The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Please, Rebecca,” the whining voice begged. “Please, we can go anywhere you want, do anything you want. Just say you’ll go out with me!”

“No, Herb, you herb,” the tall brunette said scornfully. Cool blue eyes surveyed the man standing in front of her. “You’ve been asking me for the last six months. What’s it going to take to convince you I’m never, ever going to go out with you?”

“Okay,” Herb said in a bleak voice. “I get the message.” Head hanging, he turned and walked away.

Rebecca Cintron watched her rejected suitor move off. When he was finally out of sight, she heaved a sigh of relief. Herbert Hoover Epps—and what hideous whim had moved his parents to name him that?—was definitely not date material. His attentions had been the bane of her existence ever since he’d started after her.

It didn’t help that they worked at the same place. Benton Brothers Investments was a big financial firm in Manhattan. Unfortunately, it wasn’t big enough for Rebecca not to have met Herb there. She handled a number of the company’s prime accounts; he worked in Systems as a programmer-analyst. He was the perfect picture of a computer geek, complete with round glasses, big eagle-beak nose and center-parted black hair. She was sure he was a virgin. He’d probably die as one, she thought smugly; no other woman would be any more likely to find him attractive than she did.

The tall, lush brunette put Herbert Epps out of her mind. She had better things to think about.

That evening at home, she logged onto her computer to check her e-mail. Most of it, as usual, was crap, quickly disposed of. There were a couple of business messages, to which she responded with a slight feeling of annoyance—she hated to bring her work home.

And there was one mystery item, something whose subject line bore only a tiny gold icon of a key. Intrigued, she clicked on it.

Across town, in his own apartment, Herbert Epps heard the tiny chime which indicated that the special e-mail he’d sent had been opened. He smiled.

Rebecca would have been very surprised to see him. The dejected loser she’d blown off earlier that day was gone. In his place was a cool, confident man who watched the lit screen of his PC with anticipation.

The program he’d embedded in the mail message wouldn’t be visible to the reader. Once the message was opened, though, it would download itself quietly. When it was installed, it would begin doing what it had been designed to do—and it would activate again each time the user of that machine went onto the Net.

A second chime sounded. Herbert rubbed his hands together in glee. The program was installed and running. Now for a test.

His fingers roved over the keyboard, typing. REBECCA, TOMORROW MORNING YOU WILL COME TO WORK IN THE BLACK PUMPS YOU KNOW HERBERT LIKES. TYPE YES IF YOU AGREE. She hadn’t worn those shoes since she’d found out Herbert thought they were sexy.

YES. The word appeared on his screen within seconds.

GOOD, Herb responded. NOW CLOSE OUT THE E-MAIL AND DELETE IT. TYPE YES WHEN YOU HAVE DONE THIS. One of his program’s minor features was an ability to read keystrokes from Rebecca’s machine and pass them to him in instant-message form.

YES. Again the word appeared almost instantly.

Deleting his e-mail would have no effect now. His little gift was safely downloaded to Rebecca’s PC. All he needed to do now was wait and watch.

Rebecca blinked. That last e-mail, the one with the little key in the subject line, had been weird. Its sender was some gibberish address she didn’t recognize. When she’d opened it, it had displayed a large version of the key, shaded to look realistically three-dimensional and rotating slowly while she watched, seeming to gleam almost like the real thing. It had certainly been eye-catching.

A message underneath had said, CLICK HERE. Curious, she had clicked on it. It hadn’t seemed to do anything, though. Perhaps the link was defective.

Maybe it was some sort of ad, she guessed. If so, it had been poorly designed: she had no idea what it had been selling.

Oh, well, she thought, it couldn’t have been anything important.

Her on-line business for the night concluded, she logged off and shut down her PC. Then she left her small home office and went through her clothes, carefully selecting the next day’s outfit. When she got to the shoes, she reached into the back of her closet and pulled out a pair of glossy black high heels she hadn’t worn in some time. Without thinking about it, she set them neatly below the skirt and blouse she’d picked out. Then she went out into the kitchen to fix her supper.

The next morning she was dismayed to find Herb Epps waiting for her by her office door. “What are you doing here?” she asked him crossly.

Herb gave her a rabbity look and answered, “I just thought I’d bring over these printouts.” He held out a stack of paper, which Rebecca reluctantly accepted. “Don’t worry,” he went on. “You’ve made it clear you’re not interested in dating me. There’s no point in keeping on asking you to do what you just don’t want to do.”

Rebecca favored the computer nerd with a small, chilly smile. “Just so long as you remember that, Herb.” Then she turned her back and went into the office, closing its door behind her.

Herb only smiled. He’d seen the shoes she had on.

It was working, Herb Epps exulted in the privacy of his cubicle. The program was working! The virus code he’d named Turnkey was designed to deliver subliminal stimuli to its target, stimuli which made their target completely receptive to suggestion. And judging by the success of last night’s little test, the program had done its job perfectly.

Herb chucked softly. He’d done a lot of reading about subliminals back in college; he’d even done a couple of minor experiments back then. There was the matter of the Dean’s wife at the ‘96 Christmas party, for instance. But Turnkey took the idea to a whole new level.

And he had Rebecca Cintron to thank for it. Her casual cruelty in rejecting his romantic overtures had finally ticked him off enough to do something about it. He’d spent several months working at night on BBI’s systems, designing his little package. Then he’d had to find a way to deliver it, of course.

Rebecca’s habit of mailing little notes to herself at home had given him the way in. He’d managed to access her e-mail account and read her home e-mail address off one such communication; that had been all he’d needed. Now Turnkey was in place, and all he had to do to use it was catch Rebecca on-line and send her one of his special messages with the key graphic.

He could hardly wait for the next time.

That night, Rebecca Cintron logged on as usual to look over her e-mail. There was the usual stuff, which she disposed of in the usual way. And there was another of the mystery messages with the little gold key in the subject line. She almost deleted it without opening it. The last one, after all, hadn’t been anything important.

Somehow, though, her fingers clicked the mouse on it. The message opened, revealing the large three-dimensional animated version of the key she’d seen last time. There was a CLICK HERE message below it this time, too. Without thinking, the brunette clicked on it.

A full-sized window opened instantly on her screen. Within it, fabulously complicated graphics writhed and danced in a dazzling array of colors. Rebecca’s attention was instantly riveted, just as it had been the night before. She focused intently on the flickering image, forgetting everything else as her mind struggled to force its shapes and hues into some comprehensible pattern. As she stared, a high-speed crawl of text crossed the screen, its words sinking into her mind without her being consciously aware of them. They weren’t important. All that mattered were the beautiful dancing colors.

Finally the text crawl slowed to a halt, displaying the words TYPE YES IF YOU AGREE.

YES, Rebecca’s fingers typed.

“Yes,” Rebecca’s voice whispered.

Rebecca’s mind had nothing to say. It was too busy with the pretty colors.

The graphics window suddenly vanished, leaving the dark-haired woman once more facing only an e-mail message.

She blinked, then shook her head, annoyed. Why had she bothered to open this? It was as meaningless as the first one had been. She clicked on the delete button at the bottom of the message form.

She logged off and shut down her computer. She didn’t notice she’d been staring at that one e-mail for more than twenty minutes; for her, it seemed as if only a few seconds had passed. She didn’t remember the dancing colors at all.

The next morning she chose an outfit she ordinarily wouldn’t have worn to work: tight leopard-skin pants, a low-cut white blouse and the highest heels she owned. She spent nearly an hour fussing with her makeup and with her hair, which she teased up into an elaborate curly mass.

She caught sight of herself in the hall closet mirror as she went for her jacket. She looked fine, she thought. Her ordinary business attire suddenly seemed dull and dowdy.

When she arrived at work, admiring whistles greeted her. Smiling, she went into her office and got right to work. She had a full in-basket; it wasn’t long before she’d buried herself in her assignments. Time passed in a blur.

She was jolted out of her rhythm by a sudden unexpected rapping at her office door. Looking up, she called out, “Yes? Come in, please.”

Herbert Epps came in. “We were going to lunch,” he said. “I thought I’d drop by and pick you up.”

“Of course,” Rebecca said. “Just let me get my coat.” It didn’t occur to her that there was anything out of order in accepting Herb’s invitation. It didn’t even occur to her that he hadn’t actually invited her—that he’d just acted as if he’d done so.

Such thoughts didn’t come to her until the two of them were seated in a smoky bar several blocks from the office. When they did, she stirred uneasily and murmured, “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Herb smiled. “Why not?” Holding her gaze with his own, he reached into an inside pocket of his own suit jacket with his right hand and pulled out a small gold key on a chain. Propping his right elbow on his left wrist, which was resting on the polished top of the small round table at which they sat, he dangled the key, leaving just enough slack in the chain to allow it to sway gently. As it did, it caught the light from the chandelier above them, sending it off in gentle glimmers as it moved.

“I, I, uh,” Rebecca stammered, “I don’t—I mean, I’m not . . . I don’t find you . . . find you . . .” Her eyes followed the key as it swung gently on its chain. It looked just like the graphic she’d seen in those mystery e-mails.

“Find me what?” Herbert prompted.

“At . . . at-trac-tive,” the brunette answered, stumbling over the word as if she found it difficult.

“You find me attractive,” Herb stated.

“At-trac-tive,” Rebecca agreed, nodding slowly, her eyes continuing to follow the key. “Yes.”

“You enjoy being with me.”

“Yes,” Rebecca said again. She smiled. “I enjoy being with you.”

Satisfied, Herb put the key away. He watched silently for a couple of minutes. Rebecca’s eyes continued to track back and forth, back and forth.

The computer specialist laughed softly. Last night’s instructions had programmed Rebecca to find the key he’d used as a model for his Turnkey emblem powerfully hypnotic. With that subprogram installed in her mind, he could control her completely any time he chose, just by showing her the key. Of course, the program itself would continue to allow him to instruct her from a distance. He’d need that, if his plans for her were to come off.

Herbert spoke. “Rebecca, listen to me, please.”

“Yes, Herbert.” Rebecca’s eyes stopped flicking back and forth and came to rest on Herbert’s face. She sat quietly, an attentive expression on her beautiful features.

“In a moment, I’m going to say the words ‘Let’s eat.’” Herbert gestured vaguely at the table. “When I do, you will become fully alert. You’ll allow me to order for both of us. We will have dinner, and you’ll enjoy it. You’ll enjoy it so much that when we’re done, you’ll offer to pay. You’ll insist on it, in fact.” Herb smiled broadly. “Say ‘yes, sir,’ if you agree.” That was a good test, he thought; Rebecca Cintron would never say “yes, sir” to him ordinarily. If she did so now, it would mean she was fully under control. Not that it looks as if there were any real doubt, he thought smugly.

“Yes, sir,” came the response, just as he’d expected.

“That’s just fine, Rebecca honey,” Herb told her. “Now let’s eat.”

Rebecca nodded. “Why don’t you order for us, Herb?” She patted her hair. “I need to go to the little girls’ room.”

“That’s fine,” answered Herb. “Take your time.”

Rebecca got off and followed the signs toward the restroom. As she did, she undulated her hips, drawing several loud wolf whistles and a “Shake it, baby!” from the bar patrons. Following her with his eyes, Herb grinned. The Rebecca Cintron he’d futilely pursued for the past six months would never have flaunted herself that way. That Rebecca Cintron wouldn’t have referred to the ladies’ room as the “little girls’ room,” either. She wouldn’t have been caught dead in here in the first place, even with someone she found a lot more genuinely “at-trac-tive” than Herbert Epps.

But at least for now, that Rebecca Cintron was out of the picture. The instructions he’d given her last night had set her up for their lunch date, compelling her to dress sexily and, once he’d come to pick her up, dumbing her down and loosening her inhibitions, turning her into a guy-fantasy of a bimbo date. He hadn’t really needed to use the key; that bit had just been a test of the trigger which had been implanted along with the rest of his suggestions. A successful test.

It wouldn’t last, of course. If he did nothing more, she’d be her normal self again by the time they got back to the office. Even the programming he’d already installed would fade in time, if it were not reinforced.

But it would be, he promised himself. It would be. That was the whole idea.

Rebecca usually ate a light lunch, cottage cheese and lettuce, or maybe half a grapefruit, with some herbal tea. The thick steak sandwich delivered to her a few minutes after her return from the washroom was delicious, though. She washed it down with a big mug of beer, something else she suddenly found tasty. Herb had the same. Afterward, each of them had a slice of chocolate cream pie.

As they polished off the last crumbs of their dessert, their server arrived with the bill. When he automatically offered it to Herbert, Rebecca surprised herself by saying, “I’ll take it, please.”

“Thank you,” Herbert said, smiling. “That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s nothing, Herbie,” she said, surprising herself again at her use of that nickname. “I had a great time. I enjoy being with you.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” her date replied. Stretching in his seat, he added, “Whew, I’m full.”

Rebecca giggled. “Me too.” She patted her taut stomach. “I’ll get fat, Herbie, if you keep feeding me this way.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Herb assured her. “Don’t worry about anything.”

And she didn’t. Rebecca paid their tab and the two of them headed back to work. Just as Herbert had expected, Rebecca seemed perfectly normal by the time they arrived, the only remnant of her “bimbo” routine being the tight, revealing clothes she still wore. The directives she’d been given had expired. But deep inside her mind, the Turnkey program was continuing to do its job.

Over the next several weeks, Herbert took things slowly. Each evening, Rebecca received another Turnkey e-mail which activated the program he’d transferred to her computer. Each evening, she received a fresh set of commands which built on the ones he’d given her previously, reinforcing her conditioning over and over. But the programmer was careful not to have her suddenly start acting wildly out of character where their co-workers might see. That might attract the wrong sort of attention.

Nevertheless, his hold over her grew.

Rebecca was mystified at the way she seemed more and more drawn to this bespectacled nerd, but she was powerless to resist. Somehow, he seemed to unleash something in her. She got all giggly and silly on their dates, and went places with him she’d never have gone with anyone else, sleazy bars and stuff. She enjoyed being with Herbie so much she actually wanted to pay instead of him. And he wasn’t like most guys; he didn’t mind when she paid.

And even at work, she felt different. It was harder to concentrate lately, and she was making mistakes. She kept daydreaming—more and more often, about Herbert. Herbie. She wore shorter skirts, higher heels and more perfume these days. Herbie liked them. She was happier; every so often, she caught herself giggling at her desk.

Then one night, as they got into his car after their latest dinner date, Herbert asked, “Wouldn’t you like to come back to my place for a private drink before going home?”

For some reason, this upset her. She liked Herbie, and had no idea why she should feel that way. It wasn’t as if he would do anything bad to her, after all. Still . . . “Maybe I’d better not,” she said hesitantly. “I have to go to work tomorrow, Herbie.”

“Don’t be silly,” he answered, reaching into his pocket. “You’ll be fine. You just need to relax.”

He pulled something out of his jacket and held it up. It was a little gold key on a chain. It looked familiar somehow. “That’s the key, Rebecca. That’s the key to everything.” The little piece of metal swung gently on its chain, and her eyes followed it automatically. “That’s the key . . . back and forth, yes . . . that’s the key, Rebecca. Relax. Yes. That’s the key . . . back and forth . . . the key, yes, Rebecca.” Herbert continued to gently swing the key, and Rebecca’s eyes followed it as they had learned to do. She sighed.

After a minute or so, Herbert put the key away. Rebecca was sitting with her hands in her lap, looking toward him, eyes slowly tracking left to right to left to right, over and over, as if she still saw the key moving in front of her. He knew she did, in fact. She was thoroughly conditioned now to go into full trance when she saw the key swinging.

“What’s the trouble, Becky?” he said.

“Don’t want . . . to go home with you,” a low voice mumbled. “You’ll ask me to . . . have sex, and I . . . I will.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I can’t . . . say no to you anymore, Her-bie,” Rebecca. “That . . . scares me. I remember I used to say no to you all the time, and now . . . I can’t. I don’t un, un-der”—she shook her head as her dazed mind wrestled with the long word—“un-der-stand. . . .”

Herbert Epps scowled. Somewhere deep inside, there was some remnant of resistance to his programming. Well, he could deal with that.

“Becky,” he said, “I don’t want you to worry about that.” A note of mockery crept into his voice as he continued, “Your Herbie doesn’t want you to worry your pretty empty head about anything ever again.”

Rebecca giggled again, stupidly. “Never worry . . . ever again.”

Herbert took the key out and started it swaying again. Rebecca’s eyes followed it automatically.

“When you get home tonight,” the brunette’s programmer instructed, “I want you to wake up. You will feel happy and relaxed, and you’ll remember only that you went out to dinner with me and had a good time. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Her-bie,” Rebecca whispered.

“That’s a good girl, Becky,” Herbert responded. “After you get home, you will wait one hour, then go online and check your e-mail. Will you do this for me?”

“Yes, Her-bie,” Rebecca answered obediently. “Wait one hour, then check my e-mail.” Her eyes and mind continued to follow the motion of Herbie’s shiny gold key, as they had been trained to do.

“That’s fine, Becky.” Herbert put the key away and told her, “Just relax now, Becky. Relax, and close your eyes, and let your Herbie take you home.”

With a contented sigh, Rebecca settled back against the seat cushions and closed her eyes. Behind her closed lids, the shiny key continued to swing back and forth, back and forth, wiping the surface of her mind clean. A vapid smile curved her lips as she surrendered to it.

Herbert roused her gently when they arrived at her home. Still under the power of his suggestions, she got out of the car and went inside. Watching her, Herbert Epps nodded in satisfaction.

Rebecca Cintron smiled as she heard Herbert’s car pull away outside. Their dinner had been fun. Bemused, she shook her head; who would have guessed she’d have hit it off so well with him, once she decided to give him a chance?

She puttered around her house aimlessly for a while. She’d inherited the place from her parents, and it really was too big for one person; cleaning was a bitch, so she tried to do it a bit at a time.

After an hour, she went to her computer and logged on, opening her New Mail folder. She went through her messages as usual, discarding most of them unread. There was another one of those odd messages marked with a key, she noticed. She kept getting them, and they never seemed to be anything important. She really ought to dump this one. The digital clock readout at the bottom of her screen ticked over to 10:04 P.M. as she clicked on the Read button.

Why did I do that? she wondered, annoyed at herself. The usual turning-key graphic appeared.

Nothing new here, she said to herself. She started to click the Delete button. Instead, her hand moved the mouse until its pointer rested on CLICK HERE. She clicked.

Her next awareness was of moving the mouse cursor away from the link. As usual, clicking it hadn’t seemed to do anything. She deleted the message, frowning at the way she’d gone to that useless link again first.

Oh, well, she consoled herself, it isn’t as if I wasted more than a couple of seconds. She erased the nuisance message, not noticing that her screen’s time display now read 10:25 P.M. She logged off.

Rebecca yawned. It was time for bed.

She went into her closet and carefully selected an outfit from far in the back. She changed into it and then left her house, climbing into her car. “Time for bed,” she murmured as she closed the door and turned the key in the ignition.

Presently she arrived at Herbert Epps’s apartment building. It didn’t occur to her to wonder how she’d known where he lived, or why she’d driven over in the middle of the night. It seemed perfectly natural for her to have come there, perfectly natural to go in and search the double row of buzzers she found on the entryway wall for the one with Herbert’s name next to it. Perfectly natural to press that buzzer.

“Yes?” Herbert’s voice said over the intercom.

“It’s me,” Rebecca heard herself say. “Rebecca Cintron. Can I come up?”

“Of course,” came the answer. A moment later, there was a buzz from the heavy wood-framed glass doors next to the buzzers. Rebecca went on through.

Moving as if she’d been visiting Herbert for years, Rebecca summoned the elevator and went up to the fourth floor. She walked down the hall and knocked on the door to Apartment 405. A few seconds later, Herbert opened the door.

“Do you know what time it is?” he asked.

“Time for bed,” Rebecca answered as her feet carried her through the door into Herbert’s apartment.

“That’s right,” returned Herbert. “Time for bed. You want to go to bed with me, don’t you, Becky honey.”

“Oooh, yes, Her-bie,” Rebecca squealed. And it was true. She was just so horny, she couldn’t stand it! She covered the distance between the two of them in one long stride and flung herself into Herbert’s arms, planting her lips on his with the force of a remora. Her arms snaked around the programmer, coming up to let her clamp her hands in his hair as she pressed against him, hips grinding.

At long last, a slightly dizzy Herbert Epps broke the clinch. “Key off, Becky honey,” he wheezed.

At the programmed phrase, Rebecca relaxed. Her arms dropped limply to her sides and she stood waiting with wide empty eyes and parted lips for her next order.

Herbert studied her, grinning wickedly as he caught his breath. The “key” phrase had been part of tonight’s instructions, designed to let him pause Rebecca at will. Its success was the final proof, after her presence here and her passionate greeting, that his latest batch of suggestions had taken root in the dark-haired doll’s mind.

Rebecca was dressed in a short, dark coat of some shiny material and glossy red pumps with six-inch spike heels. She made no move to stop him as he opened the coat to reveal she was naked underneath except for a tiny white thong. Herbert’s grin broadened: her costume had been one he’d programmed her to buy a month ago and forget she owned until he called for her to wear it.

Herbert licked his lips. “Key on, Becky honey.”

The brunette, completely unaware of what had just happened, giggled and hurled herself at the programmer again. Once more she wrapped herself around him and smothered his lips with her own. Her tongue darted into his mouth. Herbert moaned. Even if his mouth hadn’t been sealed by soft woman-flesh, he couldn’t have given her any orders just then.

His next clear memory was of the two of them naked on his bed. He only vaguely recalled stumbling to the bedroom with Rebecca pressed against him; he didn’t remember the two of them undressing at all. The brunette lay beneath him, her hips bucking as his own body, running on reflex, pumped into her.

Then the world went away again. There was no more Herbert Epps, no more Rebecca Cintron. There was only hot flesh moving, and pleasure.

It was after two in the morning when Herbert Epps returned to reality. His arm rested around her shoulders, and her head lay on his chest. Her hair lay tousled against him. She was fast asleep, a contented smile on her face.

The programmer smiled. Rebecca belonged to him now. Her eagerness in bed proved it. The thought that this gorgeous creature was now helplessly obedient to him, eager to satisfy the slightest whim of someone she had once held in contempt, was enough to make him come erect again.

But no. He was too tired now. Becky belonged to him now; there would be plenty of time for more sex. Plenty of time. . . .

He fell asleep, and dreamed of Rebecca.

The two of them went to work the next day as if nothing had happened. Both of them, however, knew the truth. Herbert had allowed his honey to remember their night together.

Rebecca no longer found anything upsetting about it, or about her need to obey him absolutely. When they had awakened in the morning, Herbert had shown her that nice shiny key again, and she had watched it swing back and forth, back and forth, while her Herbie had explained everything.

Herbert spent several more weeks refining Rebecca’s programming. Her increasing ditziness at work, a bug in her instructions, he corrected. She could be a bimbo for him outside of work, but he needed her fully functional on the job. He still feared that any dramatic changes in her behavior there would draw the wrong kind of attention. And besides, if she got herself fired for incompetence, he’d have to pay when they went out.

It was no longer a secret that the two of them had become a couple. Herbert’s co-workers in BBI’s systems department regarded him with envious eyes, while Rebecca’s looked at her in bafflement. “What do you see in that geek, anyway?” was more or less their consensus.

Rebecca didn’t let it bother her. It made her happy to be with her Herbie and to do whatever he said. He was so smart! That was why she listened when he showed her the nice key and explained things, like how she shouldn’t say anything about the key or about needing to obey him. People wouldn’t understand.

And every night, except when she and Herbert were out on a date, she went home and opened her e-mail to find another one of those messages with the key graphic. She no longer wondered what they were about, or thought about deleting them unread. She just opened them and looked at the big turning key for a little bit, then got rid of them. There still never seemed to be anything else in those messages, but it didn’t matter.

The holidays came and went, ushering in a new year, a leap year. On February 29, Sadie Hawkins’ Day, Rebecca proposed to Herbert and he accepted. She had wanted a June wedding, but her Herbie persuaded her to move up the date. They were married in April, on a bright, warm spring day. Herbie had already moved in with her by then. Their honeymoon, at Niagara Falls, was spent in a fever of sex.

On the last day, as they lay together on the big circular bed in their suite with its view of the famous landmark, Herbert turned to her and said, “Turnkey on, Rebecca.” It was another trigger he had implanted, and it worked instantly. Rebecca sighed; her eyes went soft and dreamy, and her mind went blank, waiting to be filled with new thoughts by Herbert’s voice.

Her new husband spoke, and his words became her truth. He told her how their marriage was going to be, finishing, “Say yes if you agree, Becky dear.”

“Yes,” she answered. “Whatever you say, Her-bie dar-ling.” Her head bobbed in agreement.

“Very good, Rebecca,” Herbert said. “Turnkey off.”

Rebecca immediately forgot what had just happened. Suddenly she was so horny nothing else mattered. She clutched at Herbert and squealed with lust as she pulled him to her.

Herbert and Rebecca Epps are both still working at Benton Brothers. Their combined salary has allowed them to afford some renovations to their house, including the addition of a nursery. They need one; their first child is due in December.

With Becky’s pregnancy advancing, Herbert does not ask her for sex as often. He amuses himself in other ways: for example, by having Rebecca dress in nothing but high heels, gartered stockings and a skimpy apron around the house. He finds it . . . stimulating . . . to watch her on her hands and knees scrubbing the floors in that costume.

Rebecca has begun to gain weight. Soon, Herbert knows, he will no longer find her as appealing sexually as he does now. But he has made preparations.

Just today, he obtained the home e-mail address of a ravishing redhead in the BBI steno pool.