The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Class Reunion

mc md mf

Note: This story is a hypnofetish fantasy. It contains adult language and situations, and examples of fictional characters doing illegal, immoral and/or impossible things to other fictional characters as a prelude to sexual activity. If you 1) are under the age of consent in your community, 2) are disturbed by such concepts, 3) attempt to do most of these things in real life or 4) want graphic blow-by-blow sex descriptions in your pornography, then please stop reading now.

Permission is granted to re-post this story unaltered to any on-line forum, as long as no fee whatsoever is charged to view it, and this disclaimer and the above e-mail address are not removed. It would also be nice if you told me you were posting it.

Copyright me, © 1998.

The address is real. Comments welcome.

Additional note to MC Archive patrons: In response to Simon’s 5/99 comment about his backlog being empty, I dug this story out my own archives. I wrote this last year, but wasn’t entirely satisfied with it, and never sent it to the Archive. Reading it now, it doesn’t seem so bad. I’ve given it an editorial once-over and sent on to you all. If nothing else, it’s interesting to see themes and images (and names) here that turned up again in later stories...

* * *

Sandra paused amidst the crowd on the sidewalk, and looked again at the restaurant. Parmenter’s Steakhouse. One of the numerous small signs in the window had caught her attention: “Homemade Lemonade.” She hesitated for a long moment, then entered. It had been a hot day and she was thirsty, especially after hiking around taking in the sights of the city along with about six million other people. The hiking had also made her feet sore, and just sitting down would be such a relief. As she entered, she pulled off her sunglasses, and perched them on her forehead, rearranging her shoulder-length tresses as she did so.

Inside the restaurant it was pleasantly cool and shady, despite being quite crowded. A harrassed-looking waitress appeared, and made a valiant effort to smile at the newest arrival. Sandra offered to take a seat at the counter, and waitress gratefully took her up on the idea, immediately disappearing back into the throng.

Sandra plopped into one of the rotating chairs, and spun herself into place, tucking her long tanned legs under the counter. There was no sign of a counter-person in the immediate vicinity. She carefully piled up her various purchases under her sandaled feet for safety, then plucked a menu from the wire rack in front of her. Nothing sounded particularly appetizing; she’d given up starch and grease a long time ago. If she managed to flag someone down, maybe she’d just have that lemonade, and then w...

“Um... excuse me?” The voice came from behind, startling her. She spun the stool back around.

The man was average-looking, brown-haired, a little on the scrawny side. He smiled nervously at her for a moment, and continued. “I’m sorry to bother you, but is your name Sandra? Sandra Falk?”

“Yess...” The man was suddenly naggingly familiar... “Have we met?”

“Um.. Yes. My name is Greg Anderson. We... went to Greson University together... didn’t we?”

“Oh! Greg! Of course!” Sandra smiled widely and slid off the stool. “I remember now! We had.. what was it.. Philosophy 302?”

Greg smiled as well.“Yes, among others. Ol’ prof Handermayer and his Yardstick of Doom.”

They laughed together and embraced lightly, and she gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek. They had never been more than friends, but she still had fond memories of him. He figeted a little, then spoke.

“Say, Sandra, I... we... have a table in the back here. Why don’t you join us, and we can.. catch up. What’s it been? Five years?”

Sandra paused, suddenly surprised.

“Yes, I suppose it has...” She shook herself. “Yes, I’d like to talk. Lemme get my stuff..” She returned the menu to the rack, bent over gracefully and retrieved her pile of belongings. Straightened up and pushed strands of dark brown hair back behind her ears. “Say.. ‘we’?”

Greg smiled and nodded. “We.”

“You’re married?”

“No. Well... not yet... No.”

“Um... this isn’t going to be awkward, is it? I don’t want to cause you any problems...”

“No. No, of course not!”

They started weaving their way through the clusters of crowded tables, speaking over the din.

“What’s her name? Uh... We are talking about a her, aren’t we?”

“Her name...? Oh. Jill. Jill Richardson. She’s a her, yes.”

They arrived at a secluded booth set back against the wall. Waiting there was a woman. She was a short, pretty, buxom redhead, wearing an outfit similar to Sandra’s- short jeans and a T-shirt. She smiled at them as they approached, apparently with total sincerity. Her blue eyes were very wide. She shifted slightly in her seat, and Greg spoke up, in a rather formal tone.

“Jill, this is Sandra Falk. Sandra, this is Jill.”

For a second, an expression flitted across Jill’s open face. Sandra was puzzled. It wasn’t jealousy or anger... more... resigned pain? Whatever it was, if it was anything, it came and went in a moment. Maybe she had imagined it.

“Hi, Sandra!” Jill extended a sun-browned hand and they shook. “I’m glad you were who Greg thought you were. He saw you come in and he just had to go drag you over here!”

“Um... hi... Jill. Look, like I told Greg, I don’t want to cause any problems between you two... I know how old girlfriends can mess things up... not that there was never anything between us, but if you...”

“Don’t be silly!” Jill gave Sandra’s arm a gentle tug. “Sit down. Take a load off.”

“Thanks.” She again deposited her pile of bric-a-brac and slid into the booth next to Jill with a grateful sigh. There was a long oddly nervous silence.

“So...” Sandra said, suddenly feeling horribly inane. “Where did you two meet?”

Before either of her booth-mates could answer, a new waitress materialized out of the crowd, carrying a tray with three tall glasses. Like the woman who had greeted Sandra at the door, she appeared slightly frazzled.

“You had the three lemonades?”

“That’s right. Thanks.” Sandra’s head snapped around in surprise at Greg’s comment. The waitress deposited the glasses and vanished before she could say anything.

“Did you just steal someone’s lemonade?” she accused him.

Greg smiled and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “No, of course not. I knew you were coming and ordered three.”

“Yeah, right.” She contemplated trying to flag down the waitress, then sighed. “Oh what the hell. I’m too tired to be noble.” She sipped from the glass. It was quite good. Then she remembered her question.

“So, you two. Where did you meet?”

Greg and Jill glanced at each other. “Um... gosh... you know I don’t remember exactly. Some party, I think. It was about four-five years ago, wasn’t it, Jill?”

Jill smiled and nodded.

“Five years?” The words slipped out.

“It’s been sorta off again on again. You know how these things work sometimes. Right now it’s on again.” He picked up Jill’s hand from the table and kissed it. She grinned back at him, but Sandra noticed she flushed slightly as well. “But I don’t want to bore you with the details of our torrid romance. What about yourself? Are you travelling with someone- I forgot to ask before. Did some lucky guy end up with you? Maybe Henry... um... what was his name? Jerkins?”

Sandra laughed with delight, almost snorting up a nose-full of lemonade in the process. “Oh god. Henry Jorgens. I haven’t thought about him in... well, gee... since senior year. No, I didn’t end up with him. Didn’t end up with anybody. Came close once or twice, but... well... like you say... you know how these things work out..” She smiled a trifle wanly.

“I’m sorry.” Greg read her mood and smoothly changed the subject. “I take it you’re just visiting our fair city?” He nodded at her pile of tourist gear.

“Yup. Just visiting. I’d never been out to the coast, and I thought it was time to see the town. Do you two live here?”

“Some of the time. At the moment anyway. We’re... on the move a lot.”

“On again off again, I think you said?”

“Yes.” Greg sipped his lemonade and continued. “So what are you doing with yourself? Your degree was in Business Administration, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I’m living in Detroit now. I work for—” She waved her hand. “...a company you’ve never heard of. Miller Electronics. Three years now. It’s a good job. What about you, Mr. Technical Whiz?” She smiled archly.

“I’m self-employed. Do a lot of consulting work. The business world will always need us technical whizzes.”

Sandra turned to Jill. “What about you?”

“I’m between jobs at the moment.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Jill shrugged cheerfully. “These things happen.” She shot a glance at Greg, then looked at her watch. “Oh, god! Look at the time! I didn’t realize how late it was! I have to get moving! People to see, forms to fill out, lines to stand in, all of that.”

“You’re leaving?” Sandra exclaimed, suddenly nervous again. “I don’t want to...”

“Will you stop worrying!” Jill laughed. “Can I just wiggle out past you?” Sandra automatically rose, and Jill got out of the booth, taking one last slurp of lemonade as she did so. “Now you two just sit back down and relive the ol’ glory days at Greson. I’ll try and catch up with you later.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Say... I have an idea. Why don’t I take Sandra’s stuff with me, and we can meet back our place, later? The car’s just around the corner. You two would have a lot more fun if you weren’t lugging all those packages around.”

“No, really, I couldn’t...”

Greg cut in. “It’s no problem. And if Jill and I actually are souvenir thieves, you wouldn’t really miss anything out of that pile, would you?”

Sandra looked at the collection thoughtfully, than smiled.

“No. I suppose not. OK. Go ahead, if it really isn’t too much trouble.”

Jill scooped up the pile of goods, leaving Sandra’s purse behind. She gave a little package-clutching wave, and departed.

Greg spoke again.

“Before you start worrying again, let me make one thing clear, that I should have earlier. Jill and I are more than friends, but our relationship is... complicated. We’re not engaged. We are living together at the moment, but we’re not exactly seeing each other exclusively. And she knows you and I are just old friends. So everything’s OK. OK?” He paused, and smiled uncertainly.

Sandra smiled back.

“OK.” She drank some more lemonade.

Jill bounced perkily out onto the sidewalk. As she did, a limo pulled up to the curb. She fumbled open the door before the driver could get out, and slid inside. The door swung shut behind her, sealing away the city’s noise and heat. She carefully deposited Sandra’s items on the seat beside her, and leaned back, her face suddenly drained of joy, looking almost like she was about to cry. She waved at the driver who was waiting for instructions and sighed:

“Home, Jeeves.”

For a long while they sat in the booth, and talked about mutual friends from school, most of whom they’d both already lost touch with. They discussed their respective careers. Greg apologized for being vague about his at times, since many of the companies he worked with insisted on his signing strict non-disclosure agreements. Jill, Sandra learned, had up until recently been a graphics designer. Greg said that she and her employer had come to a ‘parting of the ways’. He looked a little grim when he said it, so she didn’t press the subject. They talked for a while about Greson, and Greg enthused for a time about the success of their alma mater’s current football team; Sandra had never been much of a football fan, although she’d wandered in and out of relationships with some of the players; she remembered dragging herself to various dismal games, in the depths of seasons with records like 2-10. They finished their lemonades, and ended up paying for them. They escaped back out onto the sidewalk, and Greg turned to look at her.

“So. How about some dinner?”

“Shouldn’t we... you invite Jill?”

“She already has plans. It would mean a lot to me if you’d let me buy you dinner, Sandra.”

She sighed and acquiesced. “All right, but please not in Parmenter’s house of clogged arteries here.”

“No, you’re right. I know a better place.” He flagged down a passing taxi, and they piled in. They ended up at an upscale seafood restaurant that had a lovely view of the skyline where they had some poached cod and white wine. The conversation this time stayed mostly with current events.

As the meal wound down, Greg seemed to become oddly distracted, and fell silent for a long time, the conversation dwindling away to silence. Sandra didn’t want to intrude on his private thoughts, and sat sipping her coffee and watching the reddish sun start down into the sea, or at least down behind the buildings nearer to the shoreline. She felt nice. She remembered this from their time at school together; Greg, even when he was in a mood like this, was always a good person to just be with, not to talk or study, just to share space and time with... and... she realized how late it was getting. Somewhat reluctantly, she spoke up.

“Greg? It’s been very nice catching up with you, but I really need to get my things and head back to my motel.”

He roused himself with a visible start.

“Oh! Yes. Of course. I’m sorry. Let’s go. We don’t live very far from here, which is one of the reasons I picked this place...” He paid the bill, and they left, walking up the street side by side, not touching. It was starting to get chilly, and Sandra began to feel it in her legs and arms. As they walked, Greg pointed out the various local sights, things not on the tourist maps: odd houses, a row of unusual trees, the one-eyed neighborhood cat lurking in a doorway, waiting for the night to truly arrive...

Greg and Jill’s home turned out to be a large loft-type apartment, tastefully furnished, light and airy even in the encroaching darkness.. There was no sign of Jill, although Sandra saw her purchases neatly stacked on a table near the front door. She shuffled her feet uneasily.

“I’m sorry I can’t wait and say goodbye to Jill, but I really need to get going..”

“Well, you know... eh... guess you don’t know Jill, do you? Woman can’t sit still for a second. Probably out committing a cat burglary or something. Like I said, she had plans. You saved me from dining alone.” He paused. “I’m sorry, guess I’m rambling. Can I get you some coffee before you rush off?”

“No, I really need to get back to my motel.”

“OK. Let me get you another cab, at least. I imagine it’s a long walk back.”

“Thanks, that would be nice.” While Greg was making the call, she looked around the apartment more carefully. Apart from the usual furniture, an elaborate computer set-up stood against one wall, with wires and cables running everywhere, and oddly-shaped grey boxes piled around haphazardly. There were several interesting painting on the walls, mostly abstract splashes and whirls. The one that caught her eye however, was of a large white house, surrounded by fruit trees. It was very well done, but seemed tinged with a strange hint of melancholia. She looked at it for a long time, rubbing her forearms thoughtfully, then realized that Greg was standing next to her.

“The taxi will be here right away.”

“Thank you.” She gestured at the painting. “I like the painting. Is that a real house somewhere?”

He nodded. “I had it done. The painting, I mean. I lived in that house for a while. I was happy.”

“And now you’re not?”

He shrugged. “Maybe not as much as then. But I get by. Jill’s here.”

“Was that house one of you and her’s on-again times?”

“Yes, it was, now that you mention it. She was there. Some of the time. But...” He fell silent, and looked at the painting for a long, quiet, moment. Then he spoke again, sounding more cheerful. “Say, you’re not leaving town tomorrow, are you?”

“No... I’m here for a while yet...”

“Why don’t we get together tomorrow? You and I and Jill... if I can catch up with her. I’d like to show you some of the sights, apart from the local alley cat.”

“Well... Yes. I mean, I’d think I’d like that, but I’ve already sponged off of you more than I should.”

“No, it’s no trouble. I have some stuff to do in the morning, but we could meet at your motel... or somewhere... around noon?”

“Yes. OK.”

There was a toot from a horn outside the apartment. She spoke quickly.

“I’m staying at the Stratford. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes, down near the waterfront, right?”

“Yes. I’ll see you... at noon?”

“Noon it is.”

He loaded her up with her packages. He opened the door for her, and she stepped out into the night. She looked back at the figure outlined in the doorway. It suddenly seemed oddly slumped, like Greg had let out a tremendous breath of tension. He waved easily enough, though. She smiled back, and hurried to the waiting taxi.

After seeing the taxi pull away, Greg closed the door and locked it. As he turned to walk back into the apartment, someone tried to open the door. He looked through the peephole, and unlocked the door before Jill could fish out her key. She stepped into the apartment, and looked up at him, her eyes wide.

“I just couldn’t stay. You... you understand, don’t you?”


“Did she...”

Greg shook his head silently. Jill gave out a little sob and buried her face in his chest. He gently began stoking her hair, a faint smile on his lips. Then:

“It’s not over. I’m seeing her again tomorrow.”

She looked up at him, and hope came back into her eyes.

Sandra lay awake in her lumpy motel bed for a long time, her mind churning endlessly in circles. She felt strange... horny... almost feverish... One moment she considered working herself up into an orgasm, but in the next moment it seemed like too much trouble... so much better just to lie there... quietly... finally she dozed off into a fitful sleep and fell down into a thin, wavering, dream. She was at the house in Greg’s painting, or more accurately, she had stepped into the painting- everything was made up large swirling splotches of color. She was sitting in a notch between the branches of one of the fruit trees, looking down at the ground. Greg and Jill stood there on the blobs of green ‘grass’, looking back at her, their hands at their sides. Their expressions... Concerned? Anticipatory? She couldn’t seem to make their faces sit still long enough to tell... Around them were ranged other, figures even more indistinct, looking like pencil drawings that had been half rubbed out with an eraser. Her gaze lifted itself up, and she was looking out over the high, tight, wooden fence that surrounded the house and yard. Beyond the fence was... Her stomach curled in on itself, and a tremor passed through her..

She woke up with a start, the dream fading away. It was morning; the rising sun shown behind the curtains of her east-facing room. She got up, and went through her morning routine, trying to piece the dream back together, remember what she had seen outside the fence that had brought her up out of sleep so abruptly. It was useless. The colors melted and ran together. She gloomily finished dressing and primping and went out in search of some breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant.

At noon, she was on the sidewalk front of the motel, wearing the only dress she had brought along on the trip, a simple blue cotton garment that came down to her knees. It wasn’t as warm as the day before, and she shivered a little. At the appointed time, Greg drove up in a small sporty car, and pulled it to a neat stop by the curb.

He was alone.

Her stomach gave a little lurch, and for a moment, she had the wild urge to flee back inside the motel, to run to the airport and catch the next plane back to Detroit.

Instead she got in the car.


“Hi. Where’s Jill?”

“She begged off. Said she had...”

“More lines to go stand in?”

“Something like that, yes.”

He pulled back out into traffic, and they rode along in silence for some time, Greg weaving expertly in and out of traffic. Finally Sandra spoke.

“Where are we going?”

“A place I know. I think you’ll like it.”

She twisted her seatbelt between her hands.

“I... I’m really not very hungry...”

He glanced over at her, his eyes unreadable behind his mirrored sunglasses.

“Neither am I, actually. It’s not a restaurant.”

Again they lapsed into silence, as the car began to leave the city and climb up into the steep green hills that sprawled to the east. Eventually they wound up a steep, narrow road, bordered on both sides by banks of surprisingly large trees. At last the car came around a sharp bend, and Sandra let out a little gasp of surprise. They had broken back into the clear at the top of a cliff, and the city lay sprawled out below them. sparkling in the sun. Beyond the skyscrapers the sea and the horizon shimmered shades of blue on blue. Greg pulled the car over into a gravelly turnout at the side of the road; a few other cars were already parked there. Nearby a cluster of Japanese tourists stood, cameras clicking frantically away. Greg abruptly killed the engine and spoke, making her jump a little in surprise.

“I had an itinerary worked out. I was going to show you the sights, but... well... I decided it was just better to get it over with all at once.” He smiled, and waved grandiosely. “Here they are. The sights.”

Sandra got out of the car, and walked slowly to the low metal guard-rail that marked the edge of the cliff. The wind was brisk here, and she hugged herself. Its mournful howl, the clicking of the cameras, and the distant patter of rapid-fire Japanese were the only sounds. Greg came to stand beside her, as he had last night before the painting. She spoke.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Because this is the last day, and I wanted you to see this. I don’t bring many people here... After today, everything changes. You go back to Detroit and we never see each other again.”

“Or?” She wondered where that word had come from.

“Or? I don’t think there is an ‘or’ in this case.”

Another long silence.

“Have you brought Jill here?”

“Yes. I have. Once. Generally it’s just me and the Japanese.”

She glanced at the group of camera-wielders.

“Are they always here?”

“I think they live here.” He grinned, but even with the glasses, she could see his heart wasn’t in it. “Actually, somehow, it’s become The Thing To Do for Japanese tourists here. I don’t know why. In San Francisco, it’s ‘take pictures of the Golden Gate Bridge.’ Here it’s ‘climb Wakewater Hill and shoot the skyline.’ I don’t think most locals even know about this spot. People are funny that way.”

She looked back out across the panorama, and her eyes came to rest on a tall, blocky, ugly building that stood off by itself, down near the edge of the water. She pointed at it.

“What’s that monstrosity? I’ve seen it, and been wondering...”

Greg didn’t seem to be looking at her, but promptly replied. “Don’t mention that in the tourist books, do they? It’s been the city’s official Civic Embarrassment for the last fifteen years. The Martin J. Bloy Building. Everyone just calls it ‘The Shaft’. At least in polite company. Ugly, isn’t it?”

Sandra stared at the solitary stone and metal finger pointing authoritatively up into the sky. She turned and looked at Greg, who somehow stood in a similar pose in relation to his surroundings. Like her, he now had his arms crossed over his chest, looking out to sea. She wondered what he was thinking.

She wondered what she was thinking.

She hesitated, felt the world hesitate, then suddenly realized what was about to happen. It was inescapable, and she might as well let herself be dragged down without a fight.

“Let’s go.”

His glasses turned again to look at her.


“Back to your apartment. Jill won’t be there, will she?”

“No. No she won’t.”

As soon as they were through the door, they were in each other’s arms, fumbling to tear off their clothing. Then Greg’s hands clicked into place on her feverish body, and her dress and her bra and everything else went away. He was touching her, touching her exactly how and where she wanted to be touched, how she was touched in her deepest fantasies, the ones that only came to her in the dark of the night...

He swept her up, and she clung to him, clawed at him, tried to suck off a sampling of his essence as he carried her into the bedroom. They fell onto the bed, she still scratching, clawing, biting at him like an animal, trying to tear away the last of his clothes and get at what was concealed underneath. Finally they got it free, and she eagerly spread her bare legs, pulling him inside her, deeper and deeper inside, falling down into him, falling up into him, losing herself in the thrusts of his manhood as they punched deeper and deeper...

She lay in the bed, utterly spent. With a tremendous effort, she lolled over on the sweat-soaked sheets, and looked at him. He lay beside her, looking back, his expression unreadable. She spoke, placing a hand on his stomach.

“That... that was the best ever... I... I never felt anything like that...”

“You still don’t remember!” Sandra’s blood turned to ice. It wasn’t Greg’s voice. It was...

Jill sat in a wide, low, chair by the room’s door, her bare feet curled up under her.

“Jill...” it was a whisper, a squeak.

“How could you not remember? Even now! Don’t you remember any of it?”

“Remember... any of what...” Sandra suddenly realized there was another person in the room, standing beside Jill’s chair. A woman. A tall, slender woman with straight black hair that spilled down her back, and cool gray eyes. Sandra stared at her, then spoke, still whispering.

“You were in my dream. You were... you were one of the others... the erased ones”

“Dream?” Jill.

“I think I understand.” Greg’s voice was calm, confident, sent icy fingers tapping gently down Sandra’s spine. Suddenly, she could listen to his voice for hours... “You always were the most difficult, Sandra. The strongest-willed. It took the longest to... break you. And even now, you’re fighting. But now you’re not fighting me. You’re fighting yourself.”

“Break?” Sandra.

“It wasn’t really your idea to come to town, Sandra, to come to Parmenter’s Steakhouse. It was your decision whether or not to come, but it wasn’t your idea. The idea was mine, but that wonderfully stubborn mind of yours twisted it around inside yourself, made up excuses. Convinced yourself that you were coming here on vacation..”

Sandra sat up on the bed, clutching at her head.

“I don’t understand...”

“Look at Karen, Sandra.” Sandra’s eyes rose immediately to the silent newcomer, her hands still clenching her own skull. “You say you dreamed about her? Maybe she’s the key. Try to remember her. Try to remember...”

Something clicked inside her mind, the thoughts sliding into place like Greg’s hands around her body. A memory welled up. Walking in the Quad at Greson after classes on a warm sunny day. Walking, laughing, talking to... Karen...

And Jill.

“Jill.. you went to Greson?”

“She did. She was in our class. You and she were good friends, even before I came along.”


“I discovered something in between our Junior and Senior years, Sandra. Mr. Technical Whiz at work. Something wonderful, something terrible. A method for controlling women’s minds. A way of bending them utterly to my will. And so I did something wonderful and terrible at the start of our Senior year. I took you, and Jill, and Karen, and.. the rest. Do you remember now, Sandra?”

And then she did. More memories, not a dream-painting but real memories. A large white house near the campus, with a small orchard of fruit trees and a high wooden fence. Wide warm wooden floors that she loved to polish... polish in the nude... everyone was nude... all of the girls... especially when they were...

Watching the Tape. Endless wonderful hours of watching the Tape and listening to the Voice. Listening to the Voice was better than anything. It felt so good to just sit there quietly on the floor, on her soft cushion, and finger herself and watch the Tape and listen to the Voice. Learning how wonderful it was to polish wooden floors in the nude. How wonderful, how right it was to listen to the Voice, and obey the Voice... love the Voice... worship the Voice... fuck for the Voice...

And she was listening to the Voice now.

More memories came back. Hideous memories.

“You remember that much? Remember... ”

Sandra spun towards him, eyes suddenly blazing. Her hand lashed out, and she slapped him viciously across the face

“Of course I remember, you bastard!”

He took the blow stolically, without flinching. “That I took away your will? That I made you my slave. You have every right to be angry...”

She stared at him in disbelief, then slapped him again, harder, this time snapping his head around. She sobbed, and crumpled back onto the bed. Both Karen and Jill shifted as if to reach out to her, but stopped at a gesture from Greg.

“NO! Not that!” She clawed the sheets with her fingers. “That was right, and good and true, just like the voice explained! It gave a center to the universe. It filled me, filled all of us. What you did was take it all away again! All those months of bliss, and peace, and joy, and... and absolute certainty about what was right, and then you lost your nerve, ‘freed’ us, ripped the center out of the universe, and left me to die in the darkness. You took it all away again. You didn’t even let me remember! Why?”

“I realized I had to give you the choice. You all seemed happy and content, but I had to give you the chance to live your own life. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I had. That’s why I stopped interfering with your studies. Then let you graduate. Then let you go. Gave you five years. Away from me, and the other girls.”

“What?” She looked up in confusion, her face still streaked with tears.

“Like I said, it wasn’t your idea to come to here, and stop in that restaurant. If you wanted to come back to me, after five years of... freedom, I left the meeting time and place in your mind, and buried everything else. Buried it deep. Then, when five years were up, if you wanted to come back, everything would be the same as it was. And you came back, and so did Jill and Karen. But they both remembered it all, right from the beginning. Each woke up one morning and knew I was waiting for her here, if she wanted to come. Jill came three days ago. Karen arrived this morning. It looks like some of the others didn’t want to come back. Louisa. Eliza. Veronica. They’ve evidently made their choices. I’m happy for them, and I wish them well.” He paused, and shifted awkwardly. He had risen and put on a robe at some point, and he pulled its belt tighter around himself. “But now, you need to make a choice, Sandra. You can still choose. You will always have that choice. Do want to stay here, and be my... slave... or do you want to go back? Back to Detroit, and Miller Electronics, or whatever it was called.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her fingers still clenched.

“Will you ever send us away again?”

“I will never do anything to you that you don’t want me to.”

Sandra relaxed her grip. Let her fingertips float up into the air. Slid off the bed and rose to her feet.

“You could, though, couldn’t you? Make us all do anything you wanted to.”

“In a strictly technical sense, yes. I could. But I never will.”

She stepped up to him and looked into his eyes.

She kissed him. It was kissing... a live electrical wire... honey and clover... fire and brimstone... all at once... all wrapped together... It went on forever. She fell into the kiss, and only reluctantly resurfaced. She stepped back again, and looked at him from under her brows. And smiled.

“What would be the point of that?”

“I don’t understand.”

“What’s the point of a girl having a master...” She ran a finger across his chest, casually sliding it under the edge of the robe... “...if he doesn’t occasionally make her do things that she doesn’t want to do?”

He smiled in return. She dropped her hand and playfully began undoing the belt he had just tightened.

“There’s one thing, though, I wonder about.” Her two fellow slaves began to drift closer, peeling off their garments.

“What’s that?”

“What would... my master have done if that restaurant had closed sometime in the past five years?”

“Oh. No chance of that. I own it.” He paused as Karen reverently pulled the gown off of his shoulders and carefully draped it over a nearby chair. “I own a lot of things. All over the place. Mr. Technical Whiz at work.” He pecked her on the lips. “I own this building. That restaurant we had dinner at. And, as it happens, as of this week, I even..” Another peck. “...own the Martin J. Bloy Building.”

“Ah.” Sandra began running her hands, both hands now, over Greg’s chest. Jill and Sandra knelt down before him, between them, positioning themselves to tend to his waiting penis, which quickly rose to meet their eager lips. “I have a rich master. The best kind.”

“It is ugly. The building, I mean. You think I should order them to tear it down?”

“Maybe later.”

They started kissing again.

Eventually their lips physically parted.

But this time, Sandra never surfaced.