The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“And where are you off to today?” Mark asked, stopping when he noticed Clarissa in the foyer.

“I’ve got an appointment,” Clarissa answered, fishing for the keys inside her clutch.

“Let me guess— you’re off to buy another fur.”

Clarissa snapped the latch closed, and looked at her husband. He was beaming at her; the sight warmed her and she smiled back.

“You know me. I’m just going to take a look. I might not even buy it; the price should be right. God knows I hardly need another fur.”

Mark took a step closer to her. “You don’t have to explain. Whatever my lovely wife wants, she should get.” He pulled her into an embrace and peppered her neck with kisses.

Clarissa barely suppressed the giggle bubbling up inside her. Even after years of marriage, Mark could still have the impatient, hungry energy of a teenager. At least it kept the romance fresh— and it did have a certain charm.

“Okay, that’s enough, you,” she said, the trace of a laugh still in her voice. She gently guided him away.

“I hope the fur in question turns out to be everything you’re hoping for,” Mark said.

“Me too. I’d just need somewhere to put it.”

“You mean if none of our twenty closets work out?” Mark said. “What’re you worried about? Color clash?”

“Alright, you,” she said, smirking. “I should go.”

“Have fun,” Mark said.

“I will, darling,” Clarissa added. “I should only be an hour. See you later.” She gave him a kiss on the lips, slipping some of her appreciation into it, then left.

It wasn’t a long drive to her appointment. She’d called the seller, Stephanie, the day before. It turned out Stephanie only lived a few blocks away, just a five-minute drive.

Stephanie had told Clarissa she had a circular driveway, so Clarissa could park her car close to the front door. After she’d passed through the large entrance gate, Clarissa parked as instructed, and got out of the car, taking a second to look up at Stephanie’s house. It seemed bigger than her own. She followed the well-manicured walkway to the entrance, making a mental note to ask who did her landscaping, and rang the doorbell.

She waited on the stone steps until the heavy oak door opened.

The woman inside looked just as she sounded on the phone. Lean, maybe athletic. Her hair was a well-styled blonde, and she wore a sharp slim skirt and top. She smiled, and said, “Welcome! You must be Clarissa. I’m Stephanie. Please come in.”

“Thank you,” Clarissa said, following her into the house.

“Did you have trouble finding the place?” Stephanie asked.

“Oh no. In fact, I was just thinking on the drive over that I could have walked here. You’re really close to my house, maybe twenty minutes if I had.”

“But you drove instead? Hm. To each her own, I suppose.” Stephanie replied.

“I figured if I like what I see, I’ll need to haul the coat home, right?”

“Just as well,” Stephanie said. “You made a narrow escape—avoided being taken captive by one of my neighbor’s droning conversations.”

“What do you mean?” Clarissa asked, slowing as she followed Stephanie.

“They just talk forever about such boring topics,” Stephanie said, breezily. “The men are bad enough, going on about golf games, or hiring landscapers. But the women are even worse. They go on and on about their charity functions. Sometimes they even slyly try to work a request for money into the conversation. ‘Ten thousand a month can really make a difference!’” Stephanie laughed at her own high-pitched, nasally impersonation.

“You know,” Clarissa said. “It’s not a bad thing if they—”

“I’d have hated for you to be caught by them. I myself have lost many hours of my life this way. So all the better that you drove. But here I am, going off in a tangent. What is it you do?”

“Oh,” Clarissa said, flatly. “I’m one of those women who can’t shut up about charity functions.”

Stephanie stopped and turned, rounding on Clarissa.

“My God. You’re one of them?”

“Is that a problem?” Clarissa said. “I thought you wanted to sell a coat, not discuss hobbies.”

They strode down the long, marble corridor. Clicking their heels against polished stone was the only sound the ladies made for a long time. Clarissa could have left, but she figured she’d look at the woman’s collection first. If there was something worth buying, she’d write a check, then leave. And if there wasn’t she could leave that much quicker.

Stephanie led them through an open doorway. They passed through an empty anteroom, to enter another room: long, narrow, and high-ceilinged. There were several silver clothing racks, displaying an impressive array of fur coats of various lengths and colors. A mirror and a low ottoman stood side by side in the room’s center, like eager hosts waiting at attention.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Stephanie said.

“Sure,” Clarissa said. It was bothering her that she hadn’t left at her first chance. She’d followed Stephanie far into her house. Now, two rooms deep, it would be difficult to extricate herself. It would be worse still to go home empty-handed. While she contemplated the situation, she realized that Stephanie had been speaking.

“—had these moved down here when you agreed to our appointment. You can try any of them on, if you’d like. I haven’t yet had other potential buyers. Fortunately for you, you get the first pick.”

Clarissa stared at Stephanie, unable to come up with a reply. Stephanie crossed the room to a chair near one of the walls, leaving Clarissa by the ottoman and mirror. From her vantage point at the room’s center, Clarissa had an ideal view of the many furs.

“So would this be for one of your charity functions?” Stephanie said with an acid grin, from her upholstered seat.

“And what if it was?” Clarissa challenged. “I came here to make a purchase, not to be judged. You need to learn—”

“Stop,” Stephanie said, her smile as polished and rehearsed as her hair. “You’re right. We’re here to do business. I’m just surprised someone as sharp as you spends her time doing something so pointless. If all you charity types had any self-awareness, you’d sell the silver spoons in your mouths and leave the rest of us alone.”

“We can only give so much,” Clarissa said, weighing her words. “And sometimes others—the more selfish rich—need to be reminded that they can do more.”

Clarissa had half expected the woman to acknowledge her faux pas or grudgingly apologize. When she didn’t, Clarissa changed the subject. “To answer your question,” she said. “I don’t wear fur to all my social functions. It’s just something I collect.”

“Oh! So, you stash them in your many closets, never to be worn again?”

“Not exactly.” Clarissa paused thoughtfully. “There are worse things a woman in my position could be collecting. Blood diamonds. Side boyfriends. DUIs. Appearances in the gossip column. It’s a little high and mighty of you to criticize me for having a fur collection, considering—ahem—your own collection right here.”

“Oh, please,” Stephanie said. “This is only a third of my collection. And I’m certain I wear them more often than you do.”

Stephanie’s arms were folded over her chest. She leaned back in her seat. Even though she sat while Clarissa stood, Stephanie seemed to be looking down on Clarissa, smiling a smug smile. Probably Botox, thought Clarissa. Who does she think she is?

“You think you know me,” Clarissa said, her voice hardening. “That I only wear a fur coat once for a charity event, then toss it aside?”

“Well, you’re either one of those charity function fashionistas or a fur fetishist.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. A fur fetishist. One of those perverts who can’t get off without fur. I’ve met a couple of them before; they’re a special breed. Is that your secret?”

“That’s disgusting! How could you insinuate—?” Clarissa shot back. “You know what? If those are the only two types of fur-wearers, which one are you?”

Stephanie stared, her expression impassive and inscrutable. Her lip twitched just at the corner.

“That’s the problem with your sweeping generalizations,” Clarissa said, icily. “They’re too limiting. And if you must know, I enjoy the hunt for used furs. I like looking through listings, examining the fur’s condition, haggling with owners, hearing stories of where the coats came from. It’s a fun hobby. And it gives me a break from organizing all those charity events you hate.

“And it doesn’t make me a hypocrite,” she continued. “Am I not allowed to have my own life? My own hobbies? What gives you the right to—?”

“Alright,” Stephanie said. “This is getting us nowhere. I think the lady protests too much, but that’s my opinion. You may keep browsing, if you wish. If you see one you like, we can both get on with our lives.”

A stiff silence chilled the room. Clarissa went through the cursory motions of picking through the hangers, examining the furs. But she was too mad to focus. This was just a wasted trip.

And if Clarissa did not leave soon, she would be at a very real risk of demonstrating her true hatred for this woman. She breathed deeper, trying to put aside thoughts of fighting Stephanie. If Clarissa wasn’t careful, she’d soon be making her own debut in the gossip papers.

Still, there was one move available to Clarissa before she stormed out. Her heart beating rapidly, Clarissa broke the brittle silence.

“I just wish you had a coat that was nice enough for a charity function.”

“Excuse me?” Stephanie said, rising from her seat.

“Well, that mink jacket has yellow discoloration on the silk lining. Gross. The sable stole has frayed edges. That red fox’s collar is rubbed nearly raw. You don’t really have a lot to offer here.”

“Oh, I see,” Stephanie said, with a cold smile. She paced, evaluating Clarissa. “You’re a feisty one. I like that. Considering I’m in the presence of a connoisseur, and that you have a special interest in fur...” Stephanie stepped over to one of the racks beside Clarissa. She fanned through a few hangers, before settling on a fine dark-brown fur coat. “This is the one for you.”

Clarissa had previously seen that one, but it hadn’t grabbed her attention.

Stephanie slipped the coat from the hanger, and held it out to her guest. “Come, Clarissa. Just try it on.” She held it out so the sleeves were easily accessible.

All Clarissa had to do was slip her arms into the openings, and the coat would be on her body. What would really be the harm in just trying it on? It would only take a few seconds. Then she could take it back off again, and tell Stephanie her best fur was still trash. That would finally bring this awkward encounter to its end. And she could escape, before she became a slave to her anger and said or did something regrettable to this horrid woman.

Clarissa stepped closer, turning her back to Stephanie, and sliding one arm into the coat, then the other. As she did, Stephanie moved with her, so that the coat practically glided onto her body with no effort at all. Stephanie straightened the shoulders so the coat hung properly, and when Clarissa looked down she saw it completely covered the clothes she wore beneath.

Stephanie gave her a pat on the back that made Clarissa noticeably bristle. “Take a look in the mirror, now.”

This was it. Once she saw her reflection, she would tell Stephanie the coat wasn’t to her standard and take it off. She turned around, stepping past Stephanie to the mirror.

But when she saw herself, she forgot what she was going to say. The sight of herself wearing the fur coat pushed the words out of her head. It even soothed her anger, which had seemed impossible before.

Just a moment ago, she’d been nearly shouting at Stephanie. Now, she couldn’t help but think Stephanie had a good eye. She had chosen the coat which best complimented Clarissa’s dark brown hair. It matched Clarissa, or she matched it. She already had a lot of furs— had tried on and worn many more— but she’d never found one that matched her quite like this did.

Clarissa turned in the coat, observing it from other angles. From all views, the effect was the same. It seemed like it had been designed with her in mind. But Clarissa didn’t want to admit that she liked the coat. She didn’t want to give Stephanie the satisfaction.

“Yes, that’s the right one for you,” Stephanie said, stepping behind Clarissa again. She reached out to put her hands on Clarissa’s shoulders, but Clarissa turned and side-stepped closer to the mirror. Just because she liked the coat didn’t mean she suddenly liked the woman selling it.

Stephanie lowered her hands, clasping them together as if she hadn’t perceived the insult. “I was going to adjust it,” she explained. “Turn that way and have another look.”

Clarissa turned back to the mirror, and admired her reflection. She liked it even more the second time, and she hated that she agreed with Stephanie. It did look incredible on her. She could almost forgive the woman for wanting to touch the fur on her.

“Why don’t you feel it?” Stephanie asked, presaging Clarissa’s own thoughts. “See if it’s as lush and soft as you’re used to.” If the words were barbed, Clarissa couldn’t tell. And, frankly, she didn’t care. It was a good idea.

Clarissa tentatively raised a hand to stroke the lapel, but Stephanie interrupted: “No, not there. Start at the shoulders. With both hands, then stroke along the collar. Keep your eyes on the mirror. You’ll miss it if you look at the actual shoulder.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a part of Clarissa wanted to object— this was crazy. But Stephanie’s suggestion was so forceful and specific, it was hard to think of anything else. It made Clarissa reluctant to argue. Besides, Stephanie might start another fight if she did. It would be easier just to go along—for now—later she could argue. Later she could stop stroking.

Clarissa followed Stephanie’s suggestion, obediently raising her hands past the coat’s wide collar. Her fingers grazed the coat’s furry shoulders. It was even softer than she’d imagined, and she watched her reflection as her fingers traced through the fur. It felt oddly comfortable, like petting an animal; warm, receptive, and sleek. She realized the animal she was petting was herself. Another odd, but soothing thought.

“Keep stroking like that,” Stephanie encouraged, her voice softening. It had dropped in volume, and was now in a more intimate, confessional tone. Clarissa kept caressing the softness with her fingers and palms, her eyes on the coat.

It unnerved her, this stroking… stroking and petting like the coat lived… like it was more than a coat… it lived, and wanted to be touched in a specific way… and yet… she couldn’t have made herself stop if she’d wanted to. She looked pretty in the mirror as she did it: her hands moving gently in parallel with each other. She could see Stephanie’s reflection too; Stephanie had stepped closer and was now standing behind her, though she still did not touch.

Clarissa caught Stephanie’s eyes in the mirror— and it made her feel vulnerable. She felt somehow like she was having a private moment with the coat; communing with it, even. Though Stephanie was witnessing this, it did not bother Clarissa the way it should have. There was something in Stephanie’s eyes— something forceful and piercing, confident. To see such strength when she herself was feeling so weak, so pliable… getting only weaker as she kept petting the coat, and petting herself…

It felt… unusual, but not bad… she’d never had anyone look at her like that: as if they were really seeing her, seeing down into the deepest, innermost parts of her mind, and understanding. Because though Stephanie’s eyes were cutting, Clarissa knew she did understand. Stephanie knew Clarissa was having a moment with the coat— that petting it was creating new feelings in her, making her feel small and shy in a way she never had. Stephanie knew this, could see it— and she was, amazingly, sympathetic.

Wearing fur had never felt this tactile, this intimate, before. Clarissa had never stroked her own coats like this; no one else had touched her furs like this as she’d worn them either. At winter functions, Mark would only hook his arm through hers to properly escort her. He never touched her coats. He didn’t particularly like fur.

Now, it seemed Clarissa did. And from the way Stephanie was watching her, she thought Stephanie must, too.

“Move your hands, now,” Stephanie said, and Clarissa paused to wait for instruction. Her eyes were still meeting Stephanie’s. “Touch the front of the coat, over your chest. I want you to brush it back and forth. Back and forth.”

Clarissa’s mind had narrowed to a focus she’d never felt before, and she followed Stephanie’s guidance. She set her hands on the front of the coat, stroking rhythmically over her chest. The feeling was oddly soothing. Repetitive, and calming.

By this point, Clarissa truly appreciated that the coat was a double-sided fur. Petting her fur-covered chest was caressing her inside the coat. She’d worn a sleeveless top to the appointment, so from the inside she could feel the softness of the fur brushing her skin. She was being petted twice, by the firm pressure of her own touch, and then by the warm inner caress of the fibers kissing at her.

“Now run your hands down, then back up,” Stephanie instructed, and Clarissa watched as the Clarissa in the mirror followed the instruction. Running her hands down both sides of the coat, and bringing them up again. It was molding the coat against her own body. It hugged her breasts and clung to her hips. She silently gasped at the sensation.

“Now back up to your chest,” Stephanie added. “Run your hands from one side to the other.”

Clarissa savored the feeling as she watched her reflection obey. She smoothed the coat in waves again, across her upper chest, and back to the collar. The lapels of the coat were wide, and when Clarissa touched them, she got three layers of pressure. Her own touch, the feeling of fur moving against fur, and then the feeling of the inside of the coat brushing over her own clothes and skin, like it had a mind of its own. She felt now more than ever that the coat was alive. Every brush against her skin felt intentional: the coat wanted to caress her, to make love to her body.

There was a fourth layer of pressure too— the feeling of Clarissa’s own clothes moving against her skin. This was the least satisfying of the four; they were poor competition to the softness of the fine fur.

“Now descend the coat again,” she heard Stephanie speak. She willingly obeyed. Clarissa sent her hands down in a vertical line. With each pass, she descended the swell of her breast, and passed over her stomach. Clarissa realized with a start that Stephanie’s voice seemed clearer, despite the breathy whisper. She looked past her reflection, and saw that Stephanie had stepped even closer to her.

The look on Stephanie’s face had changed to an expression of clear hunger. Her lips parted, her head nodding slowly in encouragement. Her mouth open in a smile of pride, as she watched Clarissa in fascination.

There was something important in the expression; Clarissa’s hands kept moving, but her eyes stayed on Stephanie. The fur may have been a wild, untamed thing with its own desires… but Stephanie had tamed it. She was teaching Clarissa to tame it, teaching her how to touch and pet it. How to maneuver it into giving Clarissa what she wanted. How to move it against her skin, and how to mold herself within the fur. And each sensation singing against Clarissa’s skin wasn’t only coming from the fur. It was coming from Stephanie, too— Stephanie wanted to give it to her, knew how to give it to her. Knew how to teach her to give it to herself. To teach her to give in to it.

Suddenly, it was like the hands weren’t her own anymore. They had become Stephanie’s… she was touching herself the way Stephanie wanted her to be touched, her hands only a proxy for Stephanie’s will.

She looked back to the mirror, vaguely realizing she’d been staring in an unfocused and unseeing manner for some time. Stephanie wore the same expression on her face, equal parts surprise, fascination, and hunger. She was perhaps an inch or two behind Clarissa. If Stephanie took one more step forward, she’d be pressed up against Clarissa’s back.

That image gave Clarissa a brief flash of clarity, but the hands did not stop stroking, and it blurred her concentration out again. With each touch, she felt she was getting a whole new window into existence. She’d worn many furs, but never stopped to think about what it felt like to be a creature wrapped, covered, and encased in fur. The coat wasn’t a separate entity anymore. It had become part of her, or she a part of it. It was a natural extension of her body; she couldn’t be sure where she ended and it began.

She was feeling less than human, more like animal, now, and the feeling only increased as those hands— Stephanie’s hands, even if Clarissa was only lending her own for Stephanie to use— kept spreading the pressure of that touch over the coat.

It was a constant, soothing rhythm that made her feel so warm she thought she might fall asleep. She was being rocked in warmth, and her consciousness was drifting away. She felt it going, but the feeling of the touch only got sharper as her mind grew duller.

She felt warmth, heat not only from wearing the coat, and not only from the pressure moving over it. In petting over the front of the coat, that pressure had passed over Clarissa’s breasts too many times to count, and Clarissa felt the warmth inside her body now too. It was building within her lower back, spreading between her hips, and rising in her chest.

This was new. Wearing furs was a neutral task. Clarissa had told the truth when she’d denied being a fur fetishist. She only liked to wear fur for its appearance. Before Stephanie’s comment, she hadn’t ever considered that fur fetishes existed. Now, she could understand their motivation. Her body stirred with a strange hunger. She wanted to curl up inside the coat’s soft touch forever.

But her mind surfaced from the haze— Stephanie had told her to stop petting, leaving Clarissa standing in front of the mirror, looking at herself. She couldn’t be entirely sure if it had ever really happened at all.

“Well, what do you think? Do you want to buy it?”

Clarissa found she was already nodding. She’d long forgotten about walking out on Stephanie in anger. She could not leave this coat behind. Clarissa was already taking her clutch back up from the ottoman — (how had it ended up there)? — and pulling out her check book. Stephanie told her the price, and she was already writing on the line, tearing the check and handing it to Stephanie. The check was dwarfed by the coat’s brown fur cuff, so large at her wrist.

“Not going to haggle today?” Stephanie said with a smirk.

Normally, Clarissa would have taken the coat back off, and carried it out to the car. Instead, she snuggled deeper against the collar, her eyes closed in rapture.

“Would you like a receipt?” Stephanie said, breaking the silence.

Clarissa shook her head no, enjoying the tickling fur against her ears.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Stephanie said, smiling deviously. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again sometime.”

After meeting Stephanie’s eyes so many times in the mirror, her smile made Clarissa feel a little unsteady. She knew it hadn’t done that before; this was new. “I’m s-sure we will,” Clarissa managed.

“You know,” Stephanie said, her eyes drinking in the sight of Clarissa in the fur coat. “Maybe you’re not one of those tedious charity types after all. The way you wear that fur—” and there was a note of hunger in Stephanie’s voice again “—maybe you’re more like me.”

“How’s that?” Clarissa asked. The sting of their earlier disagreement was all but forgotten.

“Oh,” Stephanie’s grin remained fixed. “You’ll see. You have my number; I have yours. Reach out if you feel yourself inclined. We’ll be in touch.”

Clarissa wore the coat on the drive home. Though her mind had cleared since Stephanie had ordered her to stop, the warmth that had built inside her was still burning. She kept her thighs pressed tight together for the entirety of the five-minute drive back to her own home. Five minutes felt like much longer than that… she needed release. She needed it so much she almost considered pulling over to the side of the road, reaching beneath the coat and taking it.

The only reason she didn’t was the possibility of being seen, and having her turn in the gossip pages. She’d escaped that fate once already that day—by restraining the urge to attack Stephanie—and she wasn’t about to risk it again. Instead, she gripped the steering wheel tighter, squeezed her thighs together harder. She could feel wetness between them.

At last she pulled into her driveway, and took up her clutch to go inside. When she closed the front door behind her, Mark called to her from the next room. “Did you end up buying it?”

She followed his voice to where Mark was seated on the couch. He set the newspaper down on the coffee table, and his eyes landed on her when she entered. “I suppose that’s a yes,” he said, with his crooked smile. “I think you look lovely in it, dear.”

Clarissa barely heard the words. She moved to him, and started up with hungry kisses. She climbed onto his lap, trying to straddle him: reaching for his fly, clumsily unzipping his pants. She moaned as he kissed her back, gripping her with his strong hands.

Mark wasn’t only her husband, in that moment. He was the only one who could help her, her only salvation. She needed release so badly, and she felt her own attempts to get it would be fumbling and unsatisfactory. But Mark knew what he was doing— he could help her— he could work her through it, and give her exactly what she needed. Right now, he was the only one in the world who could help her.

(Somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a voice— is he really the only one? Maybe Stephanie could have helped you.)

“Clarissa—” He said, coming up for air. “What—what brought this on?”

“Not now,” she growled, between biting kisses.

He reached clumsily to draw one of the curtains along the window just behind the couch. She guided him back, and he moved with her, until he lay on the couch, and she straddled him. He wrestled off his shirt, and Clarissa kissed and bit at his exposed chest, causing him to buck. She realized he was shifting the coat down, off of her.

She pulled back suddenly, causing Mark to look at her with surprise.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah—I,” Clarissa exhaled. “Just, get inside me right now.” She knocked Mark’s hands away, off the coat, and shrugged it back onto her shoulders. She tore off her skirt, leaving her top alone beneath the fur coat.

Mark looked perplexed by this move, but didn’t object when she grabbed his exposed member and guided into herself.

He pressed close to her again, and the two of them connected in a rush of frantic kisses and touches. They moved feverishly. Clarissa felt like she was only half-conscious. The lust was like a haze in her mind, spurred on by the feeling of the fur brushing against her skin with every move. It felt almost like being in front of the mirror again. Luckily, though her movements were erratic, Mark’s movements were more deliberate, and soon he had shifted them round so she lay on the couch as he was driving into her exactly as she needed.

This was what she needed, she thought vaguely. She’d needed someone strong and competent to take the upper hand while she was weak and confused. Someone to guide her, especially through her pleasure. She’d never felt that before. But she felt it now, and Mark was doing a beautiful job. He had her quivering in orgasm in no time, followed by his own shortly after, shooting his warmth into her, before he settled on top of her.

“Thank god for birth control,” he said, sounding winded but happy. “You haven’t jumped me like that since we were first going out.”

It was true, and made Clarissa feel vaguely nostalgic for that time. Their sex life was more than satisfactory, but it had been an inferno’s blaze in the beginning. It had settled into a more controlled, familiar burning; like a cultivated fire in a fireplace. It had been a long time since it had blazed.

It was only natural that their passions had burned down to a steady but patient background detail, especially after being married for some time. But it was fun to feel that all-encompassing desire again— that consuming desperation that burned everything else away and left nothing in its wake.

“Where’d that come from?” Mark asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”

She felt more like herself now that her lust was satisfied. But. That had only happened because of... the interaction at Stephanie’s. Whatever that had been. There was something wrong with that: another woman had turned her on—indirectly—and she’d come home to use Mark for release.

Clarissa resented Stephanie for that— for giving Clarissa something to feel guilty about. It was like she had found a way to make Clarissa pay for talking back to her. By giving her such a strange experience and making her enjoy it. At least it was all over.

“It was that little kiss before I left,” Clarissa said. “You nearly gave me a hickey this morning, and the whole time I was gone, you got me thinking about it. About having my own fun with you.”

As Clarissa was saying it, she could almost believe it herself.

“You thought right,” Mark said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Remind me to give you hickeys more often. So everything went well?”

Clarissa shifted to get up, pulling closed the heavy fur coat as she scrambled up from the couch. Mark followed her cue, standing to dress himself again. Clarissa sought out her own clothing.

“It was almost a waste,” she said, pulling her skirt back up her legs. “That woman said the most brazen things about philanthropic housewives doing charity work.”

“Uh-oh,” Mark said. “She had no idea who she was talking to.”

“No idea!” Clarissa said, straightening her skirt. “I was this close to storming out of there, or attacking her. Then she pulled out this coat and made me a hypocrite for liking it.”

Mark chuckled.

“But I really did hate her,” Clarissa gritted, now fully clothed again. Mark was just finishing doing up his pants. “She had no excuse to talk to me that way! A potential customer. And she even said, ‘we’ll be in touch,’ at the end, like she’d won me over with the coat.”

“Forget about her,” Mark said, giving her a comforting squeeze on the arm. “I’m sure she was terrible, but now you don’t have to see her ever again and you can forget about her. And if it’s any comfort, you won me over.”

He reseated himself on the couch, and took the newspaper back up.

“Right,” Clarissa said, but she could hear the uncertainty in her voice. She brushed a hand over the fur absentmindedly. “I’m going to go hang this with the others.”

“I’ll be here,” Mark said, not looking up from the paper again.

Clarissa climbed the stairs, and walked to the master bedroom. Mark was right. Now Clarissa could forget about Stephanie, about her smug smile and her know-it-all eyes that saw right through her. But wouldn’t it be harder to forget about her if she kept the coat? This souvenir of their strange, unpleasant afternoon together? Would she be reminded of her every time she saw it?

Though she had multiple closets for her furs—each designated by frequency of use and personal preference—her favorites stayed in the walk-in closet off her bedroom. Despite her misgivings, Clarissa decided this one belonged there, for now.

The new fur was her crown jewel. It was gorgeous and glossy and still looked perfect on her. It belonged nowhere else but in the closet with her other favorites. She gave it its rightful place, taking it off after a moment’s reluctance, and hanging it on the hanger in the center of the rack.

Even on its hanger, it was striking. She reached out, running her hand along the sleeve. For a moment, she felt she could slip back into the haze of early in the day… she could run her hands over it again for hours…

But she shook herself out of it, and stepped back through the door to the bedroom.

If she paused for just a second to look at the coat before she turned off the closet light and shut the door— well, that was nobody’s business but hers.