The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was an interesting sensation, looking down with fascination at my right hand. My eyes felt as if they were full of sand, and my throat was dry and a little raw. But as I blinked, and wobbled my eyes under closed lids, reopening them again, there was my right hand.

My right hand was taped to a thin board cut in the outline of an arm and hand. Each finger was taped securely to the board with a wrap of cloth tape, like the tape we put on toes during practice. Another wrap of tape secured my wrist, with another wrap just below the elbow.

But what held my fascination was the butterfly needle sticking into the back of my hand. The needle was inserted in the back of my hand between my ring and middle fingers, about halfway between the knuckles and the wrist. A piece of tape was across the plastic butterfly, and another wrap of tape secured a loop of thin tubing connected to the needle to my ring finger.

I wiggled my fingers a little and saw the needle move. It was clearly stuck into a vein in the back of my hand. My hand and arm were held securely, preventing movement, but evidently not hindering blood flow.

But why?

I shook my head, clearing the rocks and cobwebs. I couldn’t move. I was strapped to a reclined examination chair of some sort, wearing my tank top, briefs, and my black Pearl Izumi socks. As I moved my head I felt a mask on my face—pinkish plastic. My head seemed to be clearing. I closed my eyes and let my head drop back against whatever was holding it up, and reviewed my day for clues.

It had been a very long day. It had started a few hours outside Tokyo, taking the high speed train to the airport at Narita, flying to San Francisco, changing planes to fly to Denver, Colorado. When had things started going weird?

The whole day had been weird, with the mix-up checking in for the flight at Narita, but it had really gotten strange in the Denver airport. I was headed to a festschrift at Boulder, outside Denver, on atmospheric physics—my specialty. A grad student was to meet me at the airport.

I was definitely met at the airport!

I’d gotten off the plane, stretching as I went up the ramp to the gate. Who was to meet me? My eyes passed over the crowd. A little blonde-haired girl, seven or eight, was hopping up and down in front of a blonde woman who I supposed was her mother—the girl was either excited, or needed to pee. A good-looking woman in a long fur coat, an older couple waiting patiently, a well dressed businesswoman frowning and nervously looking at her watch. I was looking for a grad student. Was a grad student looking for me?

“Roger?”

As I pivoted to see who was calling, the little blonde girl streaked by me, calling out, “Daddy!” As I turned more, the woman in the fur coat walked up, saying again, “Roger?”

I smiled and nodded, “Yes.”

Her hair was short and brown, her eyes were brown and sparkling, her smile was confident. She looked a bit old to be a grad student—she looked to be my age, early to mid thirties, about my height.

“Do you have checked baggage?” she asked as she took my arm in hers. The fur was soft and warm; I caught a whiff of her perfume, or her perfume caught me. I breathed deep and slow, relaxed and yet attentive, flowing with the moment, relaxing.

“Yes, two pieces,” I told her as we walked along the concourse. Her stride was balanced and relaxed, holding my arm gently as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I laughed a little as we walked along.

“Long flight from Tokyo?” she asked.

“Yes—from a different world,” I told her as we entered the little tram to take us to the main terminal and baggage claim. A different world indeed—in Japan, people crammed together in the commuter trains, yet all the time attempting to maintain formal space and attitude, a formal face. And to arrive back in the States, here in Denver, and be sitting arm in arm next to a woman I’d never met.

“Do we need a cart?” she asked as we headed for the baggage carousels.

“No, one bag and a cardboard tube,” I told her. I could tell she was nervous and apprehensive now, looking around, as if she was forcing a sense of ease. My own alertness picked up.

I had my small carryon bag, and the little zip-up notecase I’ve carried for years. It was beat up—I should replace it, but it’s an old friend.

We watched bags coming off the carousel. The older couple was there, hugging a girl in her early twenties. A man was holding the little blonde girl in his arms as he embraced and kissed the blonde woman. The pensive businesswoman stood close, but not too close, to an equally pensive businessman, storm clouds growing in intensity between them.

I saw my bag, and picked it off the carousel. I smiled as I saw the tube about ten feet behind. The tube was five inches in diameter and five feet long. My instructors had given me a beautiful wooden practice sword—it had to be at least a hundred years old. “Practice,” they told me, “the sword knows the forms well.” We’d laughed, and I bowed low to them.

I set down my little notecase, putting it on top of my big bag as I reached for the tube. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my guide look the other way.

Then I saw a man’s hand reach over and grab my notecase. While my right hand continued reaching for the tube, I bent my knees, extending my left arm and grabbing the back of his pants and his belt as he started away. As his right foot lifted from the floor to take a step, I pulled him hard and to the right; my right hand sweeping the tube around, extending it between his legs to further hamper him and encourage him to the floor.

He went down, hard and fast. I stepped forward, putting the ball of my foot and my weight on his outstretched forearm and retrieving my notecase. I drew my other foot back a bit, preparing to kick him in the ribs if he gave me the slightest excuse.

My guide turned back and gasped. She grabbed my bags. I recovered the tube with my sword, stepping forward putting the ball of my other foot on his neck and pressing down. “Stay!” I told him. He’d picked the wrong person—you don’t screw with a fourth-degree black belt who’s spent the last two weeks training night and day with a pair of sixth-degree black belts.

The crowd moved out around us, clearing space. My guide looked worried.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said. I could feel the edge in her voice.

The man on the ground started to move. I put more weight on his neck. “I said stay!”

I stepped around him, keeping well out of reach, and we cut swiftly through the crowd.

My guide was hurried as we exited the building; she looked left, right, and headed right. We walked to a limousine; the trunk was open. She tossed things into the trunk and slid into the back. I tossed my stuff in and closed the trunk, then slid in after her and closed the door.

She was already talking to the driver, another woman about the same age, with longer black hair and very nice features. “Get us out of here!” she called out.

We pulled out sharply, someone behind us honking, and quickly exited the terminal area.

My greeter was agitated, shaking. How was I? I took the calming, focusing breath.

I smiled. Here I was, sitting in the back of a limo, next to a beautiful woman in a full-length fur coat. Someone had just tried to steal one of my bags—unsuccessfully.

“That was quite a welcome,” I told her, “Are you okay?”

She smiled and laughed a little, a nervous laugh. I held her hands; I could feel her trembling.

“It’s okay—it’s over. Nobody was hurt,” I told her softly, sending out calm, looking steadily into her brown eyes. Calming a student—this is something I knew how to do. “Deep breath, and let it out slowly, let it go and relax. It’s over, and we’re safe,” I told her.

She did, and sighed softly. “Thank you. Not the welcome I’d expected. Let’s see if we can improve it,” she said.

Then she moved closer and pulled me into her arms, closing her eyes as she did.

I went with it, finding myself in her arms, embracing her softly, kissing a soft, warm pair of lips. I relaxed into her, exploring the enticing fur with my hands, drinking in her perfume with my nose. I felt her hands exploring my back and shoulders, and heard and felt her “Mmmm” of appreciation.

We shifted a little, as she leaned me back. We came up for air a bit, and I kissed her neck. She pulled my head to the soft, full collar of the coat. I relaxed into her embrace, letting her hold me. We kissed again. As we kissed, I thought I smelled something new, something fruity. At first I thought the dizziness I felt was from the rush of passion. But it increased, and I felt myself slipping away.

“Back with us?” a voice asked.

I blinked and looked up again, looked up at the room. There was our black-haired driver from the car. She stood in the doorway, wearing sweats and running shoes.

I tried to speak. My throat was dry—a squeaking, squawking noise came out.

She stepped closer, and held the mask to my face. “A few deep breaths for me—it’s oxygen. A few more deep breaths and I’ll give you some water.”

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I felt funny—tired but almost twitchy. I felt the mask being removed, and a straw placed between my lips. I took a few sips of delicious lukewarm water, swirling the last around in my mouth before swallowing it.

“What’s going on?” I asked—a pretty obvious question.

She stepped back. She stood right foot slightly ahead of left, hips canted a bit, arms folded, with a half smile. Her posture told me she felt secure, in control.

“Roger, we know you’re carrying valuable information. We know that information is only valuable for a short time. So, we’re going to keep you here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I told her.

She smiled and shook her head. “Good. I was hoping we could have some fun. Our job is to keep you here, then let you go. If we can safely extract the information from you, so much the better. How much you enjoy the next 48 hours is entirely up to you.” Her hips shifted a bit, and she licked her lips. “We certainly could have some fun together. As I said, it’s up to you.”

I took a breath and smiled. “You’ve got the wrong guy. I’d like to help, but I don’t know what you want.”

She nodded and stepped forward again, and around to where I couldn’t see her.

“That’s okay, Roger. We’ll try this to start. It would help me, and make things easier for you, if you were to count backwards from one hundred for me. Would you do that for me?”

I sighed and closed my eyes. “Sure,” I told her. “One hundred. Ninety nine. Ninety eight....” A warm feeling started spreading through me. My counting faltered.

She asked me my name. I told her. She asked again, and I told her again. She insisted my last name was Ash. I told her it was Hawthorne. She did something, and I was filled with pain—intense but brief. She asked my name again, and I told her. Pain, longer this time. She asked again. Then it struck me, and I laughed. I told her about the Roger I’d met at the airport in Tokyo, about the seat mix-up and getting upgraded from business to First Class on the way back, sitting next to him. He looked a little older than me, but about the same height and weight. Brown eyes, though—mine are blue. Was it a coincidence that we were both connecting through to Denver? He’d even asked if we could switch seats on the Denver leg, in first class.

She wanted to know more. I told her when I’d gotten off the plane, he shook my hand, then went into the first class lavatory on the plane. I hadn’t seen him after that.

Another woman’s voice joined hers—my greeter and guide. She asked my name, and I told her. More pain. She asked again, and I told her again. More pain. Then hands pried my mouth open. More questions—what color are my eyes? Blue, all my life. Do you wear contacts? No—I had laser surgery years ago. My right eye was held open and a bright light shined in it, and in from the side.

“Shit!” the driver said. The other said she was going to call and check.

Then it was questions on my background. What did I do? Why was I in Japan? Why Denver? I answered as best I could.

Silence for a while—I drifted. It was hard to concentrate, and hard to move. Then the mask went on my face again, and a voice came back. The voice told me to breathe slowly and relax. Relax starting at the top of my head, feeling the relaxation extending down to my forehead and eyebrows.

After a while her voice got far away. It was interesting—I could make her voice move closer or far away for a while. Then she took me down a flight of stairs, leading down to a peaceful place where I could relax and let go to her. By the time we got there, I was so relaxed—I wanted to let go.

Both of them questioned me again. I wanted to help; I really did. I thought he had two passports, a blue U.S. one, and a brown one. U. K.? I wasn’t sure. Yes, I could remember his smile. I could see him smiling, and see his teeth—small, uniform.

Then they told me I could rest, and I didn’t have to remember what they said, because parts of me would remember to forget, and the rest of me could rest and forget to remember. It was very confusing, and I stopped trying, and relaxed into that comfortable place. Fight, Flight, Freedom?

I was semi-awake, standing naked in a small room. I was in danger. My left shoulder was against the cold wall behind me. My head was still full of wool. In front of me was my earlier inquisitor, our driver. She was holding a nasty-looking gun in one hand and a syringe in the other, yelling at me to get down on the floor, and yelling for Christie.

I stayed where I was. I was sure she wouldn’t shoot me. To use that syringe, she’d have to get a lot closer. I took a slow breath and moved slightly; I was impaired, but I could take her. Time seemed to be in my favor.

As she yelled, I looked about the room. It was barren save for a futon. She was between me and the only door. My left shoulder was to a wall, with windows on the other walls.

She kept yelling for Christie, and for me to get down on the floor. I smiled. Each breath cleared my head a little more, increasing my strength and poise.

A gal wearing sweats came running into the room and stopped in the doorway, calling out, “Holy shit!” Christie was the one who had met me at the gate, the one in the fur coat, the one who had held me. My head started to spin again.

The one with the gun was getting frantic, but not frantic enough to take her eyes off me. I knew instinctively how far she needed to turn her head to give me enough time to take her—and she wasn’t doing it.

Christie told her to hold tight, and just keep me where I was—she’d be right back.

The gal with the gun moved back a step, telling me to stay where I was. Fine with me. I didn’t want to tangle with the gun, and she evidently didn’t want to tangle with me close-quarters. So what was Christie up to? Could I do two-on-one close-quarters? Normally, yes, easily—but this wasn’t normal. In a minute or two I’d be ready.

I found out soon enough what Christie was up to. She returned, wearing that fur coat, and nothing underneath. She stepped slowly and confidently into the room.

The gal with the gun yelled, “What the hell are you doing?”

Christie smiled. I caught a whiff of perfume. “Roger, it’s all right,” she said to me softly. “I want you to relax, Roger. I’m not going to hurt you. Listen to my voice and relax.”

Christie stepped forward, her arms out. My head was spinning again, from her voice, and her perfume. She got closer to me. That coat got closer to me.

We touched and my eyes closed as I sank into the softness of the coat, her voice, and her perfume. She cradled my head and we sank down to the futon. I was drawn to a nipple, and as I took it, I felt both our bodies shudder with pleasure. She cradled my head, holding me to her as she whispered and rolled over partially on top of me. I felt myself sinking back, relaxing into that soft place, rocking in her embrace. I barely felt the sting of the needle in my thigh.

Their voices filled me again. I wanted to get away. I had to get away. My legs wouldn’t work, so I tried my arms. My arms didn’t work. Still, I tried. I had to get away. Why? Because I was in danger—they were hurting me.

Someone held me. They wouldn’t hurt me. No more questions. They held me close. They were sorry I’d been hurt. They told me over and over they were sorry, and they’d protect me. I heard and felt a heart beating, and felt the softness and warmth of a breast, the comfort of a nipple in my mouth. They talked to me, held me, and gradually I relaxed.

They took me to that floating place again, showing me to a place where I could be safe. They spoke to someone, opening doors. I didn’t have to remember; I could relax and rest.

Warm soup. Someone was feeding me warm soup, beef soup. I tried lifting my right arm. It was shaky.

“No, that’s okay. Let me do it,” a voice said.

My eyes were open, but they weren’t working very well. It took awhile, many sips of soup, before my mental gears started to mesh again.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

I moved my head. I focused. We were sitting in a kitchen area, the three of us. A sheet was wrapped around my torso, holding me to a chair.

“Don’t worry, Roger. That’s just to hold you up. You’re still weak.”

I looked up to the one who had spoken. Christie—my greeter at the airport, the fur coat, the soft voice, the perfume.

“Awake and alert again, Roger,” she said.

My head cleared somewhat; I blinked.

She smiled and nodded. “Roger, you were right. You aren’t the person we were looking for. You were set up—we were set up—and we were all fooled. We’ve been told to hold you until 48 hours is up, then turn you loose. We won’t hurt you. We promise.”

I looked at her. I looked down at the table, and brought my right hand up to grasp the spoon. My hand didn’t want to cooperate. It felt thick and slow.

I breathed slowly, breathing energy into my right hand. I picked up the spoon slowly. I dipped it into the soup, and raised it to my mouth. I got it to my mouth, and thank God the soup wasn’t too hot. I lowered the spoon slowly, in a controlled manner. I looked at Christie, then at the other woman.

I placed both hands on the sides of the soup bowl, and raised it to my mouth. I drank slowly and steadily, slurping down noodles, veggies, and chunks of meat. I felt the warmth bringing energy and strength back to my body.

I slowly lowered the empty bowl back to the table. It was one of the most difficult things I’ve done in my life.

Christie took my right hand in hers, placing two fingers in my palm. “Squeeze my fingers,” she said.

I squeezed, not very hard. I managed a smile. Then I reached inside, and taking a breath, squeezed again—hard. She gasped and I let loose.

The other woman shook her head with a smile, then asked, “Can you stand?”

I looked at her. “What is your name?” I asked.

She dropped her eyes momentarily. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m Denise. My partner is Christie. No last names—I think you understand.”

I sighed and nodded a bit. I tensed my legs a little. “I won’t be able to stand on my own for a while.” Another sensation—“But I’m going to need to use the bathroom, and soon.”

Denise untied me while Christie steadied me. They helped me stand. I was very wobbly. They walked me out of the kitchen and down a short hall into a bathroom, where I was installed on the toilet. They stepped out while I attended to my needed business, wiped, flushed, and managed to pull up my briefs and stand, wobbling to the sink and leaning heavily on it.

My right hand—I could see where the tape had been, on the fingers, the wrist, and the back of the hand. I had a mark where the needle had been in place. How long ago? I still had on my tank top, briefs, and socks. It had been a very long day.

Arms caught me before I collapsed, and took me down the hall to another bedroom, depositing me on my back on a king-sized bed. After spending two weeks sleeping on thin straw tatami mats in Japan, this was heaven—or was it?

I raised my right leg, pulling my knee up.

“What is it?” someone asked. I looked—Christie, was sitting beside me on the bed.

“I’m trying to get my socks off. I’ve been wearing them since ... what day is it?”

Hands peeled off my socks. I wiggled my toes, enjoying airing them out.

Christie said, “It’s still Tuesday, almost 8 in the evening.”

I laughed a bit. It had been a very long day. My body didn’t know what time it was.

Denise said, “How are you feeling?”

I moved my arms some, then my legs. “A little stronger now—still pretty wiped out.”

Denise came over to Christie and whispered something. Christie stood up, and both of them stepped out of the room.

Christie returned a few minutes later, smiling. She walked over to me, leaned over, and started peeling off my tank top.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

She smiled as she took off my briefs. Then she stood and took off her sweatshirt. “I won the toss,” she told me with a smile. She took off her bra. I saw her nipples and was so hungry for her. She shed the rest of her clothing and crawled on top of me.

I had enough strength to put my arms around her as we kissed. Her weight on top of me was divine. After a bit she moved and I latched on to a nipple, my arms going around her waist. She held my head and I moaned.

Then she started talking, whispering, telling me to let go and relax again.

I was floating in that place again, but I was more aware, aware to her on top of me, and of me sliding into her, and of both of us moaning with pleasure.

She rode me, and rode me, coming with a shudder and a cry. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t come yet, everything felt so good, and so intense. She leaned forward again and held me to a nipple, rocking and holding me. Her voice started in again.

The feeling grew and grew, and when I came, I came from my toes to the top of my head, all the time being held to her. Her voice filled me and swept me away again, rocking in that peaceful place, in her arms.

I woke in the dark. I had to pee. I didn’t know where I was. I was confused. My arms and legs weren’t working properly. I flailed around, striking someone. Someone helped me up and to the nearby bathroom.

Things focused as I sat on the can. In the neon nightlight glow I saw Denise standing in the doorway, naked. Her arms were crossed, right foot a little ahead of the left. I could see the jet black curls of her mound, and the sight sent interesting sensations through me. I finished, flushed, and started to stand. Other parts of me were also starting to stand.

“My turn,” she said as she helped me over to the countertop. The shock of the cold countertop on my bottom woke me a little more. I turned and rinsed my mouth, swallowing some water. Long flights leave my fluid balance screwed up for days.

I heard the toilet flush and felt a hand on my back. I turned, into her arms. We kissed and she ran her hands over me as I held her waist. I could feel her nipples tightening against me. I moved to feel one of them, and felt her take in a breath as I stroked the side of her breast.

We moved back to the bed. I guess I’d been in the middle, between them. Christie was half sitting up. She swung her legs out of the bed and stood up, walking to the bathroom.

Denise sat me on the edge of the bed, my face now level with heaven. She held me to one of her nipples, running her fingers through the hair at the back of my head, holding me, moving my head a little back and forth.

Her voice was lower, more resonant, more insistent, and it sent me spinning. Soon I was on my back and so deep inside her. She rode me and her voice drove me on and on. I came again, sucking on her, and then floated down, and down, and down.

I woke up quieter, with sunlight coming in the windows. I had to pee again, but it could wait. I was naked in a bed with a warm, sensuous woman on either side of me. I wanted to hold someone. I needed to hold someone. I could feel the hunger in my thighs. I laughed softly. Which one? It’s like that question, “Which blouse do you like better, dear?” No-win.

Christie turned slowly, opening her eyes a bit and smiling. She extended her arms. I started to move over to her, but she moved up in the bed a little and pulled me down. I put an arm under her at her waist, and nestled in between her breasts. She held me and started rocking a little. I heard and felt motion on the other side of me. I felt a hand on my back, then heard Denise’s voice, slow and steady, telling me to let go and relax. I drifted off again.

From a deep place I remember them telling me I was safe, but they needed to be sure I wouldn’t try anything. I gave them my word I’d behave. They were happy with that, and soon I was filled with pleasure.

We spent the next day and a half making love. Usually I was on my back, with one of them on top of me, talking to me. Some times one would be on top of me, and the other would be holding my head and talking to me. It was dreamy and intense.

I was awake, more or less, for meals, to shower, that sort of thing. But even then, I’d be sitting on the edge of the bed, or on the sofa in the living room, and one of them would walk up and touch me, say something, or hold me to a nipple, and I’d be off in dreamland again.

Some of the memories are murky, but strong. Memories of being on top of Christie, sliding in and out of her, hearing her cry out as Denise held her head, talking to us both, weaving our dreams together. Memories of eating Christie, my hands feeling the fur coat she was wearing, and looking up briefly to see Denise again, sitting at Christie’s head, brushing her temples, Christie’s eyes closed and her head arched back.

I felt better the last morning. I showered, and dressed. We had a civilized breakfast, sitting around the kitchen table. I helped Denise clean up the kitchen. We held and hugged each other in the process, kissing while waiting for the water from the hot water faucet to get warm.

I went to the bedroom to get my bag. Christie met me just inside the door. She was wearing that coat, perfume, and nothing else. I fell into her. Soon I was on my back on the bed again, with her on top of me, and Denise at my head. We were riding slow waves, which increased in intensity until they engulfed us both. I drifted away again in softness and warmth.

I woke up in her arms and kissed Christie awake. We cleaned up and got dressed. I helped load our bags into the car. Denise drove. Christie and I rode in the back. As we pulled away, I pulled Christie to me and kissed her. Fest

They dropped me off at the University building where the Fest was being held. We hugged and kissed, and I made my way inside with my bags, two and a half days late.

I made my apologies to the organizers, but my presentation wasn’t until later anyhow. I told them something had come up to delay me, and I was still pretty wiped out.

Arriving late had its benefits. They housed me in an area normally used for married grad students. I settled in, then settled down, and napped until just before dinner.

I fell back into the swing of things with dinner that night—almost. Part of my reason for attending was to recruit new blood for the program at our school. I was looking for one or two senior grad students, or even postdocs. It was no secret I was looking. I’d received a number of resumes and CVs prior to the Fest, and had whittled them down with the aid of colleagues.

I did twenty-minute slots with six people after dinner. Two postdocs stood out from the first round, Penny, and Darren. Penny was from Carnegie Mellon in Pittsburgh. She had a very good background, and was articulate. Darren was from U. T. Austin. He didn’t have Penny’s flair, but his skills were first rate. Both would make good additions to anyone’s program.

Darren knew he had competition, and wangled a longer interview the next afternoon. I agreed to talk to Penny later on that day, after a group dinner. I got back to my room and collapsed to a night of deep murky dreams.

It took me most of the morning to wake up and get in the swing of things. I was pretty much back with it in the afternoon—part of that was Darren and his interview. I paced myself through the rest of the afternoon. I expected dinner would help—I hadn’t had a great deal to eat over the last few days.

I sat down with Penny after dinner for a longer chat. We were talking about opportunities at the university.

“Doctor Hawthorne,” Penny asked, “Are you okay?”

We were sitting in adjacent chairs. I’d had another brain fade. We’d been talking about half an hour, and ....

I shook my head and smiled. “I’m sorry—I’m finding it very difficult to concentrate.”

“Jet lag still?” she asked.

I sighed and confessed. She looked so soft and so warm. “No—your beauty.”

She stood up, taking my hand. We walked out onto a local balcony. The cool, crisp air felt good. “I don’t know if I could take the dry air around here,” I said, looking out over Boulder. It certainly was a pretty area.

I turned to see her reaction and she pulled me into a kiss. I could feel her youth, her eagerness, and her hunger. Then she ran a hand up my back, to my neck. The world swirled again.

We made it out of the reception, I hope without causing too much of a scene, ending up in her room, in the same married student dorm as I was staying in, only a floor down from me.

We kissed hungrily, running our hands over each other. I got her on the sofa, and soon had her pants and panties off and was between her legs. She was musky, delicious, and loud.

She dragged me to the bed after a while. Both naked, we rolled around, kissing and teasing. Then I latched on to one of her nipples. One of her hands reached the back of my head.

I was there again, floating in that special place, and she was on top of me, sitting up riding me.

We made glorious, passionate love into the middle of the night. I remember collapsing in her arms, hearing the rapid beat of her heart, and feeling the sweat on our bodies.

I got up the next morning and went to the bathroom. We had a few hours until I needed to be at the conference, and my paper wasn’t until the afternoon.

She rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom. She was young—mid twenties. I was still sitting on the edge of the bed when she returned and stood in front of me.

I took her hands, looking up into her eyes. “Penny, please forgive me. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve been very unprofessional.”

She laughed, and pulled my head to her breast. I latched on to her nipple and moaned.

“Silly man,” she whispered, “make love with me again.”

How could I do otherwise?

We made it to the conference. I gave my presentation. I talked to more candidates. Penny kept her distance, allowing me some sense of decorum. I allowed myself to be cornered at dinner by some European colleagues. We argued in French, and at the end, I found myself invited to speak at a conference in Amsterdam.

Walking back to the dorm, Penny quickly caught up with me. The feelings I had when she slid up to me, touched me and held me, were so intense, so conflicting. I could feel it in my thighs, and in my arms—feel the conflict. I wanted her, and I wanted to give myself to her. I knew, very deeply, that all she had to do was hold me a certain way, and I’d be hers—and I wanted that so much, and feared it so much—at the same time.

“Roger, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“I ... I don’t know if what we’re doing is right,” I told her.

She sighed as we walked. “It feels right to me. We’re both consenting adults, you know.”

I took a breath, nodding as I explored the intense mix of feelings roiling within me.

In the lobby, waiting for the elevator, she held me.

“Stay with me tonight, please, Roger,” she asked softly.

I sighed, a ragged sigh which surprised me. I held her.

She rocked me gently. “What do you need Roger? You need something.”

She was perceptive, as well as young, intelligent, and attractive.

I closed my eyes and let it out. “Hold me to you. Hold me, take me, use me, and then hold me again. Please.”

The elevator doors opened. “I’d love that, Roger,” she said with a smile, and led us into the elevator.

We shared a ride back to the airport in a University van the next afternoon. We parted in the terminal building with a handshake and a brief hug. “It was a pleasure, Doctor Hawthorne,” she told me with a smile.

When I checked in, I found I’d been upgraded to first class for the return leg as well. I settled in, reclined my seat, and closed my eyes. I sank back and let the roar of the engines fill me, hoping it would drown out the turmoil within me. Testing

It started as the usual Wednesday night at the dojo. I was alternating between senior students and beginners when I caught motion out of the corner of my eye, someone entering the dojo. I kept my focus on the student in front of me, deflecting his staff and throwing him to the mat once more. I looked over at our visitor.

Christie was standing in the entryway, smiling.

I bowed to my student and called out, “Abiko!”

My second-dan instructor ran over as quickly as she could, bowing, “Hai!”

I clapped my hands twice, loudly, and waited for everything on the mats to quiet down and the students to face me.

“Abiko will be leading you the rest of the evening,” I said for all to hear, then bowed to the young woman. One of the prerogatives of running your own dojo is being able to delegate, especially when you have someone as capable as Abiko.

She bowed. I heard some groans—which meant I’d have her lead this class more often. I stepped to the edge of the mat, bowed to the front of the dojo, and stepped off.

I stepped off the mat and into the entryway, pulling Christie along out of sight of the others. When we were around the corner, near the cubbies for people to stow their shoes, I gave her a gentle hug. She hugged me tight and ran a hand up the back of my neck. I started collapsing into her. It was hard to believe what an impact she’d made on me.

She laughed and whispered something; I was alert again as we stepped apart.

“How wonderful to see you again! My office?” I asked her.

She nodded. I gestured to her shoes, which she removed and placed in a cubby.

We walked back to my little office; I held a chair for her as she sat down, leaning over her a bit and availing myself of more of her perfume. It made my head swim.

“I never expected to see you again,” I told her as I sat down.

She laughed. “Oh Roger, how could you think that?”

She slipped her leather coat off as she spoke, revealing a silky blouse underneath. I could see her nipples perking up through her bra. That didn’t help my rapidly diminishing mental clarity—all my energy was headed for lower parts of my anatomy.

“Christie.... To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Oh, just wanted to check on you.”

I shook my head. “No.... But it’s wonderful to see you. You changed me so....”

“Did I?” she asked, leaning forward a bit and smiling, a look of interest and concentration on her face.

I nodded. “Yes, you did.” I sighed again, letting all the air out. “I still don’t know all of what you did to me. But you changed me.” I pointed out to the dojo. “They’ve noticed. They think it was the two weeks I spent in Japan studying with Miyashita-Sensei and Hideo-Sensei. That was part of it, but so much more came out of the time with you and Denise.”

She frowned a little. “Such as?”

I shook my head. “More focused, more centered, more intense, more at ease. So much more intense.” My eyes were drawn to her breasts. How I longed to nestle between them again.

“That’s good then,” she said. She moved a little in the chair. “May I buy you dinner?”

I smiled and sat back a bit. “I’ll flip you for it,” I told her.

She laughed. Then she asked, softly, “Would you know of a place a girl could find a room for the night?”

I closed my eyes and held onto the arms of the chair, to keep my self from flying over to her, grabbing on to her. I took a couple of deep breaths and opened my eyes, saying, “I think I can arrange something. Let me get changed and we can leave.”

She nodded.

We had dinner at a good but noisy seafood place, blissfully undiscovered by tourists.

We returned to my place afterwards, taking her small bag inside. My house is small, well built, and has a marvelous view. Aside from the office, it’s sparsely decorated, and clean.

The tour ended with her bag in the bedroom, and the two of us sitting in the living room, looking out into the fog.

“You said you had a marvelous view,” she said as she sat down, slipping off her shoes.

“I do—when it’s clear out. That’s at least seven or eight times a year.”

She laughed, leaning back into the couch and relaxing.

I sighed again. “What have you done to me?” I asked softly.

“What?” she said, leaning forward a bit with a look of concern on her face.

I was sitting in a chair across from her. That’s a good place to start. “I’m sitting here on purpose, rather than next to you.”

She raised an eyebrow, and smiled a bit. “Do you want me to come over and get you?”

Not the response I’d expected... “God yes, but not just yet. Let me tell you a story first.”

She nodded, still smiling, and leaned back.

“About two and a half weeks ago, I was at a faculty reception—I hadn’t ducked quickly enough at a staff meeting, and was tagged to represent the department. I was sitting down, resting for a moment, when a very attractive young woman sat down beside me. She introduced herself—she seemed to know quite a bit about me. It didn’t take me long to figure out she was coming on to me, and coming on quite strong.”

I stood up and took Christie’s hands, taking her over to the large windows. I held her gently, our hips pressing together, our hands around the other’s waist. I could feel her breasts pressing gently into me, and feel her breath, soft and warm. It was hard for me, but I looked into her eyes. I felt those strong feelings again, in my legs, in my chest—the conflict, the desire.

“We were standing here,” I told Christie, “after sharing our first kiss, and do you know what she said to me?”

Christie looked at me, smiling. I could smell her perfume, and her arousal. I’m sure she could feel me growing and pressing against her. She shook her head.

“She said, ‘I understand all I have to do is get a nipple in your mouth, and you’re mine.’”

Christie smiled and sighed a little. “Is that so bad?” she asked softly.

I closed my eyes and moved closer. “It’s wonderful,” I told her.

We kissed and as we did she ran a hand up the back of my neck. I didn’t struggle for an instant—I gave myself to her, again.

Our lovemaking was intense. The first time she felt so needing and frantic. And I was lost in her, struggling to please her. When we made love in the middle of the night, in that not quite awake and not quite asleep state, we were more reflexive. I could still feel her need.

In the morning we woke up, and after cleaning up returned to bed. I nestled into her, and after a while she worked her magic on me, and once again I gave myself to her, and she used me, riding us to bliss, and letting me drift off again in her arms.

As we were drying off after our shower later, she asked, “You don’t have to be in today?”

“Not until eleven. Prerogative of tenure,” I told her.

“Roger, there are some people I’d like you to meet.”

“When?”

“This weekend?”

I shook my head and held her. “This afternoon, tonight, and tomorrow I have classes at the dojo. Saturday we have tests—we’re testing three black belt candidates. They could come and watch. We could talk for a while on Friday night or on Sunday.”

She smiled and nodded. “That might work. Can I stay anyway?”

“Of course, please stay,” I told her, and we kissed.

We headed to school together after a cup of coffee. I had office hours from eleven to noon. I didn’t have any visitors, and got a fair amount done, even with her wandering in and out. She seemed at home in the surroundings.

I mentioned that as we were walking over to the cafeteria for lunch.

She laughed. “Roger, we are more alike than you think.”

“Oh?”

She pulled me over to a tree, just off the path. “Would you believe that I’m a university professor as well?”

I laughed and shook my head.

She smiled, pinning me to the tree with her body. I exhaled and relaxed into her, giving myself to her again.

“It’s true,” she told me, “Denise and I both. We’re neuropsych researchers.”

That startled me a little, making me more attentive. “You’ve got some interesting diversions, then. The two of you do that often?”

She chuckled a little, then with a predatory look on her face, she pressed her hips into me and moved slowly. I sighed and held on, my eyes half-closing.

She sighed. “Not very often. It’s an interesting sideline. Profitable, and you meet some of the most interesting people.”

She hugged me, then did something that had me fully alert again.

We headed back on the walkway to the cafeteria.

“So what did the two of you do to me? Other than drug me and screw me silly.”

She paused on the path, giving me a pained look.

I held her. “No regrets, no regrets. You opened up something very intense in me. That openness has given me great strength—and vulnerability, it seems.”

I looked at her and she nodded. She put an arm around my waist as we walked again.

She sighed and said, “When we were convinced you weren’t who we expected, we decided to go ahead anyway, with modified goals, since our employer wanted you held for the period just in case. We put you through a very special conditioning program.”

I nodded. “And?”

She gave me a squeeze. “Evidently it was more successful than we thought, as you’ve told me. I’d like to test some more over the next few days ... nights.”

I squeezed back. “Test away, Doctor.”

She moved her hand to the middle of my back. “But it’s had some unintended consequences.”

“Oh?”

“I’m trying to understand that as well. I need you, Roger,” she said softly.

I held her gently. “That’s what happens when you put yourself into your research.”

I enjoy eating in the cafeteria. It helps keep me in touch with what’s going on around school. Christie thought our food was better than what her school served—something I found hard to believe.

We were finishing up when a young woman, a chemistry grad student who had taken me for a brief but intense ride a while back, stopped by our table.

She walked up to me and put a hand on my shoulder, inching to my neck.

“Hello, Roger. How are you doing?” she cooed. I wanted to ... I’m not sure what—give myself to her? Run? Grab her? Her hand on the back of my neck was so intense.

“Fine,” I managed to say. Looking at Christie helped. “Becca, this is my colleague, Doctor Christie...”

“Flynn,” Christie said. “Are you a student of Roger’s?”

“Oh, just a friend. And you?”

Even I could hear the barb at the end of that one.

Christie stayed cool—sort of. She replied, “I’m an M. D., a psychiatrist, consulting Roger on a research program.”

Oh, so she’s a real Doctor then. As Alice said, curiouser and curiouser...

But that seemed to scare Becca off, at least for the time being.

“It was nice to meet you. Enjoy your research,” she said with the subtlety of a cannon-fired harpoon. Then to me she said, “Bye, Roger.”

Christie and I picked up our trays and headed out. When we were outside again, she asked, “A paramour?”

I held her a little tighter. “Yes, about a month ago. She used me for three or four days. Intense.”

“And then dropped you? Just like that?”

“I thought so,” I told her. “Thought it was over.”

She laughed. “Probably, so did she. Oh Roger, what did I start?”

I held her, enjoying the feeling of her presence, and my arm around her. “I don’t know.”

I had my own class that afternoon, plus covering for a friend teaching her undergrad class. Christie agreed to meet me at the dojo later on. She told me she wanted to change clothes, so I gave her the house key. I told her the Thursday evening crowd brought dinner, usually enough food to feed a small army.

I made it to the dojo by four. We were testing three candidates for black belt, first dan, on Saturday. George was my student, and the other two were from a dojo on the other side of town. Since I was the ranking instructor in the area, at fourth dan, and had a larger dojo, the tests would be held here, and I would lead them.

The three black belt candidates were already there, working with Miss Abiko, and it looked as if six of the seven brown belt candidates were also present.

Abiko and I worked them mercilessly. From what I observed, all three black belt candidates would pass. There was only one brown belt candidate I wasn’t sure of.

He was just nervous. Half an hour of getting thrown around cured that. He’d pass.

I spotted Christie later on. My mind wobbled when I saw her, standing at the edge of the mat, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing sweats. The first time I’d seen her wearing sweats; the last time I’d seen her wearing sweats.... She smiled at me, and bowed—not correctly in a formal sense, but with heart—an honest gesture.

I smiled and thought for a moment. I clapped twice, bringing the group to attention. I sat, indicating they should sit as well. When everyone was pretty and still, I started in.

“Mister Penn!” I called out.

“Hai!” he replied, standing. He was a black belt candidate from the other school.

“Mister Penn, if you should pass on Saturday, you will be able to open your own dojo and instruct students.” I paused to sigh overly dramatically and shake my head slowly. “Let us assume that through some circumstance I have left you in charge here. I see someone,” I gestured to Christie, “who seems curious. What are you going to do, Mister Penn?”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw my candidate grin. Bad move, George. “Oh, Mister Phillip will assist you.” George’s grin faded as he bowed and stood. I sat back to watch.

I didn’t get to watch for long. Penn stepped over to Christie, introducing himself quite nicely, and asking if he could be of assistance. Then he stepped off the mat. I let out a loud wail and collapsed to my side, head on the tatami, sobbing loudly. I heard some snickering from the seated students, and out of the corner of my eye saw George lean over and whisper to Penn. Penn quickly turned to the head of the dojo and bowed, then stepped off the tatami. I sat up again, giving the seated students a nasty look.

Penn did well for a few minutes, with George’s help. Christie was playing it well. She was interested in learning, and hadn’t done anything like this. I was happy when he inquired if she had any physical problems or limitations—she didn’t. Then he asked her if she’d like to observe, and possibly participate. She agreed.

Then he stepped back on to the mat. I screamed in anguish and flung myself face down on the tatami, once again sobbing loudly. I watched out of the corner of one eye, and made more noise and flailed more as he tried different things, none of them what I wanted. Eventually he gave up and had George take over.

George described to Christie (and Mr. Penn) how we showed respect in the dojo, how to bow, and why. George had been put through this before. It was something all my students learn, sooner or later. George did a good job—I only got to whimper once. They got her seated properly, they sat down and bowed. They were handing things back to me.

I sat up, turned to the class, and bowed. “That was ...” I paused long enough to give them apprehension. “Acceptable. I understand some instructors don’t focus on the formalities. Let me tell you, if you study in Japan and don’t know how to behave, you will very quickly find yourself out on the street—possibly through a window.”

I looked at the clock. We had about forty minutes until dinner arrived. “Who wants to teach Doctor Flynn forward ukemi?”

Abiko smirked. Oops—Christie hadn’t said her name. Patti, one of my brown belt candidates, bowed and stood up. She had a lot of spunk.

I soon had Patti leading us all. That’s one of the things I like about Aikido—you learn to teach others from the beginning.

Patti wasn’t hesitant to have us practicing, and she wasn’t hesitant to call on me, or on Abiko, when she got stuck. She would make a very good instructor.

I worked with Christie, and with others. Christie was having fun, and working hard. She smiled and shook her head at me once, but went right back to it.

I heard the rustle of dinner arriving. I tapped Patti on the shoulder. She clapped twice and brought the class to order. We sat, we bowed, and then broke for dinner.

As students hauled out the folding tables and chairs and set them up in the back of the hall in the space not covered by tatami, I went to the office and rummaged my desk. As expected, we had enough Chinese take-out food to feed a small army. I was pleased that Christie was encouraged to go first. I hung back, waiting my turn, but was pushed forward in the line. I sampled some of everything, and sat next to Christie at another table. I put two small blue pills down next to her.

She looked up after wolfing down a pot sticker. “What are these?”

“Naproxen Sodium.” I told her, an anti-inflammatory.

She picked them up and swallowed them with some rice, then said, “Good idea. I’m going to regret this.”

Patti sat down next to her and said, “You’re doing really well. Keep at it. Roger is a wonderful instructor.”

As dinner wound down and other students arrived, I reviewed our schedule for the next two days. We’d have a brief practice tomorrow afternoon, Friday. I told folks I expected the group to be here at eight sharp on Saturday morning to clean up and set out chairs. The doors opened at nine, lower level tests went from ten to noon or so, and we’d break for lunch. We’d have demonstrations starting at one, and black belt tests starting at one thirty or two. I looked at the group, ending with Mister Penn, as I told them I expected everyone to do well.

I got distracted talking to some of the parents of the students in the next class. When I looked around to start class, I didn’t see Christie at first. Then I saw her at the edge of the mat with Patti and Abiko, bowing nicely. They’d managed to find a gi for her to wear.

Christie did really well, giving it her all. After she turned a toe on the mats, she thanked a teenager for showing her how to tape her toes. Seeing the tape on her toes, my mind flashed back to my right hand, seeing the tape around my fingers, the needle in the back of my hand....

I ducked off the mat. While in my office I made a phone call, and returned to see Christie smiling and laughing as she practiced with the group.

Our class drew to a close, and the evening yoga people started gathering. A lot of the time I stuck around to practice with them. I wouldn’t be doing that tonight. We bowed and ended the class.

As Abiko led the senior students in putting things away, I went over to Christie.

“Feel like an hour or so of yoga to loosen up after that?”

She shook her head. “No way. I won’t be able to move tomorrow as it is.”

I gave her a hug. “Then let’s go home. I know a hot tub with some very good jets in it, and our names on it.”

“Twist my arm,” she said, quickly adding, “I didn’t mean that!” Students near us laughed.

She followed me home. Inside, I started shedding clothes. She came in and flopped on the couch, moaning. I sat beside her.

“Did you have fun? You sure looked like it.”

She moaned again. “Roger, that was a real trip. I just hope I live through it.”

I laughed and helped her up. “Come on. A sit in the hot tub will do wonders for you. We may even be able to see stars tonight.”

I got a large pitcher of ice water and two plastic cups, and joined her in the tub outside. She’d found the switch for the jets already. I got in and poured her some water, which she drank down quickly.

“Oh that’s good. I hate to ask, but what’s our schedule tomorrow?”

I emptied my glass and set it down, moving over to massage her shoulders.

“I’ve got a nine O’clock class, and you have a nine O’clock appointment,” I told her.

She groaned, “What? You expect me to move? After what you did to me?”

I laughed. “After what you’re going to do to me... Yes, you’ve got an appointment at nine tomorrow for an hour and a half massage given by one of the best people on the planet.”

She moaned again. “Oh, thank you. I may live after all.”

We showered together after getting out of the hot tub.

“How are you feeling?” I asked her as we dried off.

“Much better, thanks, but ready for bed.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” I told her.

She sat me on the edge of the bed, then turned off the lights. She stepped back to me, and held me to her. She helped me find a nipple, holding me gently. She started talking to me. I drifted down in her arms, going down an escalator with her and joining her in a soft, safe, comfortable bed. We talked for a while. She led me along a corridor filled with doors. Some of those doors held things familiar to me, my strengths.

But we stopped in front of one, and I was afraid. I was afraid to open it. She was there with me, and would help. I must have opened it. It was dark inside. Suddenly I was so young again, a little boy, so scared of the dark. But I was also older, and she was with me, holding me. We tried to reach the little boy, scared in the dark. We reached out to him, but we could only reach out so far—he needed to reach out as well, and accept us. I reached; I tried. It was hard.

We made progress, but had to pull back. I was exhausted and shaking. We went to another door, into a room filled with peace and healing. She led me to the bed in the room, and held me. We made love, and the bed rocked us to sleep.

I woke to the alarm clock the next morning, rolling over and whacking it. I looked to her, moving slowly. Incredible emotion roiled up inside me, the memories of last night returning. The feelings came back, so quickly and so intense. I moved to her and held her tight. She jumped a bit, but held me, talked to me, calmed me.

The clock went off again, and I rolled over to whack it. As I did, she sat up with a groan.

“Oh God, I’m sore!” she cried.

I got out of bed and went to her side, helping her to standing. We hugged, and I massaged her back gently as she moaned.

“Come on—a hot shower will help. We need to get going.”

“Coffee—coffee—drugs,” she moaned.

I laughed and helped her to the bathroom. “No coffee until after your massage. And I think you know better than to take naproxen on an empty stomach.” I started our shower.

She grumbled as she sat on the can, and joined me in the shower. I soaped her down, working over her muscles lightly. She groaned, but with a smile, especially when I moved a hand between her legs.

We got out, dried, and got dressed. I was full of ... questions? I’d touched a live wire, and wasn’t sure I wanted to find out if it was still live. Yet still, something had changed, something deep.

I gave her directions. She’d take her rented car, and meet me at school in my office.

I guess I was holding back or something—apprehensive maybe. Closing the front door, she held me and gave me quite a kiss, pressing me back against the outside of the house.

My class was good—I’ve got a great bunch of students. Three of them followed me over to the office.

They left, and I was typing away when I heard a knock on my open door. I looked up. Christie was standing there.

I chuckled and got up, walking to her.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, leaning against the door frame.

I hugged her gently, and she held me. I felt better, though still unsettled.

“You are,” I told her. “The way you look—I take it you enjoyed your massage?”

She plopped down in the chair with a satisfied sigh.

“God, Roger—that woman is incredible. How did you find her?”

I sat down again. “Elsie? She’s Patti’s older sister. I visit her every two weeks.”

Christie had that glowing relaxed look that comes from a good massage. But I saw something else in her smile—something hungry and predatory. I laughed some more.

“What is it now?” she asked, more of a predatory gleam in her eyes.

“That’s not a relaxed just-been-massaged-into-bliss look,” I told her.

“No it’s not,” she growled. “What’s our schedule for this afternoon?”

I stood up again. “Well, let’s go for lunch and beat the crowds. Then things are open until two, when I need to be at the dojo. We’re through there a little after five. Did you have something set up for tonight? The people you wanted me to see?”

Her head went back and her eyes closed. “Oh shit! Yes, we’re meeting them for dinner at half past six.” She looked at me again, smiling and standing. “I guess we’ll have to wait.” She moved closer to me, then stopped.

“What is it?” she asked softly.

I reached over and closed my door. I leaned against the desk and held her hands.

“What happened last night? We did something significant, something deep. I feel so—turbulent—today, like a clear stream that’s been stirred up, now murky and unsettled.”

She nodded, a professional look on her face. “Well put. Yes, we did reach some very deep things in you last night. How do you feel?”

I sighed, holding on to her hands. “Better, I think. The good news is I don’t feel like throwing myself at you, or at the next pair of tits that catches my eye, pardon the phrase.”

She laughed a little. “That’s perfectly all right. What else?”

“But I feel ... apprehensive somehow. Something is holding me back—somebody is still scared in there, in here. Does that make sense?”

She pulled me to standing.

“Yes, Roger, it makes perfect sense. After lunch, is there a place where we could go for an hour or an hour and a half, where we wouldn’t be disturbed, someplace private?”

I thought for a moment. “Yes, I think so. Let me check.” I picked up my phone and dialed a number. As luck would have it, I got an answer. “Nick, this is Roger. Fine, thanks. Hey, I’ve got a favor to ask. Could I use your lab for a while this afternoon, from about twelve fifteen to two? Hey, that’s great. Sure, how many do you need? Okay, talk to you next week.” I hung up the phone. “Let’s get some lunch. I’ve got a place for us to use.”

We had a quick lunch, and then walked over to a different building.

“Nick is a physiology researcher. We’ve worked together on some things. He didn’t believe what you could teach bodies to do in aikido and yoga,” I told her.

She had me go to the bathroom. I found the key right where Nick said it would be. The lab was small and sparse, with a cot, a chair, and lots of recording equipment.

“Will this do?” I asked.

Christie had a very determined smile. “This will do just fine. Take off your shoes and watch, and loosen your belt. On your back, please.” She pulled a chair over to the cot.

She put the pillow under my head. I was apprehensive. “What now?” I asked.

She sighed. “I know you’re nervous. We’re in my territory now, and you are in good hands. All you have to do is relax.” She put both hands on my forehead. I sighed and my eyes closed at her touch. “Very good, Roger. Relax and let go for me.”

It was hard. It was exhilarating. We left the lab about twenty to two. As we walked back out in the sunlight and headed to the parking lot, she asked, “How do you feel now?”

I held her arm around me a little tighter. “That was quite a trip. For being on my back, that sure was hard work.”

“Yes it was, and you did a very good job. Denise and I inadvertently opened up some very deep things in you. It will take two or three more sessions to finish up this phase.”

“This phase?” I asked in surprise.

She laughed a little. “We’ll talk about that later.” She stopped on the path. “Still feeling apprehensive?”

I looked in her eyes. I felt my response grow as I breathed. “Not at all. I want you,” I told her, moving in for a kiss.

She insisted on driving to the dojo, and I guess she was right. I was still somewhat unsettled. But, being on the mat was just the thing for me. When I’m on the mat, I’m connected with my body, with everything around me. I moved in a special place that afternoon.

When five O’clock rolled around, we brought things to a close. I received extra thanks from some students. They seemed to look at me differently. Christie had a very interesting look on her face.

Even Abiko—she bowed very formally to me, and said, “Thank you Sensei—it is an honor to study with you.”

“What was that all about?” I asked Christie as I changed clothes in my office.

She sighed as she changed clothes—she’d practiced with us.

“Roger, I’ve never seen someone so intense, so focused, so alive as you were out there. How did you feel?”

I shrugged. “I was there.”

She shook her head. “Come on, Sensei, we need to shower and change.”

Back at my place we showered and changed. I put on one of my “consulting” suits—plain enough, but with character, and also one which gave me quite a range of motion.

We met two gentlemen at one of the better Continental restaurants in the area. We had a private room—this was costing somebody some money.

The senior of the two was an affable enough chap, silver hair, a little overweight, wearing what looked to be a custom tailored suit. His associate, who showed him great deference, was a few years younger, and the thin, nervous type. It was definitely an interview. The thin guy seemed to be working from a prepared set of questions. The senior guy’s questions were more flowing, and more probing. They were interested in how I handled situations, challenges, different things I’d done. They’d done their homework on me. I danced with them as I’d dance on the mat, moving from my center.

I invited them to the dojo to watch the tests tomorrow. The senior guy nodded and smiled, and thought that would be interesting. I briefed him on the schedule.

“I hardly knew you were in the room,” I told Christie as we drove back to my place.

“They weren’t here to talk to me,” she said.

“How did I do?”

She chuckled. “Better than I did, by far.”

“And what was I interviewing for?”

She chuckled again. “Hard to say, Roger. Wheels within wheels with these people.”

After we shed our coats, standing by the window in my place, looking out into the evening mists, I asked her, “And where do we go tonight, Doctor Christie?”

She smiled. “To a place filled with peace, pleasure, and passion.”

I looked into her eyes. “I’m almost there already.”

We got ready for bed. Once in bed, she rolled me to my back and sat up on me. She started speaking, and ran her hands up my body, from my stomach to my head. By the time her hands reached my head, we were there. And Testing

We were up and out the door early on Saturday. I told Christie to wear loose-fitting clothes. When she asked why, I smiled and told her, “Wheels within wheels.”

The morning went smoothly—everyone showed up on time. Parents of the brown and black-belt candidates brought or had flowers delivered. The morning’s testing went well. A tradition in Aikido, at least in the schools I’ve participated in, is that students aren’t tested until they’re ready—they may not be sure they’re going to pass, but their instructors are.

We had a light lunch, and people started gathering for the black-belt testing. I was surprised to see our two gentlemen from the previous night come in. I watched the senior tell the thin one to take off his shoes. The senior bowed as he entered—one bow to the front of the dojo, and one to me. It was a well-trained karate-style bow. They sat where they’d have a good view.

We started on time. Abiko and I did some demonstrations, pulling in some of our new brown belts, and two black belts from the other dojos.

Part of an individual’s test for black belt involves them teaching a technique. As I announced that, I was walking about the room, and stopped in front of Christie. She’d been sitting cross-legged on the edge of the tatami with some other students.

“And I think I have a volunteer right here,” I said, reaching for her hand. “Would you like to assist us?”

She stood up and gave me an interesting smile. “Yes, Sensei,” she said, bowing her head. I thought I heard some chuckling from the gallery.

We tested the three candidates, giving each an experience they would remember. They passed. They still had rough edges, but those would smooth out over time. I barely had time to wave to the two gents as they left—I was tied up with parents of our new black-belts.

We had a celebration dinner at a local hall with around a hundred people attending.

Christie and I got back to the house a little after nine. I hugged her and she moaned.

“Hot tub again, or do you want me to massage your back?” I asked as I kissed her neck.

“Oh, that would be nice.”

“What?”

“Oh, the massage. But you have to promise me one thing. When you finish,”

“Let you go to sleep?” I interrupted.

She hugged me a little more. “Not unless you want to be rudely awakened in the middle of the night.”

I felt her back. “That might be nice....”

She laughed. We headed off to the bedroom. I massaged her back and shoulders for a while. I should take more lessons. I rolled her to her back, pulled up her knees, and slipped inside her. We made gentle love, snuggled up, and went to sleep.

We made love again in the morning, and had breakfast.

“I need to fly home today,” she told me, as we were sipping coffee and looking out into the mists.

I nodded. “You’re welcome any time.”

She smiled. “Thank you. But before I go, there’s one thing.”

“Oh?”

She put down her cup, and took mine. We went back to the bedroom. I walked in ahead of her. I stopped in the darkened room, and she stepped up to my back. I felt her hands on me, and heard her voice. Her touch and her voice sent a sigh and a shiver through me. I drifted down again, down to that safe, comfortable place.

I opened my eyes, feeling her on top of me, riding me. The sensations were so intense. I could feel her coming, and knew it wasn’t her first. She smiled to me and leaned down slowly. I took her nipple in my mouth, and when her hand held the back of my head, I came, seeing stars.

We rested together, and showered together. We dried and dressed, hugged and kissed, and I saw her to her car. She drove off. I went back inside, put another log on the fire, and sat down to try and figure out what he hell had happened in the last few days. Pawn

I was in my office at school when there was a knock on the door. “Please come in,” I called out.

A man and a woman, both mid to late thirties, both in somber business attire, entered.

“Doctor Hawthorne?” the woman asked as the man closed the door.

I was standing, and shook their hands, “Yes, please have a seat.”

I noticed neither introduced themselves.

The man spoke first. “Doctor Hawthorne, Doctor Christie Flynn suggested you may be able to help us.”

My control was good. I don’t think I showed a reaction. “Yes? How is Doctor Flynn?”

The woman answered, “She’s doing well, and sends her best. She looks forward to seeing you again.”

I nodded, taking the bait. “And what did she suggest I might be able to assist you with?”

The two looked at each other. The woman spoke. “We represent a client who may need an object delivered to Washington, D.C. soon.”

I nodded again. “Have you checked with the Post Office? Fed Ex?”

The man smiled a little. “This needs to be done discreetly, securely.”

I nodded and smiled back. “How about Kroll Associates, then?”

One of the gal’s eyebrows went up. “Do you have an association with them?”

“I occasionally give their people dance lessons,” I told her.

The man frowned a bit. “Doctor Hawthorne...”

“Please call me Roger,” I interrupted.

He nodded and continued, “Doctor Flynn told us you were resourceful and reliable.”

I frowned a bit. “I hope she also told you I’m not dumb. Who are you, what are you asking me to do, and why should I be interested in doing it?”

They didn’t blink. The gal even managed a smile. Both of them fished out business cards and handed them to me. The card said they were principals with a security firm I’d never heard of. Great—just what I needed in my life.

I nodded. “Thank you. One half down, a hundred seventeen and a half to go.”

That got them looking at each other briefly. The woman picked up the conversation.

“Roger, this is all in strict confidence,” the woman said.

I nodded and said, “I understand.”

“We represent a client who is currently involved in a business matter of some delicacy. They may need some additional material. This would be in the nature of a CD-ROM, which needs to be hand-carried to a specific location, by someone not known to other parties.”

“A cat’s paw, then,” I suggested.

“A courier,” she countered.

I nodded. “Let’s say, hypothetically of course, that the day after I perform this service, the details—your unnamed client, the nature of the negotiations, the parties, the contents of the disk, your real names and mine—were to be recounted on the front page of the New York Times. What would be the effect on my life, career, position at this University, and so on?”

They exchanged looks again. I was full of tough questions today.

The man spoke. “I doubt it would make front page, as it’s information dealing with business negotiations. I don’t see how it would affect you much at all.”

“And if I took the disk to the Department of Justice instead?” I asked.

That got a reaction. “Hypothetically, of course,” I added with a smile.

The woman smiled. “The contents will be encrypted, and supposedly only the recipient has the key. While some aspects of the contents might be embarrassing, they are not illegal.”

I nodded. “So if I understand, none of this is illegal, immoral, or even fattening?”

They nodded and smiled.

“Great. Doesn’t add up. Why me, and not overnight post? You’re not telling me something.”

The gal sighed. Thin lips, thin build—if someone were trying to sway me using feminine charms, they were way off the mark.

“You’re right,” she said, “there are things we haven’t told you. These negotiations are being watched by a number of other parties. The information itself could be extremely valuable in the hands of another, for a short time, and the denial of the information to the recipient could also be very costly. That’s why we need someone unknown.”

“So why not someone from Kroll? Or an off-duty cop, since it sounds as if you’re expecting the courier to get jumped along the way.”

She shook her head. “There are other reasons. We can’t go into them at this time.”

I nodded. “Thank you. So tell me again why I should be interested in placing my precious hide at risk in this very speculative venture?”

He frowned; she actually laughed a bit.

“You speak English, Japanese, and French. You travel, and travel well. You adapt well to new situations.” She said the last part with a smirk.

“And I’ve been set up and burned once, by a brown-eyed look-alike,” I added.

That got raised eyebrows on both of them.

“So other than the adrenaline rush of waiting to be jumped every minute, what’s in it for me?” I asked them, sitting back and folding my hands in my lap.

She dug into her bag and pulled out a fancy pager, handing it to me. It was a two-way gadget, and already active. Yes, I was being examined for more than this one opportunity. In exchange for carrying this pager, I’d receive a monthly retainer somewhat in excess of what the University paid me, guaranteed for at least a year. Oh, and I could use the pager for other things as well. When something came up I’d be contacted. I’d be given a brief description, timetable, and expected remuneration. I’d be expected to say yes or no within a short period of time. This one was expected to happen in a few days, and would pay approximately what I made in half a year of teaching.

I shook my head. “You caught me on a bad day,” I finally said. The guy looked glum. The gal understood—she smiled.

“I ought to have my head examined,” I told them. “I’ll do it.”

The gal said, “Remember, discretion is paramount in this.”

I nodded. “So calling Kroll’s Western Regional head and having him run you two wouldn’t be a good idea?”

The gal nodded. I returned their business cards. I didn’t think they were real, anyway.

“When does this go down?” I asked.

“Some time next week,” she told me.

That was convenient—fall break. “Okay, do I make my own flight arrangements, or does that happen for me?”

He said, “You’ll get 48 hours notice and will need to book your own travel. We’ll give you suggestions, but you make the choice.”

I nodded. “Sounds okay to me. How do I pay for this?”

He opened his case, taking out a clipboard. It had a form on it, and a cashier’s check made out to me for the first two months retainer. I read over the form—a consulting agreement with their security firm. I filled in my social security number, other details, signed and dated it. He gave me a copy. “So you actually report this as income?” I asked.

She laughed. “This isn’t as shady as you make it out to be.”

“Or as easy as you’re pretending,” I added.

She smiled and nodded. We shook hands and they left. I deposited the check the next day.