “No, of course not. You’re perfectly capable of falling in love, all by yourself.”

“Then why did you write the contract?”

“You were crying out to me for help, Gail! Jasmine made me promise that when anyone did that, I’d do whatever I could. I didn’t think you’d let me see you professionally any other way.”

She sighed dejectedly. “I guess I should get dressed and leave.”

“We’re not through here.”

She looked up questioningly into his eyes. He detected a glimmer of hope in hers, but her depression utterly confused him. He cocked his head a little and gazed at her, trying to solve yet another riddle.

“Ah yes,” she said at last, uncomfortable with the too-long silence. “You wanted to ask me some questions in there.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “You wanted to speak to the real me, not the me inside the me.” Her mouth twitched at its grim corners for a moment. “Pure psychobabble, Richard.”

“What is it, Gail?” he asked, taking her hands in his own. “I’ve reached out in every way I can think of, but I still can’t quite touch you.” He couldn’t seem to make her look into his eyes. “It’s the contract, isn’t it?” And THAT made her look up. “Yes … that’s it!” he exclaimed. “You’re still clutching at that contract as if it was a lifeline. You won’t let it go. Do you actually think that I could have FORCED you to love someone? Are you still waiting for me to DESIGNATE a lover?”

She looked back down. “No,” she said so softly that he had to lean closer to her to hear. “I don’t care about that any more. Now, I’m not really sure that I ever did.”

And he smiled. “Then it’s about ME?”

She raised her face imploringly. “I went into that office thinking that I was going to HAVE to give myself to whoever the therapist was on the other side of that door! I thought about it and thought about it, but there was never a real person in my imagination. There was never a face. And then, suddenly … suddenly … there was! And the more I thought about that encounter … with … my sexual master … every time I formed a picture of him in my mind … the more I liked the thought of it being YOU! And the more I got to know you, the better the dream got. You were the one! The contract guaranteed it! My dream was going to come true!” She paused again. “You were going to come true.”

She sighed once more. “I should go,” she whispered.

He grinned. “And how, exactly, do you intend to pay me?”

She blinked. “Pay you?”

“Twelve hours work, but my tally,” he said, with an offhand gesture. She looked at him with a mixture of alarm, curiosity and expectation. “I think a one-for-one payoff would work,” he continued. She blinked at him. “No, let’s make it two-for-one, what ‘dya say?” he intoned thoughtfully. She looked down and blushed. “Of course,” he said sagely, “we could do it in shifts!”

She barked a little laugh. “Oh, I DID make it sound terrible, didn’t I?”

And suddenly, somehow, miraculously, she was in his arms, and he was crushing her to him, his soft lips on her own. She left her arms by her sides for a long, surprised second, and then lifted them up, putting them around his bulk, holding him, clutching him. He released her and stood, giving her his hand, helping her up. Standing, she pressed her body into his, his hands went around her waist, her arms reached up and encircled his neck.

“At the risk of spoiling the spontaneity,” he told her breathlessly, “I’d like to pause to tell you that you are, without exception, the most desirable woman I’ve ever seen. I want you. I want you very much. Will you give yourself to me, Gail? Not because of the contract … but because ….”

“Oh, Richard, of course!” She started running her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “But … at the risk of spoiling the spontaneity, I have to tell you that I don’t know the first thing about doing this. Will your teach me?”

He gave her a long, deep, passionate kiss, holding her tightly, while she plastered her body against his. “You’re doing expertly, so far, all on your own,” he said softly, his lips still against hers.

She felt the belt of the bathrobe loosen, and then his insistent hands began tugging at the shoulders of the garment. Without relinquishing the kiss, she let her arms fall and the robe slip off onto the floor, before putting them back around his neck. His hands felt huge and hard and rough against her sides, grabbing handfuls of her ass, stroking her back, holding the back of her neck, feeling her hair, roaming freely all over her naked (oh, so naked!) body.

And, at last he had one of those huge, rough hands on her left breast, pressing into it, squeezing it, gently pinching her nipple with his thumb and forefinger. She opened her mouth wide to gasp into his kissing mouth, and was amazed to find his tongue entering, finding her tongue with his own, jousting with it, stroking it, entering her mouth farther and then retreating. When she tried to follow the intruder with her own tongue, he sucked on it. Her knees gave way, and she found herself comfortably protected from the laws of gravity by his petting, stroking left hand behind her and his clutching, kneading right hand on her breast. He was a puppeteer, manipulating her, and she was his plaything.

Suddenly, disappointingly, she found his hands missing from her body. She somehow got her feet beneath her, and while she didn’t relinquish the kiss, she realized that he had done this so that he could remove his own clothes. Desperate, she tried to help, and immediately, there were four hands, jousting for control of the top button on his shirt, getting hopelessly tangled up. He moved his hands lower to start work on the next button at the same instant she did. He barked a laugh into her open, kissing mouth, and suddenly they were both laughing uncontrollably at each other and with each other. He sat heavily on the couch, and she knelt in front of him, taking off his shoes and socks, while he finally finished the buttons unopposed. Four hands were once again fighting for the honor of his belt buckle, but eventually, with much straining and giggling and thrusting of hips, he was as nude as she.

She stood, and he grabbed her around the waist; and with a laughing shriek, she found herself being lifted and spun over him, transitioning somehow seamlessly between the vertical and the horizontal, so that she was now lying down, trapped between the back of the couch and his muscular body, which was pressed against her entire length. He kissed her again, and she had to fight, momentarily, to maneuver her arms away from her pinned body and back to their natural place, around his neck. His left arm was tucked behind her neck, providing a loving pillow, and his right hand … well his right hand just seemed to be everywhere! Touching and squeezing and pinching and petting and stroking and …. “Oooohhh!” she breathed into his mouth, her body arching up into that wonderful hand.

He lifted his face from hers and stared into her doe-like eyes. “You like?” he chided, doing the same thing that had elicited the verbal response.

“Oooohhh, Richard!” she gasped, her body once again straining upward, off of the surface of the couch. He stopped the prodding exploration of her incredibly moist pussy, and began tracing around it with light, tickling fingers. She took the reprieve to ask a question. “Richard … did you MAKE me touch myself last night while I was in bed?”

He grinned broadly and gave her a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Did you enjoy it?” He stopped tickling and began his little “plunge and stroke” maneuver that she seemed to enjoy so much.

“Oooohhh! I … Oh, gosh, Richard! … Aaahhh!” He stopped again, petting more gently once more. She panted heavily for a few moments. “I … I had never done that to myself before.”

“Yes, I know.”

She blushed. He knew more about her than she did herself, she thought. “I … I LOVED it! But … Oh, Richard! This is SO much better!”

The arm behind her neck was gone before she realized it, and while the exploring right hand continued its assault on her sopping cunt, she was amazed at the feel of his sucking lips on her left breast. He would slurp almost half the tender flesh of her pliable orb into his greedy mouth, and then slowly let it slip out until only the long, rubbery nipple was trapped between his gently biting teeth. He’d hold it there, flicking it with his tongue, marveling at the odd mixture of sounds she was creating without conscious thought.

The last of those sounds (at least the ones created by the nipple manipulation) was a loud groan of disappointment as he stopped doing it, and she simply lay there, panting uncontrollably, not thinking about what he was doing at all, until his tongue suddenly slid along her swollen clitoris.

And she exploded. Her body arched up, so that her head was touching the couch, but little else of her. The fingers of both hands were laced in his hair, and both of her legs had somehow found their way to his back, her knees on either side on his head. The muscles of her stomach were clenching rhythmically, as was her entire pussy. Slowly, she came to realize that the screams were coming from her own lips. But now, he had finally stopped his licking invasion of her soul, and her shrieks became heaving whimpers. Her lungs demanded more air than she was able to provide them, and bright little lights swirled before her eyes. She let her body gently lie back again, limp, useless.

He crawled back up her thin frame, crushing it beneath his, until his face was even with hers again. He kissed her briefly, because she still had to gasp for a little longer, but then he kissed her again, more strongly, and yet again. Something very hard was pressing against the base of her tummy, and she smiled, knowing what it was. She licked her lips after his final kiss.

“Is that what I taste like?” she whispered.

“Heavenly, isn’t it?” he replied. “Would you like to rest awhile?”

“Oh no!” she declared, and tried to rise. His body had her completely trapped. “There’s something you have that I think deserves study,” she continued. She tried again to sit and then laughed. “Let me up, you big oaf!” She pounded her small fists ineffectually against his massive shoulders.

Laughing himself, he sat up, his feet on the floor. She paused to kiss him again, and then fell on her knees in front of him, pushing his legs apart, taking his stiff cock in her hands, fondling it.

“I suppose this explodes the myth about black men,” he told her, watching her.

But she never took her eyes off his stiff member. She seemed mesmerized by it. “Myth?”

“About size,” he said, gently.

“Size?” she asked, dazed. She stroked it, petted it. Without thinking, she licked her lips. Her eyes never left it.

“I’m not that big,” he told her, exasperated.

She glanced up at his face for an instant. But only an instant. “Richard, you’ve got to be kidding me! It’s HUGE!” She stared at it again, stroked it again, then scooped up his balls into her hand and gently squeezed them.

He threw back his head and groaned loudly. But he wouldn’t let the subject go. “They DO come in a larger size,” he told her.

She laughed at that. “For God’s sake, WHY?”

And that made him laugh, too. But it was short-lived mirth, as her mouth was suddenly filled with his throbbing cock, and she sucked it, let it go, licked, sucked it in again; and then she sat back on her heels, licking her lips, and looking up at his face quizzically. He was breathing too hard to ask her what was wrong. And again her mouth had sucked him in, slurping, lathing her tongue around it, sucking some more.

A laugh burst from her lips around the cockhead, and she sat back again, an incredulous smile splitting her face. “Vanilla?” she giggled. “YOU did this, didn’t you … Doctor?” She smacked her lips. “Either you dipped this monster in vat of vanilla, or you’re MAKING me taste this!”

He smiled nervously down at her and shrugged. “I … um … didn’t know that you’d be … um … really doing that to ME,” he said defensively. “But I … knew you liked vanilla, and … um ….”

She stood and wrapped her arms around him, holding him, laughing. He spun her around again, her back on the surface of the couch again, holding her again. “You can do anything to me, can’t you?” she asked gently, the smile never leaving her lips, her eyes admiring him. “You can make me FEEL anything. Make me DESIRE anything. You can do anything you want!”

“There’s only one thing I REALLY want right now,” he husked.

“Oh, yes,” she whispered.

Her legs were already spread for him, and he maneuvered himself above her, lining himself up. She reached up and held his face in both hands, gazing into his eyes, waiting patiently as he found her dripping opening. He applied pressure, then a little more, and even more. Her eyes remained tenderly on his, unblinking, but her lips parted and she began to pant. More pressure and more, and the head of his cock pushed into her and her eyes closed for a long moment before opening again, gazing deeply into his. Her panting became more pronounced, deeper.

And now, he was pushing further into her, further and further, and her eyes closed again, opened, and she couldn’t prevent them from rolling back. As his hips pushed in the last few inches, he allowed his face to lower, as well, and she let go of his face with her hands and wrapped her arms tightly around him.

“Are you okay,” he panted gently.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Can … can you do me a favor?”

He took a few deep breaths. “What?”

“Would you mind staying … just like this …. Ooohhh! … just … um … just like this … forever?”

And he barked a laugh, pushed himself up with his hands above her, pulled his cock out several inches, and pushed back in. The noises she was making were becoming incoherent again. She seemingly couldn’t figure out what to do with her hands. She pressed her palms into his chest for awhile, then clutched at his upper arms, held his sides, stretched them out toward his neck, but couldn’t quite reach it, then put them by her sides as she began rolling her head from side to side. Another orgasm claimed her, shook her, made her cry out, her cunt clutching at his cock. It had been too long for him. He could go no further. He thrust forward violently, making her scream out one last time, and he cried out as well while his balls contracted and he came and came. It went on for an unending minute, and he collapsed on top of her.

He was concerned about her ability to breathe beneath his bulk, and so he slowly rolled over in place, taking her with him, until he was on his back and she was sprawled atop him, as if his body was a piece of large, firm, fleshy furniture. She ran her hands over him and sighed.

They both drifted, contented, happy, for many minutes. She couldn’t decide, for awhile, whether to let herself drift into sleep or stay awake to contemplate her happiness. She felt him stir beneath her. “What was it you wanted to ask me in there?” she murmured. “What did you want to ask the ‘real me?’”

He smiled up at her, then reached up and tapped her on the forehead. “Is that you in there?”

“Oh, I hope so.”

“I was just going to ask you what type of personality you wanted to have,” he said.

“What?”

“You, my dear, are a submissive. I’ve never encountered such a submissive personality.”

She sighed deeply. “Like my mother.”

“Oh, no; not by a long shot! There is a HUGE difference between submissiveness and masochism. Completely different motivations. So different that they’re covered by different fields of psychology. One is Normal, the other Abnormal.”

She burrowed the side of her face into his neck, trying to feel closer to him. “So what about ME?”

“Many submissives don’t want to BE submissive,” he said gently. “Assertiveness is all the rage right now. I can help change you, if you want me to.”

She thought about that for a moment. “Can you make me half-and-half?” she asked gently.

“Half-and-half?”

“I’d love to be a little more assertive at work, but when I get back home, I just want to be your hypnotic sex slave.”

He laughed at that while she refused to look up, still trying to burrow farther into the side of his neck.

“I can’t get close enough to you,” she said softly. “I don’t ever want to move.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to,” he said, looking down at her, forcing her to look up into his eyes. “You’ll have to leave tomorrow.”

She blinked, concerned. “I will?”

“Yup. All we get is twenty-four hours. It’s in the contract.”

In a flash, she was up and running, tall and naked and proud, into the next room; and he thought that if she had been born an animal, she would have been a gazelle. But then, she was back, holding the contract, tearing it into little pieces. With a smile, she stretched herself out on top of him again, pressing her body into his.

“Now,” she drowsed, “where were we?” He laughed and put his arms around her, holding her close.

“I’ve turned into a cliché,” he mumbled. She lifted her head and looked at him questioningly. “A successful black man with a gorgeous, young white woman.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” she said seriously, resting her cheek against his chest. “We are NOT a cliché! There is no one like us. In all the universe, we are unique.”

“We’re not unique, Gail,” he said softly, stroking her bare back. “We’re just in love.”