The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

This is a story about a ring-to be more precise, a silver ring, which had, in its centre, on the facing side to the eyes, a deep coloured, blue encrusted jewel, which appeared to have just grown upward out of the depths of the body of the ring to be exactly where it lay.

To anyone looking closely at the beautiful jewel set deeply into the thick, silver band, the blue colour of the jewel appeared to deepen the more, the longer it was stared at, with light swirls of a lighter blue seemingly passing across the face of the flawless stone like continuous and wispy lighter blue clouds, while the background deepened even more, but without changing to a totally black-blue colour.

Around the thick, silver band of the unusual and quite beautiful ring were engraved hieroglyphics of a strange and unusual character, depicting in that ancient language the history of the ring since its inception, many thousands of years earlier.

Yet no previous person who wore the silver ring had ever had the knowledge necessary to understand the meaning of the many different hieroglyphic characters, and so, were unable to withdraw from the ring its secrets of the ages.

Knowledge of its age had been established by only one previous wearer, by carbon-dating and spectroscopic methods, showing it as being older than the known length of the history of the world as it was always known to have been. But that had been all that could be discovered.

The strange, yet beautiful silver ring had never given up of its secrets to any of its wearers to date, and waited patiently, gathering layer upon layer of dust and dirt, only inches beneath the soil in which in lay, still encircling the skeletal remains of the right index finger of its last unfortunate wearer.

The silver ring had owned many wearers over the countless centuries of its existence, but none had ever owned the silver ring, for it had only one owner-of surreal and intangible existence, yet a real owner nevertheless. Other hands could only wear it with pride and amazement, but could never own it.

It belonged to one owner only, its original creator, the essence of whom lay within the density and the very texture of the substance of its physical existence ... alive ... waiting for its next wearer to arrive in the fullness of time, as they always did.

“Jesus!” Peter hissed between his teeth in a long whistling sound.

Rooted to the spot, he had stopped digging with the fork in the area he had planned for his new garden as a surprise for his wife, because of the sight of something white on the ground.

He stared at what could only be the skeleton of a human hand lying just beneath the surface of the brown dirt in which he had been turning over in readiness for flower seeds to be planted.

Slowly, he sank to his knees beside the small, open area of earth and partially turned soil, his eyes never leaving the bony hand for a single moment. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood straight up.

His entire skin prickled. He reached down hesitantly, almost fearfully with the small spade and carefully dug away at the crusty dirt surrounding the skeletal hand, until the whole bone structure of could be easily seen.

After digging and clearing a little more soil away he hissed and whistled once more through his teeth. The skeletal hand ran down to a skeletal wrist. Peter’s skin crawled, sensing instantly that were he to continue digging, the skeleton would develop into the full remains of a man or woman.

The sun shone brilliantly at the time, warming his prickling flesh and making him feel even more uncomfortable with the whole macabre scene before him in his own backyard. His attention was then drawn to an object on the index finger of the bony hand.

He bent forward and blew quickly in three successive, strong breaths, blowing away the dust and encrusted dirt from the object’s surface. It was a ring. He stared at it for several minutes without moving.

Then, for no reason he could have explained to himself, Peter looked suspiciously around him from left to right, and then left again, almost as if he expected someone to be watching what he was about to do. Then he reached forward and gingerly, carefully took hold of the ring between his finger and thumb and slowly lifted it upward and away from the bony finger around which it had been lying.

Peter sat back on his haunches, then transferred the ring to his left hand while he quickly filled in the hole with the dirt he had previously removed, all thoughts of the planned garden for his wife long gone from his mind as he re-buried the hand beneath the soil and surface of the back-yard of his rented house in the suburbs.

He didn’t know what the skeleton in his back yard was doing there, or how long it had been there, and he didn’t want to.

He had enough troubles in his life and times as it was. He patted down the soil until it was firm, then stood up and went inside the house to wash the ring under the tap.

After cleaning the surface of the ring with an old toothbrush, Peter then dried it carefully on a soft cloth, as if it were a priceless and fragile jewel. Then he walked through to the lounge and sat down heavily, his mind still wondering as to the fate of the owner of the skeletal hand.

He was captivated by the blue jewel in the ring’s centre setting. It was a deep blue, with streaks of lighter blue across the face of the stone.

He turned the ring over and over in his fingers, studying it closely, peering without understanding at the strange markings around the band on the outside. None of them made any sense to him.

He wondered then how old the ring was. It looked brand new, especially after he had just cleaned it. It literally sparkled in his fingers as he held it up close to his eyes and stared at it, his mind trying to imagine what the history of the ring and its owner had been.

Peter French was basically a good guy. He was forty nine years of age and had been married twenty six years to the woman he had loved all that time. Of course he had wondered about other women and what it would be like to be with them, but that was as far as his mind had ever taken the thoughts, simply because he loved her dearly, figuring his wandering thoughts of being with other women were normal for any man married for more than five years, with the same being for women to, for that matter.

Peter and his wife had two children, a son and a daughter, aged sixteen and thirteen respectively. He was liked by everyone at his place of employment where he worked as a journalist on the local paper, writing a weekly column about the strengths and weaknesses of the modern day society in which everyone lived.

Peter basically kept to himself. Years ago he had made a deal with the rest of the world in which he lived-that it could live as it liked, as long as it allowed him to live as he liked. So far it had worked well. When he wasn’t working he was writing. It was his passion and his hobby, but had never had a book or story published. They had all come back with the customary rejection slips attached to them.

His remaining free time he spent with his wife and children and basically enjoyed his life, and was content. He had never had the inclination to contemplate another life to live, other than the way he had always lived, at least for the past twenty six years. Before that was simply too long ago now to even bother to remember.

Peter never objected to anyone and mostly kept his private thoughts to himself. If someone was annoying him he would walk away, rather than stand and argue, even if he was right, preferring his peace of mind to arguments or heated discussions and bad friends.

Now, as he sat on the lounge chair studying the silver ring, he slowly slipped it down onto his right index finger. He didn’t consciously choose that action, or that finger. The fingers and thumb of his other hand just seemed to put it there as the ring slid smoothly all the way down.

For some reason Peter then smiled. The beautiful silver ring fitted his index finger perfectly and comfortably, as if it had been made especially for him. At first it had seemed a little tight, but strangely, by the time the silver band had reached the bottom of his finger it had become a precise fit.

He held out his hand in front of him, displaying the ring in various hand poses. Then, squinting his eyes, he peered closely at the strange writings around the band itself. He became aware of his eyes staring with some difficulty at the blue jewel in the ring’s centre. The jewel was very relaxing on the eyes, the more he looked at it.

Nevertheless, imagine and look for similarities, as he might, Peter could make no sense or meaning whatsoever out of the unknown writing around the band.

Then suddenly, he felt a wave of heavy relaxation wash over him from head to toe, like waves of fatigue crashing on the shores of his mind.

He closed his eyes, wondering what he’d done that day to make him feel so tired, then sank unresistingly into the deepest sleep he had even known or experienced in his entire life- one from which he would awake feeling more rested than he had ever been before, from any sleep, natural or alcohol-induced.

And the more Peter slept on throughout that long afternoon in July, the more deeply and the more peacefully he slumbered, his mind and body relaxing so completely, as to almost be hovering just above the surface of his own death, such was the slowness of his respiration and heartbeat.

And that was the way his wife found him, after she returned home from shopping and had put the groceries away. She had not even noticed him until going into the lounge room, after making a coffee, planning to relax and sit down for a while.

For a few moments after noticing him and smiling softly his wife couldn’t help but notice the slowness of his breathing. She studied the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest for several minutes before slowly but surely becoming a little alarmed.

She rose from the chair with her anxiety mounting, knowing in her mind that although her husband was reasonably fit for a man of his age, anything was possible.

She sat down on the lounge beside him, holding her ear close to his nose and mouth. He slept with his lips slightly parted. She could only just feel the soft warmth of his breath and relaxed a little of the tension in her chest.

Her sudden relief caused her to sink down more comfortably into the soft velvet of the expensive lounge that was her pride and joy. She knew her husband had worked very late the previous evening on his latest book and was probably just dead tired.

She rose then, dismissing any further thoughts of alarm as silly and uncalled for. She walked to her chair and picked up her coffee, then went through to the kitchen to prepare her family’s evening meal, deciding to let her obviously-tired husband sleep on the lounge, which he often did after working late the night before on one of his books.

Before commencing her dinner preparations she went to the closet and fetched a thick blanket which she tucked around him up to the chin. Then she bent down and kissed him goodnight on the forehead, turning the lights out in the room and telling their two children to be quiet, as their father was sleeping in the lounge room.

When his family awoke in the morning they found Peter still deeply asleep and in the same position they had seen him when they had kissed him goodnight the night before.

His wife checked him again, listening closely to his breathing and once again felt the warm softness, as light as a baby’s breath, on her cheek. She straightened up and looked down at her sleeping husband, a slight puzzled frown of concern crossing her brow as she did so.

She had seen him sleep long before, and so, was still not all that worried. After all, he had been keeping several late nights of late-not just the one previously.

Concluding her thoughts in that manner that his many late nights had finally caught up with him she once again relaxed a little, deciding to leave him undisturbed until he awoke by himself, which she was sure he would do naturally, sometime later on that morning.

She wrote him a short and humorous note after getting the children off to school, placing it on the cushion beside where he slept on peacefully. Then she kissed him goodbye and left for her part-time job in the city as an accounts clerk.

And all the while Peter slept deeply and restfully on, undisturbed, unaware of his wife’s short-lived anxieties and the humorous note left beside him. He knew nothing, thought nothing, and realised nothing.

His mind was almost to the depth of flat-line on a cerebral scale were it to have been measured at that time. His body remained completely flaccid in every muscle and every nerve had almost ceased sensing as every molecule of energy his brain produced was used internally to regenerate and rejuvenate, renew and refresh every core of his mind and body.

When Peter’s wife arrived home at three in the afternoon she found her husband in exactly the same position she had left him. He hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d left for work that morning. He had been sleeping for just under twenty four hours. Now she was worried.

Again she bent and checked his breathing. Then she checked his pulse. It was barely perceptible, but there, nevertheless. And although she relaxed a little after checking his vital signs, she still could not help a feeling of strange alarm that began to creep slowly and coldly upward along her spine.

She decided to play it safe and called the doctor, just to be sure.

The doctor came within the hour and left within twenty minutes, reassuring Peter’s wife and children that all was well, and that it was just Peter’s body taking a well-deserved rest, and that it was not unusual for people to do so who kept late nights continually and deprived their mind and body of much-needed sleep.

The doctor left all feeling much more relieved, although Peter’s wife still carried the frown on her brow that had formed before she had called the doctor in the first place.

Then again, for the second time in two days Peter’s wife tucked up the blanket around his neck and kissed him goodnight. Then, along with her children she went to bed early that night. Sleep, however, was a long time coming to her as she tossed and turned on the edge for almost an hour before exhaustion finally closed her eyelids gently down for her.

Peter’s eyes opened slowly at five the following morning. They blinked, but did not see for several minutes. When they did finally focus they simply and slowly closed again and he slept deeply for another hour, waking again at six-one hour later, exactly.

Again it took several minutes for his vision to clear and be able to focus on anything to discern a shape or colour. He stretched and yawned several times, feeling his muscles and sinews stretch in a way he had not felt since his early twenties when he had been super fit.

He felt very good and very relaxed. He felt strong within himself. In fact, when he thought about it for a few minutes, he had never felt better in his life than he did right at that precise moment.

He looked around him, noticing immediately the time on his watch. Then he stood up and walked slowly forward a few steps. Suddenly he was overcome with a total dizziness that left him grasping for anything he could grab as he sank to his knees, but his hands found only the emptiness of the cool morning air as his knees felt the soft firmness of the carpet on the floor.

Then, just as suddenly the dizziness left him, and it left him feeling absolutely empowered. His thoughts soared nowhere and everywhere at once. His strength seemed to flow through him as he rose effortlessly to his feet, his old knee injury not felt for the first time in years as he rose.

Somehow, Peter’s sight seemed clearer and more acute, as did his senses. He was aware that he seemed more aware. He looked slowly around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. His gaze moved slowly, lingering here and there, then finally returned to his immediate front.

He sucked a huge breath of air deeply into his lungs and held it for a few seconds before exhaling outward in a loud whoosh. He felt amazingly healthy as a smile began to spread across his face. He looked at the entrance doorway of his home and decided to get the morning paper.

Outside in the crisp, early morning air Peter felt even more alive than he had inside the house. He breathed the biting chilled air deeply and smiled as the cold jet of steam left his mouth when he exhaled. He spotted the paper and walk over to it, picking it up.

Then he turned back toward the house and walked up the front steps and inside. Once inside he closed the door and walked slowly back to the lounge in which he had unknowingly spent so much time sleeping so deeply and so peacefully.

Taking the wrapper off the paper he leafed through the first few pages quickly when suddenly he stopped, his eyes riveted on the date and day at the top right corner of the page—Thursday. July 5th.

Peter stared hard at the page, again and again at the date and the day, his mind not believing what his eyes told him in black and white print in front of his face. His mind raced, knowing that it couldn’t be possible-that it must be some kind of joke or mistake on the part of the paper.

He looked around at the paper wrack in the corner of the room where all the old papers were kept. Quickly he rose and walked over to it, bending down and lifting out the top paper. He glanced instantly at the date and day on the front page—Wednesday. July 4th.

Peter turned slowly and carried both papers back to the lounge, sitting down heavily into it, his wide-eyed gaze staring first at the date and day of one, then the other, until finally, defeated for the moment he placed both papers carefully down on the lounge cushion beside him.

The realisation that he had slept for almost two days hit his mind and consciousness like a Mack truck. He closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly from side to side. His thoughts roamed and raced, and then stilled finally, retrieving nothing but insanity as he fought to come to grips with his missing time.

Where was his wife and children? Why had they not awakened him? What was happening? What had happened? What was going on?

He sank back deeply into the cushions, his mind and consciousness sinking fast from the sheer mental effort at trying to sort things out. Then slowly, everything in his conscious mind began to first turn to grey, and then to black as sleep took him deeply once more into its warm and waiting arms.

And again did Peter sleep on the edge of death for yet another hour before awakening again just as slowly for the third time that morning.

When he awoke this time Peter’s mind was strangely clear. He didn’t know why he had slept so long, but he somehow felt that it had been meant to be. Of the time lost in sleeping Peter put down to his mind and body’s need for rest and thought no more of it.

Once again he felt strong and alive within himself, both in mind and body. And he actually felt younger, as if his long sleep had somehow rejuvenated him from the inside out. .

As the rest of the household slowly roused for the day and realised he was finally awake they swarmed over him, telling him how long he’d slept, asking him how he felt. All of them had a concerned look on their faces and in their eyes.

He laughed good-naturedly, calming their fears and concerns, particularly those of his wife, who seemed relieved just to have her husband back among the living.

She quickly hurried the kids off to school, then sat down opposite her husband who was woofing down his breakfast as if it was the last meal he would ever have.

She stared at him for several long moments, shaking her head slowly from side to side. Then she smiled, chuckling at the ravenous look on her husband’s face, studying him in silence while he ate.

There seemed something different about him as her gaze roamed over his face and features. He almost looked a little younger somehow, and straighter in the way he sat in the chair.

Nevertheless, she was worried no longer. Her fears had vanished. Her husband was back with her and he looked as fit as a fiddle. She leaned over and kissed him goodbye, then rose and went off to work in a much happier frame of mind than she had been in for the past forty-eight hours.

Peter finished his breakfast, then went quickly to the kitchen and made himself the same again, eating that down just as quickly. Then, feeling satisfied in the stomach, he took a long, hot and cold shower, alternating the temperature to extremes, leaving the shower feeling reborn.

His whole mind and body literally tingled all over. It was as he was drying himself off that he happened to notice the wide silver band on his right index finger.

He studied it for a moment, then forgot about it again as he hung the towel back on the rack and walked through to the bedroom to get dressed, somehow optimistic and confident about his life and happiness in every way-although he didn’t know why.

Three weeks had passed since Peter had found the silver ring. His wife and co-workers had noticed it and had commented on its beauty, and then had said no more about it.

He told his wife the truth about finding it in the backyard, omitting the part about it being attached to a skeleton of unknown origin., on the basis of what she didn’t know, wouldn’t worry her, and she was a worrier.

Peter’s inner sense of vitality, health and mental well-being grew rapidly from day to day. His love life with his wife had gone from making love once or twice a week, to once or twice each and every day, and sometimes more often than that.

His wife had mentioned it in the afterglow of their love-making one morning when he had woken early. He had penetrated her from behind while she had been sleeping.

She had opened her eyes to the fullness of him in mind and body, and had quickly been taken to the dizzy heights and bottomless pits of unusually intense morning rapture and bliss.

Peter had responded to her question by telling her she was bringing out the animal in him. She had seemed to accept that and questioned no more. His wife was, however, strangely aware that she seemed to more fulfilled with their love-making than she had ever been.

In fact, she was actually more aware consciously of being completely filled with his length and girth than she could ever remember being.

However, she was happy, and that was the main thing, such that she quickly became used to the new and improving feel of her husband inside her body and thought no more about the matter, quickly becoming used to him taking her anywhere and anytime.

Several times he had taken her from behind with his body, or with his tongue and mouth and hands whilst she had been standing at the sink doing the dishes. She had gripped the taps or the side of the sink for dear life as each time her fiery climax spun her mind and senses and turned her knees to jelly.

And her morning smile was becoming a welcome and permanent fixture on her face as she opened her eyes for the first time each day to the warmth and strong pull of her husband’s mouth and tongue glued fast between the centre of her sleepy junction.

And there it would stay while her smile turned quickly to moans, gasps and groans of sheer raw and unadulterated pleasure.

Until finally each time she had to pull the pillow over her face to scream her erupting and body-shuddering rapture into its soft depth so as not to alert the children to their love-making activities. Yes. She was happier than she had ever been in that department, and didn’t really know why.

But she did not question it.

Peter, too, had become aware of his new sensuality, and, upon inspecting himself one day after showering alone, was sure his physical length and girth had actually increased in physical size and proportion.

He figured it might have something to do with his age, but he was not complaining, and neither was his wife, and that was the main thing.

She was well- satisfied on a daily basis and had no objections so far. While he, on the other hand, had been having a never-ending stream of thoughts about other women, even while making love to his wife.

He had become aware on that very morning when he had been far away in thoughts of making love to various nationalities of women as he had been thrusting steadily between the warm, relaxed buttocks of his wife.

He had stroked her steadily and very strongly and repeatedly while she had writhed beneath him through to her peak. He had continued to do so until her soft and gentle moans of discomfort of his continuing long, slow and filling penetrations had brought his senses back to the present. Whereupon he had let go and had driven her home in right-royal fashion, firing her passion and lustfulness once again to tip her off the morning mountain of her pleasure’s peak.

He had then left her lying exhausted and breathless-sweating freely on their rumpled and messy bed while he had risen from between her loose and glistening buttocks and thighs and had showered, all the while noticing his semi-hardness had remained throughout his bathing, as had his thoughts of taking other women in similar fashion.

Later that morning he kissed his wife goodbye at the door. She looked tired but happy, winking at him with a cheeky grin on her face and calling him her stud as she closed the door behind her.

Peter, himself, had been impressed by his own performance that morning. He was also becoming more and more aware that he felt like his mind and body were actually going through some kind of change, although for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.

Peter had been relaxing in his favourite lounge chair for about an hour after his wife had left for work, reading a magazine, when the doorbell rang. He rose and walked slowly to the door, opening it to greet whoever was there with a smile already on his face before the door had even opened.

It was a woman of average looks and build who seemed in her mid to late thirties. She was dressed in a long, thin, and loose, brightly-coloured floral cotton dress. She carried a small brief-case in her right hand and a magazine in her left.

She greeted Peter’s wide, warm smile with one of her own, showing even, white teeth and a pink tongue as her lips parted.

“Good morning!” she said brightly. “I wonder if I could ask you for a few minutes of your time to complete a survey we’re doing for the local school in relation to a pedestrian crossing for the children in Nathan Street?”

Peter had always had a pet hate for door-knockers, but for some reason he found himself agreeing, smiling and asking the woman inside. She followed him through to the lounge room and settled down into the comfortable velvet chair he had offered her with a gesture of his arm as he sat down opposite her.

“Can I get you a coffee, or a cold drink?” Peter asked politely with a slight smile still on his face.

“Thank you, no.” she answered smiling back at him. “I’ve only just had breakfast.”

“So, how can I help you?” he asked her, settling down more deeply and comfortably into his chair.

As he did so he noticed her glancing several times at his right hand. He looked down and saw the ring immediately. When he looked up again she was still looking in the same direction-straight at his right hand. She still had not answered him.

““How can I help you with your survey?” he asked again in a slightly more firmer tone of voice. She seemed to come back to the present from wherever she’d been and smiled, apologising immediately.

“I’m sorry. I’m conducting research on ... on behalf of our school parents and ... parents and teacher’s committee.” she said haltingly at times. “We feel it’s ... ahh ... we feel that it’s only a matter of .. a matter of time before a child gets hit by a car .. for no ... errr .. for no good reason.”

Peter could see the woman had for some reason become self-conscious. She was stammering and losing her thread of thought every few seconds. Her face seemed flushed, and her gaze kept returning to his right hand, or the silver ring that was on it.

“Are you alright?” he asked sincerely.

“I’m fine ... I’m....” she began and then stopped, her eyes seeming to glaze and become distant. Then she shook her head quickly from side to side as if trying to clear the cobwebs away.

The woman simply couldn’t believe what was happening to her, and understood it even less. She felt embarrassed and humiliated in front of this stranger-like a schoolgirl on work-experience trying out on her first sales pitch. “I will have that glass of cold water, if you don’t mind.” she finished with.

Peter rose quickly and went to the kitchen, returning with a chilled glass of cold water. The woman was smiling and embarrassed when he handed her the glass, apologising for her behaviour, saying she didn’t know why she had lost her train of thought like that. Peter thought that maybe she was pregnant and didn’t know it.

He sat back down, studying the woman closely as she drank the whole glass of water down in one long, continuous swallow. When she finished she lowered the glass and sighed.

“That was just what I needed. " she said with a another sigh. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled warmly back at her, feeling sorry for her embarrassment over the matter. “Now, what would you like me to do to help your cause?”

Peter noticed her gaze had returned to his right hand before he had even finished speaking, and once again her eyes seemed to cloud over and take on a distant and far away look about them.

“Miss?” he said.

No reply.

“Miss?” he said again.

Her eyes seemed glazed and her lips were slightly parted as she continued to stare at his right hand. He glanced down at the ring, noticing instantly the slight movement across the face of the jewel.

He looked closer. It was as if there were lighter coloured blue clouds moving from left to right across the darker blue face of the surface of the jewel itself. Apart from feeling very relaxed Peter felt nothing at all from looking at it.

He looked up at the woman again. She just sat there, leaning slightly forward in her seat, her lips parted a little with her eyes and gaze fixed solidly onto the face of the jewel in his silver ring.

“I think I’ll get another glass of cold water.” he said, concerned for the woman, and began to rise form his chair.

“Yes.” the woman suddenly said clearly. “Another glass of cold water.”

He returned with the water and handed it to her. She sat there unmoving, her eyes once again quickly finding his ring to fixate upon.

“Drink this.” he said, moving the glass closer to her face.

“Yes. Drink this.” she repeated, reaching up and taking the glass without shifting her gaze from the silver ring.

He watched her drink it down and then just hold the glass in her hand, still staring at his silver ring.

“I’ll take that now.” he said, reaching for the glass.

“Yes. You take this now.” she repeated almost word for word, handing him the empty glass.

He took it back to the kitchen sink and then returned to the lounge. The woman seemingly remained as he had left her-eyes fixed on his right hand, lips slightly parted. She was still leaning forward slightly in her chair.

Peter thought she seemed mesmerised or hypnotised somehow. Her expression seemed vacant, as were her eyes. Her posture seemed relaxed, but there was definitely something wrong with her, and he had absolutely no idea what it could be.

He sat back down in his own chair, watching her eyes following his right hand as he did so. He wondered then if he should call a doctor, thinking maybe she was about to have a fit or something. .

“Why don’t you just relax?” he suggested to her. “While I think of how I can help you.”

“Yes.” she said immediately. “I’ll relax and you think about helping me.”

Then amazed, Peter watched as she settled back in the chair and visibly relaxed completely. Her shoulders sagged deeply. Her arms fell limply on her lap like a rag doll, and her legs stretched out in front of her-the full and loose cotton dress hanging like a sheet between them as she did so.

Peter twigged instantly then to what seemed to be happening. And it seemed to strange to even contemplate, let alone actually believe. As strange as it might have seemed to him, the woman was repeating everything he said to her back to him, literally word for word.

Not only that, she seemed to be doing exactly what he told her to do- first getting the water, then drinking the water, then taking the glass.

And now she was relaxing and telling him to think about helping her, which was exactly what he had said earlier to her. He studied her face and eyes closely. Her gaze was fixed on his silver ring. Her face was relaxed and calm, her breathing gentle.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, still unsure of what was going on with her.

“Yes. I’m feeling okay.” she answered immediately, continuing to just sit there.

Peter decided for some reason to test her.

“It’s hot in here. Isn’t it?” he stated and waited.

“Yes. It’s hot in here.” she replied with a sigh.

He let the breath he had not known he’d been holding out slowly between his teeth in a long, hissing sound. She had repeated exactly what he’d said.

“It’s cold in here.” he said.

“Yes. It’s cold in here.” she repeated like a robot, but sounding sincere in her tone as if she really felt the cold.

He looked closely at her arms and was absolutely amazed to see the goose bumps on both her forearms. Peter sat back even more in his chair and studied the woman and her strange and unusual behaviour.

Then his gaze quickly moved down to the silver ring on his finger. He covered it with his left hand so she couldn’t see it, but there was no change in the woman’s appearance or manner that he could visibly ascertain.

It must have something to do with his ring, he thought, as his gaze remained fixed on her face and eyes.

Although he wondered as he thought that, why nothing had changed when he had covered the ring with his left hand. She was behaving as if she were a slave or something, he concluded finally, not knowing what else to think about the strange goings-on. He thought about that for a few seconds-a slave. Now that was an interesting thought.

Then he shook it out of his head, more concerned with what the hell he was going to do with her to get her back to being normal. Then he had an idea. A long shot, but worth a try.

“You feel like your old self now.” he said to her.

“Yes.” she answered immediately. “I feel like my old self now.”

The woman immediately sat up straight in her chair and blinked quickly several times. Her hands came up to rub her temples. Then she focussed directly on his eyes and she smiled.

“I was wondering if you could help us with our research survey.” she said. “It’s about getting a pedestrian crossing for the children on the dangerous corner at Nathan street.”

Peter was speechless. It seemed as if she remembered nothing of what had happened since she’d come into his house. Her face and colour had returned to normal, and she sat normally in the chair the way he would have expected her to. Now she waited for him to answer her.

Her lips had parted in a polite smile, and her hands lightly clasped the magazine or leaflet she had been holding all the time in her right hand. He smiled warmly back at her.

“I’d be happy to.” he told her. “Do I have to sign a petition or something?”

The woman beamed. He noticed only now that she was rather attractive in her own way-as was every woman, he smiled to himself.

“Thank you very much.” she said gratefully. “It’s a pity there weren’t more like you.”

Then she handed him the leaflet she had been holding. He opened it up to see a list of signatures half-filling the page. He signed it quickly with the pen she had been holding out for him and then handed both pen and leaflet back to her.

“Thank you very much.” she repeated as she readied to stand.

“Would you like another glass of cold water?” he asked her, just to make sure she felt good about going on her way.

“Another? ....er.. huh?” she said immediately, her eyebrows raised in question and her gaze directly on his own. Then, “Yes. Another glass of cold water.” she continued, and with that she relaxed her weight back into the depths of her chair, her eyes and gaze once again taking on a far-away look.

Peter leaned back more into his chair, not comprehending in the slightest what the hell was happening in his lounge room with this woman. She had seemed fully awake, but as soon as he had suggested something she had previously agreed with, had accepted fully his suggestion, without question and seemingly without doubt.

His brow furrowed as his thoughts deepened.

Then Peter’s eyes suddenly and slowly narrowed as his thoughts took on a line of a different nature entirely.

“It is very hot in here.” was all he said.

“Yes. It is very hot in here.” she answered immediately.

“It’s incredibly hot in here.” he stated again with more emphasis.

“Yes. It’s incredibly hot in here.” she repeated instantly.

Astounded, Peter then saw the tiny beads of filmy perspiration forming rapidly over her forehead and upper lip. Her breathing also deepened, as if she now seemed to want more oxygen for each breath she was taking than she had been receiving before he had said that.

“Heat makes your clothes feel sticky.” he said.

“Yes.” she replied. “Heat makes my clothes feel sticky.”

Peter then watched as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, pulling the loose cotton dress away from her neck and chest in a fanning action attempt to keep cool. His pulse surged a little as his thoughts continued along the vein they had somehow chosen.

“Much cooler with your clothes off.” he stated.

“Yes. Much cooler with my clothes off.” the woman repeated.

Peter watched expecting the woman to stand up and take off her dress, but she did nothing of the sort. She just sat there sweating more and more by the passing minute. He decided to take a punt.

His heart thumped against his ribs.

“Take all your clothes off, now.” he told her.

“Yes. Take all my clothes off now.” she repeated word for word.

Stunned, Peter then watched as the woman rose slowly to her feet. She stepped out of her shoes, revealing her purple-coloured toenails to his gaze. Her hands then came up to reach behind her back and undo the bow between her shoulder blades.

She then slipped each shoulder of the cotton dress away and let the dress slip down over her hips to fall into a heap around her ankles. Then she stepped aside from it. She then reached behind her back to release the bra strap and dropped the bra to the floor with the dress.

Her fingers then quickly slipped under the sides of her blue cotton panties and slipped them down over her hips, stepping out of them as she had done with her dress and shoes.

Peter’s eyes were open wide in amazement as he sat staring at the woman’s nakedness and sensual nudity. Her breasts were full and jutting. No children as yet, obviously, Peter thought, as his gaze dropped to her thighs.

The dark, lush thatch of curly, soft-looking downy pubic hair captured his gaze instantly.

He hardened immediately, feeling the blood pulsing rapidly to where his unconscious mind had directed it to go. He adjusted himself, feeling himself harden again instantly at his own touch.

His next suggestion to her formed before he knew he had done it.

“You really feel like masturbating to a very intense orgasm.” he stated.

“Yes.” the nude woman replied immediately. “I really feel like masturbating to a very intense orgasm.”

Nothing happened. She stood there loose, limp, and very naked, but did nothing. Her arms hung as if dead at her sides.

“Masturbate now,” he said, “with feeling.”

“Yes,” she answered, “masturbate now ... with feeling.”

Peter just sat back and smiled, wondering what else he could do. And then he grinned widely, unbelievingly, as he watched the naked woman’s gentle fingers begin in deadly earnest to search with feeling, the centre of her own downy softness, and the instant flowering of her own special jewel in front of a perfect stranger.