The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

In the first few days after buying the coat, nothing much changed. From the outside, things were the same as after any other time Clarissa bought a new coat. She stopped tapping her network and asking about new sellers; she stopped keeping an eye open and an ear perked. She wouldn’t be buying another coat for a solid three months or more, so there was no need to be on the lookout. This was her usual pattern.

However, after acquiring the dark-brown coat, Clarissa wasn’t sure she cared about ever buying another coat again. That part was new. She usually turned away from her network with faint disappointment, part of her looking forward to when, two or three months later, she could start looking again.

But not this time. She didn’t mind the idea that she wouldn’t be looking for a new coat any time soon. Her newest coat… did something for her. As far as Clarissa was concerned, it was perfect. She couldn’t imagine any other fur coming close. Even when she saw it hanging in her walk-in closet, next to the others, they paled in comparison to it.

That was how it started. In the first week or two after buying it, she would just look at it— linger in the doorway of her closet in the morning, keeping her eyes on it. She would get dressed, and then get on with her day, circulating in the same social circles, moving through the same events, spending time with Mark.

In those first two weeks it just so happened there was no particular event for her to wear the coat to. So her only interaction with the coat was when she noticed it in the morning after she dressed. The beginning of the day was the only time she looked at it.

At first, it was just a lingering glance, only a few seconds before she turned off the light and closed the closet door, like when she’d first brought it home.

But as the days passed, that glance lengthened. It changed from a look over her shoulder to a look that came from her leaning against the wall for the ideal view. And as the glance lengthened, the distance between her and the coat shortened. In the beginning she looked from the doorway, then from the wall, then from two steps away from the wall.

Eventually she came to the point of standing directly in front of it, her eyes drinking in every visual detail of the texture. After that it was only a matter of time.

At last, one morning, she put the coat back on her body.

It was a homecoming. She arranged it carefully so it hung perfectly in place, and then moved to stand in front of the mirror.

Clarissa felt that strange focus return to her. She stared at her reflection. If possible, the coat looked even better on her now than it had before. She was a completed puzzle; her missing piece had been restored. She was, finally, whole.

She stood for a long time, just considering her image. Every now and then she turned slightly, to see herself from different angles. Each new position seemed to reveal a different dimension of the coat; it was so beautiful. And it made her beautiful too.

She came back to standing in front of the mirror head on. She was aware of the coat on her body like she had been when Stephanie had instructed her…

She remembered the sound of Stephanie’s voice, telling her to touch and stroke, telling her exactly how to do it. She’d guided Clarissa through the right steps perfectly, and made Clarissa more aroused than she’d ever been in her life.

The memory was enough to make her want to flush in shame— she remembered how her anger and hatred had burned for Stephanie. There was only a handful of times in her life Clarissa had ever gotten truly mad; and the only time she had ever been tempted to physically attack another person in anger had been that day when Stephanie had looked down her nose at Clarissa, and said those ridiculous things.

And yet, even though Clarissa had been filled with hate for the other woman, a few seconds of looking in the mirror and a few seconds more of touching herself at Stephanie’s instruction, and the hate had given way to overwhelming arousal…

An overwhelming arousal that, suddenly, Clarissa wanted to feel again.

She moved her hands to the front of the coat, pushing through her own self-disgust. She wanted it badly enough that she couldn’t quite care about the hypocrisy of her arousal for Stephanie. It would be her secret. In her mind, it had nothing to do with reality. Just a little fantasy to start the fire. Eventually, she’d think about Mark or someone else. Fantasies tended to wander, after all.

She ran her hands down the swell of her fur-covered breasts just like Stephanie had instructed her. She stared at the spot in mirror just above her right shoulder; where Stephanie had stood, where she had met Stephanie’s eyes and been held in them when she was weak. Through the haze, she hated herself for missing Stephanie’s presence. Clarissa remembered the fierceness of Stephanie’s gaze, the inherent strength it had radiated. The understanding. And she craved it again.

Clarissa’s hands were flowing through Stephanie’s instructions even though Stephanie was not there to repeat them. She was petting the shoulders of the coat, the wide lapels, running her hands in circles across her collarbone, descending the coat’s front. She could hear Stephanie’s voice, soft and intimate playing in her ears, and it was making her wet— she was doing exactly as Stephanie told her, even though Stephanie was not there to tell. She was vulnerable again, but Stephanie had known how to guide her fumbling hands through what needed to be done, had known how to steer her pleasure. She’d done it so well that the memory alone was enough to do it now.

Clarissa felt arousal budding in her again, and then burning hotter. It burned bright enough to obscure her shame and self-disgust. The weight of the fur combined with the memories of her last time wearing it were more than enough. Her hands kept moving through the remembered instructions, and her eyes followed them in the mirror. Her mind emptied of all else— time slipped away. She only grew hazier with lust. It made her mind too sleepy to think, but she could never seem to get enough of the feeling.

She chased it, wondering if it would ever give her release, but it never did. Eventually, she stopped, and took the coat back off and hung it up.

Clarissa laid herself naked on the bed, and tried masturbating for a long time. She got a cheap climax out of it, but it didn’t come anywhere near to satisfying her lust. It only left her craving release more desperately than before. She’d probably need Mark for true satisfaction; he could guide her through it again, but unfortunately for her, he wasn’t home.

At the thought of Mark she came back to herself, and realized she had no idea how much time had passed. When she checked the bedroom clock, she realized she’d lost almost an entire Monday, and Mark would shortly be home for supper. She’d come up after breakfast when he’d left, just to change out of her sleep clothes… but she was still wearing them. She’d never even changed before putting the coat on.

She stepped back into the closet, carefully avoiding looking at the coat, and changed as she’d meant to earlier. She’d been lucky it was a Monday, and lucky that she hadn’t had anywhere to be. She’d have to make a point of not looking at the coat— and definitely not wearing it, unless she could afford to waste hours of time. She didn’t want it interfering with her outside life, or her marriage.

Once Clarissa was changed, she felt a bit safer, and she looked briefly back at the coat. She let herself grip a sleeve, and pull it forward, to run the fingers of her other hand along it. Immediately, she felt a new spark of pleasure between her legs.

What was it doing to her? She’d never found fur to be a particularly erotic thing. Wearing it had never turn her on before. But this had changed now; even stroking briefly at a sleeve was enough to get her dripping again, into her fresh underwear. Clearly, whatever it was doing to her, she liked it.

She felt herself go weak in the legs from the intensity of her need. She’d made her desire more painful by looking at it again, touching it again. And where had her craving for submission come from? Why had she suddenly become incapable of getting off by herself? Why did she now need pleasure to be given to her by another— someone stronger who could tell her how to do it? It had never been the case before.

But the echo of Stephanie’s voice entered her mind again, and with one hand on the fur, she found her other hand slipping past the waistband of her underwear to stroke slowly through her folds.

She let out a moan as her fingers moved through the slickness. It was only getting slicker as the fingers of her free hand traced the surface of the coat sleeve. Stephanie would like her to do this… if she could only see Clarissa now… Stephanie would know what Clarissa should do next… She’d never felt submissive before. But this. It felt hot. It felt right.

After several more minutes, Clarissa stopped herself again. It took all her concentration; she was wetter than when she’d started, but no closer to satiation. Each touch had only made her crave the next one. But she stopped, and just in time it seemed, because just a few minutes later, Mark was home, and she went down to meet him.

After that, in the following weeks, Clarissa found excuses to wear the fur around the house, just to have it on her body. She didn’t need to watch and pet and touch herself every time. It was enough just to put it on, and sit inside that warm, hazy curled-up feeling.

She gave herself license to wear it on weekdays when Mark was at work. She usually came out of her haze in time for his return home, and in plenty of time to go out for evening events. Of course, she couldn’t do it every weekday. Every now and then she had a planning meeting for one of her committees; but on the days she had free, she let herself put the fur on, and pet it.

Clarissa told herself it was just something she did for herself in her free time… and Mark didn’t need to know.

Each time she looked at her reflection, she thought she could see the impressions of where she’d touched it on the first day. It was as if Stephanie’s touch, through Clarissa’s borrowed hands, had sunk into the fur.

When Clarissa wore it, she felt as if Stephanie were borrowing her hands again to touch her with them. The coat had belonged to Stephanie first— so, before she’d sold it to Clarissa, she must have worn it. That tenuous but very real link did something to Clarissa: to think of Stephanie wearing what she now wore, to think of the same fur touching them both.

To think of wrapping herself, to think that she, Clarissa, was wrapped in something that had belonged to Stephanie… in some roundabout way, to think that she belonged to Stephanie, as the coat had. When she wore the coat, she wore that belonging; and she was, by proxy, skin to skin with her. Putting the same thing on her back Stephanie had once put over hers. Even permitting herself the small fantasy that Stephanie’s thoughts guided her as she wore the coat. Pretty soon she stopped bothering with clothes underneath— she let the fur brush over and rest against her naked skin.

She felt her submissive feelings toward the fur, toward Stephanie, growing. She couldn’t control herself as she stripped out of her clothes. She trembled with excitement just before slipping into the coat, ceding all her self-control to it. The coat’s inner fur caressed her. She hugged herself, to feel it enfolding her deeper. She was doing what Stephanie wanted. She was pleasing Stephanie. And that turned her on.

Clarissa knew wearing the coat during the days and keeping it a secret was wrong, that all the things she was thinking about Stephanie were wrong. She needed to stop. She didn’t belong to Stephanie. She shouldn’t even want to belong to Stephanie after the way Stephanie had behaved.

She belonged to her husband, and he belonged to her. She was indulging a dangerous obsession, one that might truly threaten her marriage. And every time she wore the coat again, and lost hours into the memory of Stephanie touching it on her body, she felt her obsession grow.

She felt guilty about it— yet every day when she put the coat on, she knew what she was doing, what she was choosing to do. Once she wore it, she lost the capacity to think straight, but she was clear headed until she put it on. At first, she’d believed that by indulging the strange fantasy, she’d eventually get it out of her system. Instead, she’d been feeding it, cultivating it into an obsession.

And each day she put the coat on, she put it on knowing it was only going to increase her obsession. She knew she was making the wrong choice, and yet she chose to wear it anyway. Even if she didn’t know what all the consequences would be, she knew they wouldn’t be good… and yet, she wore it anyway: wore it and lost hours and days sitting on the floor of her closet, naked underneath.

And afterwards she could always tell herself she was overreacting… it was only a harmless fixation. There would be no consequences. She wasn’t risking anything.

That all changed the day of the luncheon.

It was about a month and a half after buying the fur. For months, she’d known the luncheon was coming up. It was a fundraiser luncheon for one of the charities her committee supported; she and the other committee members had done a lot of work to set it up.

The morning of, she dressed herself properly, and carefully avoided looking at the coat— as she always did when she had somewhere to be. But that morning, she remembered Stephanie’s snide comments about charity luncheons. What if she wore the coat to the luncheon? Wouldn’t that be some kind of karma? Not that Stephanie would know. But it would sure be ironic.

Some three hours later, her clothes discarded, and having sunk onto the floor once again wearing the fur, Mark found her in the closet.

“Clarissa,” he exclaimed, shaking her out of her stupor. “Are you alright?”

“Mmm...fine. What time is it?” Clarissa asked, groggily. It was like waking from a dream.

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” Mark said, with a frown. “Have you been here all day?”

“No,” Clarissa said, shaking her head as she stood. “It can’t be. It was only five to eleven when I came in here, and I’m just about to go down to the car and drive to the fundraiser. It starts at twelve, so if I arrive by around eleven thirty—”

With a roll of his eyes, Mark undid the clasp on his luxury wristwatch, and held it out to Clarissa.

Her eyes widened. Sure enough, the watch hands pointed to two o’clock.

“It can’t be,” she said, even though she knew the watch was right. “I only stopped for a moment—“

Mark was giving her a strange look. “Clarissa… have you just been sitting on the floor of your closet for the last three hours? Wearing that fur?”

Clarissa swallowed. She’d wanted to keep it a secret… she’d successfully kept it a secret from him. Now, she had no choice but to come clean.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s what I was doing.”

Mark stared. “Clarissa, why? Why would you skip a charity luncheon to sit in your closet?”

Clarissa’s cheeks burned hot— but this part of it she couldn’t explain. She just shook her head, with a shrug.

“Everyone asked where you were,” Mark snapped. “It’s so unlike you— you never skip a fundraiser, or any other charity events for that matter. Even when it’s not your committee throwing them. And we agreed I’d meet you there. You knew I had an appointment this morning first, before— you stood up your own husband in front of the entire community! I had to lie to cover for you!”

Clarissa was startled by Mark’s tone of voice. He never snapped at her, let alone shouted. He was usually a patient and forgiving man.

“I’m sorry,” Clarissa said. “It won’t happen again.”

She tried to be more careful after that. But over the following two weeks, the more she wore the coat, the harder it became to keep control of herself, to keep track of time.

Mark had noticed this change in her, too.

After the first time he caught her, he caught her several more times. Clarissa had gotten too sloppy to stop herself in time for his arriving home. More than once, he came home at the end of the day only to find Clarissa was again sitting in the closet, wearing the fur.

That became the thing that woke her up, drawing her back out of the haze to herself. And when he came to find her there, invariably his voice was softer than normal— as if he needed to be careful with her, as if her sanity had become a delicate thing.

This was a scenario Clarissa kept finding herself in.

“Honey,” Mark would say, “Is this all you’ve done today?”

To which Clarissa would flush, and mumble, “Maybe.”

Each consecutive time Mark caught her snuggled inside the fur coat on the closet floor, he seemed more unfazed by this response.

Around the fifth time they had this conversation, he looked down on her for a long minute, as if trying to decide the safest thing to say next. At last, he settled on, “Are you sick?”

Clarissa shook her head weakly.

“Are you sure?” He pressed. “I could take you to the doctor— or we could have the doctor come here. Or, maybe… a psychiatrist.”

“No, Mark,” Clarissa insisted. “I’m fine. I just like this coat, that’s all.”

Mark pursed his lips, as if biting back a more dangerous response. “There’s nothing wrong with that, but… you’ve been wearing it a lot lately. Maybe you could give it a break for awhile, huh?”

He gave her his good-natured, boyish smile, but it couldn’t quite cover the worry in his eyes.

At the idea of taking a break from wearing the coat, even for just a few days, Clarissa bristled. “Why?”

“You’ve just,” he paused. “Been wearing it a lot. It’s starting to worry me.”

“Is it a crime to wear a coat more than once?” Clarissa snapped. Internally, she was equally as surprised by this outburst as Mark looked.

“No, but,” he said, drawing out the word as his brow furrowed. “You’ve never done this with any of your other coats, and you’ve been buying them for years.”

“I already told you, I just like this coat. Don’t you listen?”

Mark frowned. “It’s fine to like a coat, but… it shouldn’t consume your whole life.”

Clarissa felt a particularly nasty response rising inside her, and couldn’t stop it in time. “You mean it shouldn’t inconvenience your life. I know I’ve missed events since I’ve bought this coat. And I know you’ve had to go without me on your arm. How hard that must be for you,” she snapped.

Mark stiffened.

“Don’t be stupid, Clarissa,” he snapped back. “This isn’t about me— it’s about you, about this— oh, never mind! Forget it.” He turned and strode from the room. She lay alone, hugging the fur against her body.

As they repeated variations of the same interaction over the course of the next days and weeks, Mark’s attitude to her seemed to shift more quickly from worry to anger. Soon, the routine changed again. Clarissa would come out of the haze to find Mark standing over her. She would feel a twist of guilt, and then find she’d woken into the middle of a repeating argument.

“Again, Clarissa?! Did you waste another day on this?”

To which she could only say, “Yes.”

“For the love of God, Clarissa, are you on drugs?”

“What? Of course not.”

“If you’re not sick,” he said through clenched teeth. “Then why are you spacing out and losing time? Are you depressed?”

“No! I just love this coat.”

“That’s crazy. You must be hiding drugs. I should’ve seen it sooner. Why else would you sit and stare off into space? Turn out your pockets.”

“Fine,” she said, turning her coat-pockets inside-out. “Satisfied?”

“No,” he said. “Where are they, Clarissa?”

He ransacked the closet, tossing aside folded cardigans, opening and dumping out shoe boxes. He checked pouches and hanging handbags. It wasn’t the last time he did this either. Every time he caught her, he would make a cursory, almost aggressive search of her personal closet.

At first, she could only stare in disbelief. But with each recurring incident, she would stand up, and scream at him to stop acting crazy.

“I’m the crazy one?!” he would shout back. “Me? You have a problem. You’re disappearing into this—this whatever it is.”

“I’m not on drugs!” she’d say.

“Then what is it?” he’d say, emptying the contents of her make-up case. Then, more pleading: “Just tell me.”

Her eyes filled with tears every time. She couldn’t explain it. She didn’t understand it herself.

He’d huff and storm out, then, leaving her closet a mess. The next time they saw each other after such conflicts, Mark would softly explain that he didn’t understand. He wanted to, but she wouldn’t help him. How could she just sit there, wearing the coat inside the house? How was that a good use of her time?

The arguments became more frequent, more eruptive, and they went nowhere. At first, they ended with Clarissa’s strained promise to stop wearing the coat. But as the arguments became common, they concluded with impasses. Mark’s unstoppable frustration and Clarissa’s immovable addiction to the fur coat.

They had never had such a rough period in their relationship. It dragged on for weeks, and even on the rare days they didn’t fight, they sat in a stiff silence that threatened to break into a new argument. When they attended events together, neither of their smiles reached their eyes, and neither interacted with the other more than necessary. They stopped having sex— then stopped sleeping in the same bed.

One day after work, Mark shook Clarissa from her dazed state in the closet and yanked her to her feet.

“What—?”

“That’s it, Clarissa,” He said, pulling at her coat with his rough hands. “You’re getting rid of it.”

“No!” She shouted, struggling away from him, slapping at his hands.

“Clarissa, you have a problem.” Mark sighed. “This is not healthy behavior.”

“I can do whatever I want with my free time,” Clarissa snapped, her grip tight on the fur. “You are not taking this coat away from me. It’s my property. Mine!” The last word was a shriek, and Mark was startled by her scream.

“Fine,” he growled, letting go of the coat. “Since you’d clearly rather waste your life. I hope it’s worth it.” He left her alone.

The next evening, Clarissa came into her bedroom to find Mark was waiting on their formerly shared bed.

“Have you come to argue?” Clarissa asked, her voice testy.

“I came to apologize,” Mark said. He shifted in place, so he was seated with his back against the headboard. “I know I’ve been short with you lately— and that’s not okay. Maybe you were right, when you said I don’t like being inconvenienced. People have noticed your absences, and I haven’t liked that— or the way it reflects on me, on you, or on us as a couple. It’s been inconvenient, covering for you. Maybe I’ve let that frustration influence how I speak to you lately. You don’t like it, and, frankly, I don’t like hearing myself talk like that either.”

Clarissa softened. She sat carefully on the edge of the bed as Mark continued.

“But you have to understand, Clarissa,” Mark said, with a note of desperation in his voice. “I’ve been losing my mind over you. I have no idea what’s wrong, and no idea how to help you; and I feel helpless. It’s like I’m watching you check out. Some nights I can hardly sleep, I’m so worried. And every time I try to get through to you, or offer you help, you bite my head off. I’m scared I’m going to lose you.”

Clarissa swallowed, and gave a nod. She shifted an inch up the bed, closer to him.

“You’re not going to lose me,” she said with a sad smile. “I’m sorry for how I’ve behaved. I don’t know why I’m zoning out like this. Maybe I am ‘checking out.’ But I’m not depressed. And I’m definitely not on drugs.”

“So what do you think it is?”

She could’ve told him. About the heated fantasies that grew hotter in her imagination with each passing day. She thought about wearing the fur naked in front of Stephanie. Of touching the fur exactly as she would tell her to. Of doing anything she said. But they were just fantasies. He wouldn’t understand. It would only make things worse.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But we can figure it out. Together.”

“Ever since you got that coat—”

“Don’t blame the coat,” she warned. “I think it’s all the stress I’ve been under. I’ve been putting together every charity luncheon and auction for my committee this past year. The bulk of the workload always falls on me. If anything, this coat is helping me through the stress. Maybe I need a break from the committee. Should I tell them, or would that be inconvenient?”

He drew in a breath.

“It would be easier,” he said in a measured tone. “Easier to have a blanket reason, than for me to have to make one up each time. But they might think you’re in rehab or something like that. Can you meet me halfway? Make an appearance with me just every now and then.”

“Okay,” she said, genuinely smiling. “I think I can do that.”

Mark exhaled, the tightness in his body easing. He shifted forward from the headboard, closer to the center of the bed now. “Thank you. Just… maybe you could cut back a little. You love the coat, you like having time to yourself— great. I’ve always supported that. I always will. But maybe it’s time to reintroduce a little balance to your life, yeah? What is it they say? All play, and no work—”

“You’ve got it backwards,” Clarissa corrected, but there was a smile on her face and her tone was affectionate.

“Well, thank god you’re here to set me straight,” Mark said, in a low voice, and Clarissa felt something sparking in her heart. He had moved again, and was now right beside Clarissa. Then his hand went to her chin, and he was tipping her lips up to his.

The familiarity of the kiss made Clarissa realize just how long it had been since they’d last done this. When Mark pulled back to breathe, “I’ve missed you,” Clarissa was thinking exactly the same thing, too.

She leaned forward, to close the distance between them again, and the kiss became more passionate. For once, they were on the same page, hands and arms getting tangled as they clumsily tried to undress each other.

“Sorry,” Clarissa said, and it was half a laugh. “Why don’t you change out here— I’ll just undress quickly in my closet.”

She stepped back into it, intending only to take her clothes off and put them away. But once this was done, she saw the coat hanging there… by now, even the sight of it was enough to get her gushing between the legs. Before she knew it, she was putting the coat on her naked body.

She felt the need again. It pulsed through her in waves. She’d never been more ready to have sex.

She threw the door of the closet open, and made strides to the bed. When Mark heard her step back into the room, he turned to her with an eager expression. But when he saw the coat, his expression soured— if Clarissa hadn’t been so far into the coat’s hold, she might have felt a twinge of guilt. As it was, she felt nothing but impatience.

“What?” she said, moving to straddle Mark’s lap.

“Stop,” he said, holding her back. “We just talked about this— you all but agreed to cut back, and now you’re bringing it into our bed just after we’ve reconciled?”

“Cut back? Yes, on the charity work,” she said.

“On the coat, too!” he said.

Clarissa stared back. “The day I brought it home— you didn’t mind my wearing it then.” Her voice was husky with arousal.

Mark seemed thrown by the comment. “That was different— it was exciting, because you wanted me so badly you didn’t even stop to undress. You went out of your way to put the coat on this time. And once was alright— but... fur isn’t really something I’m into, Clarissa. Mixing fur… and sex… just seems… weird, on its own. But given it’s this coat specifically…” He frowned, his face paling as if he might be sick. “I can’t do it like this… take the coat off Clarissa, or I can’t… I can’t do this.”

Even through the heat burning in her body, Clarissa felt regret. Reluctantly, she removed the coat.

But once it was off her body, it was like someone had turned a bucket of ice water over her head. The idea of sex—completely naked—with her husband felt like a chore.

“Sorry,” she said, flatly. “I’m not in the mood.”

A look of hurt passed over Mark’s face— and then hurt gave way to anger.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling his pants back on and taking back his shirt. “I should’ve figured. You can’t do anything without that coat. Now I know that includes being with me. Do you even care anymore?”

“Oh really?” Clarissa fired back, touching the fur with her fingertips. “You have a hot wife ready to go, and you have to have it your way.”

“Listen to yourself,” he said, before storming out of the room. “Take a look in the mirror.”

Not a bad idea, she thought, approaching the nearest one.

“Who’s Stephanie?”

Clarissa jumped— suddenly, Mark was behind her. She could see him in the mirror, and turned to face him. She hadn’t seen him since the previous night’s travesty.

“What do you mean, ‘Who’s Stephanie?’”

“You were, uh, moaning her name just now,” Mark said, crossing his arms.

“No, I wasn’t,” Clarissa said in a higher pitch than usual, her head slunk between her shoulders as she avoided looking at Mark. “I don’t know any Stephanies.”

The idea of moaning Stephanie’s name, and stroking the fur coat, without even knowing she was doing it… she clenched her thighs together.

“Fine,” Mark said. “I don’t even want to know. Just. Listen. I got us tickets for the opera tomorrow night. I thought I’d give you enough notice. Maybe you’ll have a better chance of coming back out of your “nothing,” in time to actually show up.”

“Okay, fine,” she said, holding the fur coat closed. He’d almost seen her naked beneath it.

“No, I think you need to hear this. If—” Mark said, steeling himself. “If you care about our marriage at all— please show up. It starts at seven. I’ll meet you there after work. If you don’t come— well, then I’ll know you care more about nothing than you do about me. That’s all.”

The next day, Clarissa made sure to set an alarm. She would meet Mark at the opera. She would show him she still cared. She spent the day like she always did, letting her mind drift away into pleasure, but when the alarm went off at five, it returned her to consciousness.

She planned to stand and dress, but a different idea whispered its way into her mind. What if… she wore the coat to the opera… and nothing else? No one would guess what she was wearing underneath… maybe not even Mark… but she’d be sitting there creaming herself the whole show.

Before she knew it, she was rushing downstairs to the taxi, wearing only the fur.

When the taxi dropped her outside the opera house, she saw Mark waiting. For a moment his eyes lit up, but when they settled on the coat, they hardened.

He extended a stiff arm to her, and she took it. That same stiffness was between them as they ascended to the lobby. He stopped suddenly.

“We’re not going in there,” he whispered firmly.

“Huh?” Clarissa asked. “What about—?”

He put his hands on her fur-covered shoulders and steered her to the nearest restroom. Ohh. Were they going to have a quickie before the show? That’d be exciting.

Once inside the bathroom, he released her abruptly, and locked the door. He turned back to her, and her hands uncertainly reached for his cummerbund. He swatted her hand away and yanked her coat open— exposing her.

His eyes narrowed. Then, his shoulders slumped and he sighed. He bent his head. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I get it. You thought I wouldn’t notice you naked in that?”

“I did it for you—” Clarissa said.

He put up his hand.

“This is exactly—” Mark inhaled. “Exactly like the last time I wanted to do something with you. You are really something. I don’t know how you could be so—so brazen.”

She paused. That was a word she’d used to describe someone else. Someone on her mind a lot lately.

“God forbid you spend one night out with your husband,” he continued. “One night without—that thing. The only way you can sit through an evening like tonight is if you’re naked under that fucking thing and getting off on the exhibitionism.”

“No, it’s not like that!” Clarissa protested, feeling familiar tears welling up.

“Oh yeah? Explain, then. No more lying.”

Why did he always have to do this to her? To make her feel guilty for enjoying her fur coat? He wanted her to be dependent on him for release.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t care anymore— you love that thing more than me.”

She opened her mouth to argue again, but he shook his head again.

“Please, Clarissa. Don’t. Just go.”

The journey home was a half-forgotten blur. Once there, Clarissa made it up to her bed almost without noticing. She drifted towards sleep, through a half-hearted fumbling attempt at masturbation. What’s happening to me? She thought, drowsily. Then she fell asleep right there, in her fur coat.