The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dr. Kara Pendleton blinked, focused her eyes, and reached out a hand to still the metronome which had been ticking back and forth on her desk. She smiled and ran a hand through her expensively coiffed honey-colored hair.

It was finally time.

In a few minutes, her silent partner Henry Branscom would arrive for their scheduled weekly session. One couldn’t, she supposed, call it a “meeting”: although they usually discussed business, their interaction during these encounters involved activities a lot more intimate as well. Despite herself, the therapist grinned wickedly. This time, Henry was in for a surprise.

And it wasn’t easy to surprise him. He could read minds, after all.

The therapist remembered how the two of them had met. Henry had been referred to her by a retiring colleague who had been treating him for his neurotic belief that he had psychic powers. It wasn’t such a big deal to make such claims, when you got down to it—lots of people thought they were psychic, or believed others were—but apparently Henry’s family had pushed him into seeing a psychiatrist over it. And old Dr. Betelheim had passed him on to her.

But at their very first encounter, she’d found out Henry wasn’t suffering from any delusion: he really did have telepathic powers. And that had been very bad news for her.

For Dr. Pendleton had a secret of her own. Besides the conventional therapeutic sessions she conducted, he maintained a profitable “moonlight” practice in which she used her hypnotic skills to service clients willing to pay top dollar to have, say, an inconvenient trial witness discredited, or a business tax audit rendered harmless, or to plant an unknowing agent deep inside a rival company’s management. She had even dabbled in politics, derailing a presidential candidate’s campaign by—encouraging—him into a sex scandal. Any one of those episodes could have meant prison if she’d been exposed. But oh, the money she’d earned!

And there’d been more than money. In each case, she’d taken a . . . personal . . . commission on top of her fee, and more often than not on top of her patient. She had turned her hypnotized subjects into her personal sex toys, carefully guiding them in trance to get around any inhibitions they might have. Naturally, there was no need to tell her employers about this extra, in-kind payment, and also naturally, there was no need for her playthings to remember anything about it. It was her little secret.

Or it had been, until Henry came along.

Henry Branscom had looked into her mind and found it all, and told her.

That would have been bad enough, but it had turned out he could do more than just read thoughts. He could control them, too. No sooner had she realized he really had been reading her mind than she had suddenly noticed that somehow, she was now groveling atop her desk, naked except for her high-heeled shoes. She couldn’t even get down until he let her, and when he did, he’d used more conventional hypnotic techniques to put her in a trance and turn her into his own erotic puppet. It had been a humiliating role reversal for her, topped off by his insistence on making himself her partner in her sideline practice.

It hadn’t been all bad since then, she had to admit. Just as he’d suggested that first time, his telepathic skills had come in handy. Knowing what her would-be paymasters really thought had saved her at least once from being double-crossed. And Henry’s special skills could turn sex into a whole new experience. But still, it had galled her to lose control, and from the start she’d worried about what her “partner” might do if he grew tired of their arrangement. What was to stop him from taking everything, and turning her into a giggling pole-dancer who got dizzy trying to count past five? He could do it; he’d proved that much.

Fortunately for her, she’d known from the beginning that he wasn’t all-powerful. He’d foolishly admitted, that first time, that his telepathy took a toll on him. That was why he’d switched from psychic control to hypnosis that time. That meant he couldn’t keep a constant watch on her thoughts. And apparently he couldn’t work on her from a distance, either.

That had given her an opening. Regarding the metronome now standing still and silent atop her desk, she smiled evilly. Payback was going to be a bitch. . . .

Henry Branscom smiled at the secretary as he entered the waiting room outside Dr. Pendleton’s private office.

Considering what sometimes went on in that office, it amazed him that the doctor actually had a secretary. But Bonnie, a trim brunette in her late forties, was the soul of discretion. He’d actually scanned her once to see if Kara had used her hypnotic talents to make sure of that, but he’d found no evidence of it. Apparently she simply felt that the doctor’s business was her own affair. So to speak. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Pendleton paid her a ridiculously high salary.

Bonnie pressed the intercom button and said, “Dr. Pendleton? Mr. Branscom is here.” After a moment, Kara’s rich voice emerged from the speaker: “Send him on in.” Bonnie nodded toward the office door, and Henry went to it.

As he entered the office, he looked around as always. A small refrigerator and coffeemaker sat atop a table along the wall next to the office door. The one to his right hosted a set of filing cabinets. The back wall had two large windows, their Venetian blinds half-drawn at present, a tall bookcase lining the space between.

Dominating the room, though, were the doctor’s big, expensive oak desk and, along the wall to his left, an oversized couch covered with comfortable cushions. Henry grinned. He knew exactly how comfortable they were.

Suddenly his grin faltered. Something wasn’t quite right . . . !

Seated in her plush chair behind her fancy desk, Kara was regarding him with an odd expression on her face. It seemed to include excitement, expectation, and even . . . triumph?

“You look like the cat who ate the canary, Doctor,” the telepath remarked. “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

Kara Pendleton smiled teasingly. “Well, Henry! As if I could hide it from you if I were!” Her smile broadened. “All you have to do is look into my mind.”

Henry narrowed his eyes. “All right,” he responded. He faced her directly and concentrated.

That’s right, he “heard” in that soundless voice which represented Kara’s thoughts. Look into my mind, Henry, look as deeply as you need to. You know I can’t hide anything from you if you just look into my mind, look deeply into my mind, Henry, and you can see everything, Henry, everything you need to see, Henry, just keep looking into my mind, Henry, deeper and deeper into my mind . . . !

Henry gasped. Somehow Kara was no longer seated behind her desk, but instead perched on it, back arched, elegant legs dangling, swaying gently. As he watched, she sat upright and brought both hands up from where they’d been propping her upright against the desktop and ran them through her expensive hairdo, letting her rich mane of hair fall free. She shook her head, and the golden mane flared.

Yes, Henry, the silent voice urged, keep looking deeper into my mind, going deeper, deeper, let yourself go deeper, deeper, to find what I’ve been hiding from you, Henry, because you need to trust me, because we’re partners and you need to know you can trust me. . . .

From somewhere, Dr. Pendleton had produced a long, elegant-looking gold cigarette holder. Henry had seen it before; the doctor liked to use it as a focus in her hypnotic sessions. She fitted an expensive French cigarette into it, put it in her mouth and took a drag, then took it out and, head tilted slightly upward, puffed a wisp of aromatic smoke toward the office ceiling. Deeper and deeper into my mind, her thoughts went on, you need to be sure I’m not just blowing smoke, you need to go deeper, Henry, go ahead, peer through the drifting smoke, I don’t mind, you know I find it relaxing to smoke, Henry, and you can see through the relaxing smoke to what I’m really thinking, can’t you, Henry, so that you can be sure I’m not trying to hide anything, not putting up a smokescreen, Henry. Just look deeper and deeper, through the drifting smoke, Henry. . . .

In the back of Henry’s consciousness a faint alarm went off. Something was happening here, something that wasn’t supposed to happen, something . . . . ! He lost the train of thought, and after a few more seconds, the warning faded, drowned out by the voice as he looked deeper and deeper into the swirling smoke inside the mind of the woman in front of him.

Kara Pendleton, sitting calmly in her chair, smiled. Still without speaking aloud, she suggested, Why don’t you sit down, Henry, sit down in the chair across from me, Henry, as you continue to look into my mind, deeper and deeper, going deeper and deeper under the surface of my mind to find my secrets, to find what I’m hiding, Henry, deeper and deeper under. . . .

“Deeper and . . . deeper under,” the mindreader whispered as he obediently settled into the offered chair.

Henry Branscom watched, grinning foolishly, as the brassy beauty in front of him slid out of her jacket and brought her hands up to toy with the top button of her blouse. It popped open.

That’s right, Henry, the silent voice continued. Just keep looking, looking at me and looking into my mind, let me show you everything. Keep looking, Henry, nothing else matters, we’re all alone here and you need to see everything, Henry, you have to keep looking, you can’t stop now, Henry, you mustn’t stop now, you have to keep your attention on me, keep watching me, keep looking, Henry, to make sure I’m not hiding anything from you. Keep looking, focusing on me, Henry, only me, look deeper, go deeper. Deeper. . . . On and on the words flowed, drawing Henry Branscom in, deeper and deeper.

As Henry stared and listened, it seemed Kara’s mental “voice” was gradually coming to sound more and more like her normal one, as if he were somehow losing the ability to tell the difference. He had a vague sense that there was something wrong about that, something . . . ! But Kara had been working on her blouse, and just as that thought crossed his mind, the last button came open. The blouse parted completely, exposing the therapist’s magnificent bosom and taut, tanned belly. Once again, he lost track of what he’d been thinking.

The telepath watched raptly as Kara writhed out of the shirt. The sexy therapist braced herself on the desk then, leaned back and brought her trimly muscular legs up, pinning Henry between her calves, her ankles and feet passing under his arms. He moaned.

“I need your help, Henry,” the blonde said. “I need your help to get out of these tight slacks, Henry, you want to help me, don’t you, Henry, please, Henry. Say you’ll help me, Henry, please.” What Henry Branscom heard sounded just like Dr. Pendleton’s speaking voice now.

“Oh, God,” the mindreader mumbled. “Yes. Help you. Please. I’ll . . . help you, Kara.” He leaned forward and reached for the belt fastening Kara Pendleton’s expensive, form-fitting business pants.

“That’s right,” the devious doctor murmured. “You’ll help me, because we’re friends, because we’re partners, and because if you help me, Henry, if you do whatever I say, you can have sex with me, Henry, and you know how good that is, don’t you, Henry, how good it is to have sex with me. You’ll keep looking deeper and deeper into the smoke, Henry, to make sure I’m not tricking you, but you’ll help me, you’ll do anything I say while you use your marvelous gift to look deeper and deeper through the smoke, look into my mind, Henry, deeper and deeper as you help me, as you do whatever I say, Henry. Tell me, Henry; say ‘Yes, Dr. Pendleton. I’ll do whatever you say.’ Say it, Henry, and mean it, because if you say it and mean it, we can have sex, Henry, and you want that more than anything right now.”

“More than . . . anything,“ Henry moaned. “Yes, Dr. Pendleton. I’ll do whatever you say.”

Behind the desk, the horny hypnotherapist blinked and shook her head as if suddenly waking up. She looked across at Henry Branscom and grinned triumphantly.

Her psychic “silent partner” was bent forward in his chair, his arms outstretched, hands grasping at empty air. His breath was coming in hoarse, rapid wheezes, and his eyes were wide open and glassy. She stood up, walked around the desk and passed a hand before his face. He didn’t react at all.

By God, it had worked!

It had taken her months to set this up, months of private sessions of self-hypnosis in which she had slowly built up the mental script she had just played out for Henry and installed the mental blocks which buried all memory of her scheme whenever the mindreader was in her presence. Today, finally, she had been ready to spring her trap: she had given her preset trigger one last reinforcement. As soon as she’d spoken the phrase “Look into my mind,” it had begun: she had slipped into a light trance and led Henry through a mental version of an induction sequence, mixing sexual imagery with her silent verbal script to keep him too off-balance to realize what was happening. His gasped declaration that he would do whatever she said, something her program had been designed to make him say at the critical point, had been the trigger to end her own trance.

Kara laughed softly. Standing behind Henry’s chair, she placed her well-manicured hands on his shoulders and gently eased him back into the seat. He didn’t notice, and his arms remained in their reaching position.

Poor mindreader, she thought, allowing herself a smirk. It had never occurred to him that in the right circumstances, his marvelous gift might actually make him vulnerable.

But now to business. She wasn’t done yet. The last words Henry had gasped out told her he had reached the critical point in the fantasy in which her suggestions had ensnared him. It was time to get . . . hands on.

The devious doctor briskly stripped down until she was wearing only what Henry’s mesmerized mind would be seeing her fantasy image as wearing at this point. She didn’t have to be able to read his mind to know: she had carefully worked it out, and now that the blocks were gone, she recalled her script word for word. The clothing she had worn today was, of course, a perfect match for what her fantasy scenario described; she had known there must be no discrepancies which might weaken the illusion.

Kara slithered up onto her desk and positioned herself just as the fantasy version of her would be posed, locking Henry between her legs. As she made contact, the telepath moaned softly. She took Henry’s hands in hers and guided them to her pants. “Help me, Henry,” she murmured, aloud this time.

“Yes, Kara,” Henry panted. His hands moved over her belt, quickly unsnapping it, and began sliding her tight pants down over her hips. She reached down to help, and as she did, her ample bosom mashed against Henry’s face. He shuddered in ecstasy. “H-help you,” he managed to get out in a voice muffled by titflesh.

The pants slid past her knees. She extended her legs, pointing her toes in the strappy high heels she still had on, and writhed, driving the unwanted garment farther down. At last the trousers were bunched at her ankles, and with a final wriggling kick she tossed them off, letting them slide over her shoes. As she did, she felt Henry clutch convulsively at her thighs. She slid off the desk into his lap, straddling him, and his hips shivered in pure animal reflex. Beneath her buttocks, she could feel Henry had a massive, swelling erection.

“No, not yet,” Kara said. “Don’t come yet, Henry. It’s not time yet, you need to go deeper, thrust yourself into me deeper, Henry, listen to me and let me help you the way you’re helping me, because you’re helpless now, Henry, aren’t you, you must tell me if that’s true, tell me, Henry. . . .” She was doing her best to maintain the soothing tone she used in her inductions, to drive Henry deeper under her control, but she was getting so turned on now that it was hard not to moan.

“Nuh-not . . . time yet,” came the answer, and the shuddering eased as Henry’s body obeyed. “H-h-help me . . . help-less. . . .”

“That’s right,” the devious doctor confirmed. “You’re helpless, Henry, you need my help, Henry, just as I need yours, because we’re partners and partners help each other, partners don’t have any secrets from each other, that’s why I asked you to look into my mind, Henry, to go deeper, Henry, deeper under its surface, deeper and deeper under, to make sure I wasn’t hiding anything from you, deep, deep down, thrusting yourself deeper and deeper as you listen to my voice, Henry.”

“Deeper ‘n’ . . . deeper.” It was a sleepy mumble. “Thrusting myself. Deeper and . . . deeper.”

Kara reached for the snap to her bra and undid it, letting the garment pop open and fall away. Clad only in scanty briefs and heels, she smiled down at the man beneath her.

“Now, Henry,” she instructed him, “I need your help again.” Guiding his hands to her briefs, she continued, “I need you to help me take these off, Henry. When you’ve done that, Henry, you and I can go even deeper, all the way, Henry, to where you can finally come as I know you need to come, Henry, where you can empty yourself into me. You’ll help me again, won’t you, Henry? Of course you will.”

“Uh-uhh-of . . . course I will,” Henry Branscom groaned. His hands moved, tugging at the fabric they held, and Kara wriggled to help things along, just as she’d done with her suit pants.

Kara framed the hypnotized Henry’s face with her elegantly manicured hands and looked into his glazed eyes. She smiled. “Now you, Henry honey, I know what you want to do, what you need to do, but you can’t do it with your clothes on, Henry”—well, of course he could, with a little unzipping and flap-opening, but it wasn’t so much fun for her that way, and that was what mattered—“so I’m going to help you, Henry, take your clothes off and I’ll help you do it.” As she spoke, her hands went down, starting to work on Henry’s shirt buttons.

In a couple of minutes, between the two of them, they’d gotten Henry’s clothing off. It lay discarded on the floor along with Kara’s. And as soon as the mindreader was nude, Kara writhed atop him, guiding his erect member into her. The contact sent fireworks through her brain, just as always happened when they had sex; the wicked therapist archer her back, tilted her head and cried out with ecstasy as Henry’s hips shuddered beneath her. She bucked and thrashed atop her mesmerized mount, and as she did, the chain around her neck popped out of its nest in her cleavage, revealing that it was attached to a small cylindrical gold ornament. Finally she shrieked out “Now, Henry! Come now!” His body obeyed, spurting into her just as she, too, reached orgasm.

That wasn’t unusual; it almost always happened when the two of them had sex. It was one of the pluses of sex with a telepath, it seemed. This time was different, though. This time, she was in control, and Henry Branscom was her helpless, obedient plaything, rather than the other way around. The pleasure she felt was entirely her own, owing nothing to Henry’s mental manipulation, and knowing that aroused her even more. When she climaxed, it was so intense she nearly fainted.

“My, my, Henry,” Kara gloated when she could think again. “It seems telepathy isn’t your only talent, when you’re under proper guidance.”

Henry Branscom lay beneath the brazen beauty, limp, relaxed, his eyes closed. “Proper . . . guidance,” he repeated, almost too softly to be heard.

Kara giggled. Now that her head had stopped spinning, she was ready for a second round. After all the times she’d tried to stand up to Henry only to suddenly realize she was stripping atop her desk or writhing ecstatically on the couch or the floor and couldn’t stop, having him totally under her power was driving her crazy with lust. Revenge is sweet, indeed, she exulted. Oh, yes!

But she really would rather continue her revenge someplace with just a little more room. The couch, of course. So many men had pleasured her there, under her hypnotic sway. And she and Henry had gotten plenty of exercise there in the past. That would help her; his subconscious mind was already trained to associate the couch with pleasure. She could use that to deepen her control, both now and in future sessions.

Kara Pendleton dismounted Henry Branscom, walked behind his chair and placed her hands on his shoulders. Bending over, she spoke into his ear: “You want more, don’t you, Henry.” It was not a question. " You’re so horny, you need to go deep, deep into me again. You were drifting to sleep before, weren’t you, Henry, but you’re wide awake now, wide awake and still so horny. You’re wide awake, and so aroused, it’s getting harder for you to go deeper into the swirling smoke inside my mind, but you’re still going deeper and deeper, even though you’re wide awake and so, so aroused.”

“Yes!” Henry exploded, his eyes popping open but still blank. “Oh, God! Kara! Yes!“ He started to turn in his seat to face her, but her hands on his shoulders restrained him as easily as if they had been steel clamps. His body would not fight her now, in even the simplest ways. ‘ “Then, Henry, what I want is for you to get out of your chair and go over and lie down on the couch.” Kara laughed. “After all, I am supposed to be your therapist. Your doctor.”

“Yes, Dr. Pendleton,” Henry responded meekly. No longer held down by Kara’s hands, he stood, walked over to the couch and lay down, exactly as ordered.

Kara fitted a fresh cigarette into her expensive holder, lit it and walked over to the helpless Henry Branscom. She stood over him for a moment, drawing smoke into her lungs, then removed the holder from between her ripe lips and blew down at Henry. He didn’t even blink.

“That’s right, Henry,” she purred. “Drift away, deeper and deeper now, into the smoke. You know now that I’m not trying to trick you, so you can relax and drift with the smoke and surrender the last of your control to me, and you can finally go deep, deep into me and empty yourself, body and mind, into me.”

“Yes, Dr. Pendleton,” came the reply.

The treacherous therapist straddled her hypnotized “partner” then, arching her back and pressing his shoulders firmly into the cushions with her hands as her hips rocked. Henry’s body responded with a motion of its own, guided and controlled by hers. Very soon, both doctor and mindreader cried out in ecstasy as they climaxed together.

Kara Pendleton raised her head from where it had been resting against Henry Branscom’s shoulder. She looked down at the man beneath her, who lay utterly relaxed, drifting at the edge of sleep. She smiled in triumph.

Yes, indeed, she thought, revenge was sweet. All those months of being Henry’s puppet, after being so used to being the one in control, and now he rested under her, under her power, hers to do with as she chose.

Of course, there were some precautions to be taken. It wasn’t enough that she had hypnotized the telepath this one time. But now that her own mental blocks had fallen, she remembered the plans she had worked out for him.

She ran her hands gently through Henry’s downy blond hair. “Henry,” she said in the soothing voice she used to address her subjects while they were deep in trance, “open your eyes. Open your eyes and listen to me, Henry.”

“Yes, Dr. Pendleton.” Henry opened his eyes. They were empty of all awareness. Kara was doing the mindreader’s thinking for him now.

“Good boy, Henry.” Kara smiled down at him. “We need to talk, Henry, we need to straighten things out between us now that you know you can trust me completely. You do know that now, don’t you, Henry. You can trust me completely.”

“Trust you . . . completely.” Henry nodded. “Yes, Dr. Pendleton.”

“That’s good, Henry,” Kara purred. “You can trust me completely.” She paused a moment. “But if you ever have any doubts, Henry, you know you can read my mind.”

“Yes, Dr. Pendleton.” Henry’s voice was a murmur. “If I have doubts . . . I can read your mind.”

Kara nodded. “That’s right, Henry. You can read my mind.” She paused, then went on: “But you don’t really need to, unless I tell you to, Henry. And if you do read my mind without my telling you to, Henry, you will see and hear and experience just what you did today when you looked into my mind. You will look deeper and deeper, go deeper and deeper into the smoke, deeper and deeper under, just as you’ve done today, Henry, until you’re completely relaxed and understand once more that you can trust me completely, just as you do now, and that you must let my voice guide you as it’s guiding you now, Henry. And when you are completely relaxed and ready to let my voice guide you, Henry, you will say the words, ‘I await your guidance, Dr. Pendleton,’ so that I’ll know you are completely relaxed and ready to obey my instructions.

“You will do this because of what you will see and hear when you read my mind, and because when you do as I say, there is pleasure, Henry, just as there was pleasure today. Do you understand all this, Henry, and will you follow my instructions without question?”

“Yes, Dr. Pendleton,” Henry Branscom breathed. “I understand. I will follow . . . your instructions . . . without question.”

“And why will you do this, Henry?”

“Because when I do as you say . . . there is pleasure.”

Kara Pendleton smirked. There would be pleasure, all right, but not just for the hypnotized Henry Branscom.

She continued: “And if I say the words, ‘Henry Branscom, look into my mind,’ Henry, the same thing will happen. You will look into my mind, deeper and deeper, as you’ve done today, until you are completely relaxed and obedient, as you are right now, and will allow me to guide you as I’m guiding you now, Henry. Do you understand, and will you do as I’ve told you to do?”

“Yes, Dr. Pendleton.” Henry nodded, ever so slightly.

Kara chuckled. The trigger phrase would need reinforcing, of course, just as the rest of his conditioning would, but she had laid the foundation for being able to put him under quickly when she wanted to. If she actually wanted him to read her thoughts—she had found that sometimes it was a convenient way to communicate so that a client wouldn’t hear—all she had to do to avoid accidentally entrancing him was ask him in slightly different words.

Now, though, she really needed to finish up. She had a client coming for a scheduled session soon.

At the doctor’s command, Henry got up, put his clothes on and then seated himself in the chair he’d occupied earlier. Kara put her own clothes back on and resumed her seat behind her fancy desk. Deftly, she put her disheveled hair back up. At last she focused on Henry once more.

“Henry dear,” she murmured, “in a moment, I’m going to snap my fingers”—she did so love these little clichés—“and when I do, you will come awake, fully awake and aware once more, and feeling rested and comfortable.

“When you do, though, you will not remember what happened after you tried to read my mind. What you will remember is that you thought I was trying to trick you somehow, but that when you looked into my mind, you saw no tricks. You will remember that afterward, you used your powers to make me your puppet, as you’ve done before, and that we had great sex, sex you enjoyed even more because as always you were totally in control and I was completely under your power. Do you understand all this, Henry?”

“Yes, Dr. Pendleton.” Beneath glazed eyes, Henry’s lips twitched in a very masculine smirk. “I was . . . totally in control. You were . . . completely under my power.”

Kara answered Henry’s expression with a smirk of her own. “That’s right, Henry. You were totally in control and I was completely under your power. You’re the one in charge in our relationship, because you can make me do or think anything you choose, and if you ever have any doubts, all you have to do is look into my mind.”

“Yes, Dr. Pendleton.” Henry’s response was calm and utterly certain.

Still smirking, Kara Pendleton snapped her fingers.

Henry Branscom blinked and rubbed his forehead, surprised at how rested and comfortable he felt. Usually, employing his powers left him with a headache, and even sex—even great sex like what he’d just enjoyed with Kara Pendleton—didn’t take it away altogether, although it usually helped. But today, there was hardly a twinge.

“Satisfied?” Kara asked, doing her best to put just a hint of hurt pride in her voice.

“Completely, Doctor.” Henry grinned boyishly, an expression Kara had actually rather come to like. “You understand, though, that given your history, I can’t afford to take anything for granted.”

“Of course,” the devious doctor agreed. “I understand that. But after all, that’s the whole basis of our . . . relationship, isn’t it? We both know that any time you think I might be trying to put something past you, all you have to do is look into my mind.”

There was something about the way she’d said that which triggered a faint alarm in Henry’s mind. For a moment, he was tempted to do exactly as she suggested. But then he shook his head, annoyed with himself. No, he thought, I’ve already got it covered. What could she possibly be hiding now that she wasn’t hiding when I came in? There was such a thing as being too suspicious. The doctor knew how useful their partnership was, after all—and as long as he could look into her mind at will, he knew he could trust her completely.

“All right, then,” he said at last. “I guess we’re done here.” The telepath stood, adjusting his clothes, and left Dr. Pendleton’s office.