The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When she woke on Sunday morning, Clarissa’s first thought had been to put the coat on again, but when she stepped into her closet she noticed immediately that it was missing. Then, she remembered falling asleep in it. Oh no. He didn’t.

“Mark!” She shrieked. “Mark!”

She rushed down the hall to the guest room he’d repurposed as his bedroom. She jumped onto his sleeping form, shaking him roughly.

“Wake up, asshole! Where did you put it? Mark!”

“Get off me,” he mumbled. “Calm down. Jesus.”

“Tell me where you put it!” Clarissa spat. “Mark, that coat is MINE. You have NO RIGHT to hide my property from me! That is controlling— cruel behavior— you have no right!”

Mark caught Clarissa by the arms, to stop her hitting at him. “I did it for your own good, Clarissa. If you won’t go to a doctor— if you won’t get help, or let me help you, then you’re not giving me much choice.”

“Oh, and you know best?” she said, struggling against his grip. “What if I took away your motorcycles? Or your Bourbon collection?”

“For one, I wouldn’t attack you,” he said with a soft, wavering voice. “You need to get away from that thing. You’ll get over it. We can go back to normal.”

“You son of a bitch,” she said, her voice low in anger. “Did you throw away my fur coat?”

At the wild-eyed panic in Clarissa’s eyes, Mark recoiled.

“No!” he said. “I just hid it. Somewhere temporary, so you can wear it at a pace we agree on. You agreed to cut back. That’s all this is. I’m helping you. I’m removing the temptation.”

Clarissa twisted free of Mark’s grip, and grabbed him by the shirt. “Give it back. Now. I don’t need your goddamn help. It’s my decision when I wear the coat— and no one else’s!”

Even Clarissa could hear the hysteria in her voice. Mark looked shaken by her outburst; if she looked anything like she sounded, Clarissa couldn’t blame him. It probably didn’t help that she still had bed hair.

“Alright, Clarissa,” Mark said. “Let go, and I’ll get it.”

Clarissa did, her eyes tracking Mark as he stood and went to the guest room’s wardrobe. When he produced Clarissa’s coat, she bolted for it, snatched it off the hanger, and cradled it.

“You win,” he said, deflated.

She sighed, feeling relief flood her already.

“I really didn’t want it to come to this,” he said. “I’m going on a business retreat tomorrow. I’ll be gone all week. When I get back, if that coat’s not gone, it’s over.”

True to his word, Mark left on Monday. “Remember what I said,” he told her before he left. Then he pressed a stiff kiss to her cheek and walked out. Once left alone, there was nothing for Clarissa to do but face herself.

She loved the coat. She always would. But maybe it wasn’t worth keeping if it meant losing her marriage.

Maybe she could hide it from him? No. That hadn’t gone well. She told herself she could take it off in time, but Mark was always faster, able to catch her. And he’d certainly be keeping an eye out from now on.

But she couldn’t just… throw it out. Not when it was so perfect for her. Not when it had cost so much money. Not when it gave her so much pleasure that Mark couldn’t.

This would be hard. She had to get used to not wearing it anymore. She had to leave it hanging in the closet for a few days, to see if she could go without. Cold turkey.

Without the coat on, she felt unnaturally cold. She barely made it to Tuesday, trembling and shivering beneath a mountain of blankets she put over herself. She hardly had the energy, the willpower, to do anything else. She spent the entirety of both Monday and Tuesday lying in emotional torment, crying. The only thing she wanted to do was get up and put the coat back on.

It made her feel overtired, too. She’d sleep twelve hours but wake up feeling like she hadn’t slept at all.

But. It was all for Mark. And if she made it to Friday, then he would know she truly cared for him, for their marriage.

On Wednesday, she opened her eyes and lay in bed for two hours. She was drained. Exhausted. Her limbs were kitten weak and heavy. There was no reason to get out of bed.

Every five minutes, she pondered going over to the closet and just slipping into the fur coat: giving in to the urge. Why was she even doing this?

Mark.

He had no idea what he was asking of her. She was starting to resent him.

But she didn’t cry that day. That was an improvement. She was in an emotionless, blank state: staring at the walls, at the ceiling. She wondered if this house, this bedroom, this lifestyle were even worth saving.

Mark.

She loved him. Even if her desire for him had all but evaporated over the past two months. They’d been in rough patches before and made it work. She settled into the fog of memory: how he spent three months working long days on the Kleidermann account. When she was sick for a week with the superflu, and he dropped everything to take care of her. Their first Christmas together. He’d bought her first fur coat.

On Thursday, the urge was stronger than it had ever been. She got out of bed, and fighting the magnetic pull toward the closet. She even took several steps in that direction, before stopping herself.

Clarissa needed someone to physically tie her down. Or maybe just to talk to.

She went to her phone. It would buy her at least ten minutes of distraction. She cycled through her list of contacts. They were all people from her committee. Family members. Close friends. People who were too close to her and Mark, who wouldn’t be able to resist judging her for the situation she’d put her marriage in. People who wouldn’t understand. Nobody she could confide in without rumors spreading, or social repercussions.

None of her friends even liked fur. And she hadn’t spoken with any of them in weeks. Not since she’d self-isolated with the fur coat, not since she’d neglected her social life for her fur addiction. There’d be too many questions.

In some ways, everything that had happened to her struck her as absurd. If it had happened to someone else instead of her, and they’d told her about it, she would have laughed at how ridiculous it sounded. But it was happening to her… and she needed to resist.

She twisted and itched uncomfortably on the bed. She watched six hours of a sitcom on her phone and went to sleep. One more day.

Clarissa woke up Friday feeling better than she had in some time. Today was the day. If she made it just a few more hours, she’d be safe in Mark’s arms. She could proudly tell him that she’d kicked the habit, that she’d gotten rid—Oh.

She had been so concerned with resisting the urge to wear the fur coat, she’d forgotten about disposing it. That meant she had to go to the closet.

Just one look, she told herself as she walked. Just one look. She leaned against the open door frame, turning the light on. The sight of it was a balm of relief. She stared for a minute— then told herself to turn away and close the door.

Clarissa was relieved when she did just that. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

She sat on the bed. She’d done it. She’d resisted. And now, she had an idea: Stephanie could take the coat back. Of course. Why didn’t she think of it sooner? Stephanie could take it back into her collection and that would be the end of this whole ordeal. She could even keep the money.

Clarissa remembered their first meeting and how much she’d disliked Stephanie. Remembered Stephanie insulting her philanthropic lifestyle. Remembered her presuming that Clarissa either had a fur fetish or was a charity hypocrite.

But that was before Stephanie had sold her the coat. Before their strange interaction. After that, Clarissa thought it just possible they could have been friends in another life. Stephanie would have been the kind of friend you warned your other friends about. ‘She’s a little rough around the edges,’ or ‘She speaks her mind, so be careful.’ They could even have gone fur shopping together. Stephanie could have been someone to share Clarissa’s fur collecting hobby with. Someone to make her feel less alone in her hobby.

Oh well. It had all gone differently.

Despite her dislike, Clarissa had to admit that Stephanie knew her way around a fur coat. She’d taught Clarissa the right way to take it in her hands, helped her to fully appreciate it, to wear it so sensually that it made her gasp. The memory of that afternoon with Stephanie still made Clarissa wet just thinking about it. It made her hotter than anything Mark had ever done in their many years of marriage.

But this was absurd. She had to get rid of the coat, or her marriage was over. She had to give up this strange, hot fantasy. And she hated Stephanie anyway. Didn’t she?

If she did, why was she moaning her name that time Mark caught her? She’d forgotten about that. How had that happened?

With a sigh, Clarissa got up from the bed. She’d wasted a half-hour already. She had to get dressed. That was the first step of many on this busy day. She’d have to call Stephanie, and ask her to take back her fur coat. Then, she would have dinner with Mark and they’d have a long talk. They’d get their marriage back like it had been before.

She went to the closet and opened the door. There it was, hanging in the center of her closet. Her eyes widened. It was so glossy, so rich, and inviting. An old lover, tempting her, promising her one last, soft thrill. She took a step toward it.

If I return it to Stephanie, she reasoned. I’ll have to hand it to her. I’ll have to touch it anyway. And I was able to stand here and look at it without losing control. I’ve already proven I’m stronger than the coat… so really, if I wanted to touch it one last time… that wouldn’t be bad…

Clarissa took another step. Then, another. She stood before it, and reached a trembling hand toward the lapel. She pulled back. She was still in her silk bathrobe and needed to get dressed. That was all she was here to do.

But, she thought. I can safely touch it…

She did, before she could stop herself. Her hand greedily ran itself over the thick fur, her fingers getting lost in the folds. Her palm, then the back of her hand, alternated over its softness.

There. Nothing bad happened. And if I can touch it without getting addicted, then I can hold it in both hands. I’m still just touching it.

She took a deep breath and hugged it against her body, burying her face in the thick fur, inhaling the musky scent. It was even better than she remembered.

It’s already off the hanger. I’m holding it and I’ve been strong all week. I’ll wear it one last time, then I’ll call Stephanie to take it away from me forever. Just for a minute, then I’ll take it back off...

She slipped it on over her bathrobe, and turned to her mirror.

Clarissa swallowed. Immediately, she felt her pussy gushing from between her legs. The sight alone was more than enough to turn her on.

But she only stood there looking for a moment… and then another idea occurred to her. She could take the coat back off, slip out of her bathrobe, and then wear it naked… again… Just for a second… she was already wearing it, anyway. What could an extra second hurt?

She took the coat off again, along with the bathrobe, and then put it back on her naked body. Skin to skin with the coat… skin to skin, by proxy, with the previous owner of the coat…

The feeling of soft weight settling over her was so much clearer when there were no other fabrics in the way. Clarissa couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. She didn’t feel cold anymore— not tired, or shaky either. Everything was right with the world again— and, then, in what she told herself was an accident, her arm slipped— and one cuff of the coat brushed against her naked hip, the coat having fallen open to expose it. She gasped at the sensation.

She’d never done that with the coat— never felt its exterior against her bare skin, and it made her shiver all over again. She repeated it, brushing her hip again. She turned the action into a sequence, but each brushing of the cuff against her skin moved an inch closer to her center. Eventually, she was just brushing the cuff directly against her pussy, feeling the fine fur tickling her and kissing at her clit.

She watched with hungry eyes as she masturbated herself with the coat sleeve— and her other hand traced up and down the front of the coat just the way Stephanie had instructed her.

The image of Clarissa was a picture of pure wantonness. She could see the lust taking her over, overriding her right mind and consuming her. She was becoming an animal before her very eyes, riding the coat sleeve, and streaking her other hand down over the fur in a frenzy. She was caught in the moment, the pleasure growing ever higher, but never reaching a peak.

As she looked in the mirror, she imagined Stephanie over her shoulder, nodding encouragingly, smiling tantalizingly. She could almost see her there. And she wanted Stephanie to see her wear the coat this last time. More than that, she was seized with a sudden inspiration: she wanted to see Stephanie in fur.

Clarissa dragged herself away from the mirror, the broken promise of slipping out of her coat already forgotten. She went through her closet. It occurred to her that she’d gone a long time without looking at the other coats she had; her old favorites. She didn’t find anything of interest among them, but for old time’s sake, she went to her other closets.

As Clarissa filed through her collection, across multiple closets, she found it unexpectedly.

She had a fine coat made of thick silver fox fur, but she’d never worn it much. She’d bought it for the softness of the texture. But, in trying it on around the house and checking herself in the mirror, she had eventually relegated it to a more distant closet. It didn’t suit her complexion.

But when she saw it now, it struck her differently. This coat had not suited her, but it would suit Stephanie. Just as the dark brown fur set off Clarissa’s hair, this gray fur would set off Stephanie’s shade of blonde, and it would complement her skin tone. It seemed a waste to keep it for herself when she could hardly wear it.

That was the thought she allowed herself to think, but she had deeper thoughts, too. That she would be wearing what had belonged to Stephanie, and Stephanie would be wearing what had belonged to her. And they would be skin to skin by proxy— and the gray and the dark brown would complement each other if they wore them together… She wanted Stephanie to have it— She would look good in it. She should have it.

At the very least, she rationalized, she could see Stephanie in her silver fox coat while Clarissa wore the brown fur. One last thrill before Clarissa gave back the coat, she promised herself.

Clarissa ran her fingers once more through the silver fur, and thought about the two differently colored furs pressed against one another. In the heat of that fantasy, that last little promise burned away, forgotten like all the others.

Clenching her thighs together so hard they hurt, Clarissa finally gave Stephanie a call.

“It’s good to see you again, dear,” Stephanie said, when Clarissa let her into the house. Clarissa had worn her coat to the door, and when Stephanie saw her in it, her eyes sharpened in interest. “So you like my fur,” she observed.

Hearing Stephanie use the possessive to refer to it made Clarissa swallow hard. Maybe she hadn’t been so wrong when she’d hoped— when she’d thought that in some roundabout way, she belonged to Stephanie too.

“I like it,” Clarissa admitted, in a breathy whisper. “I like it so much.”

Stephanie considered her. “Is anyone else here, Clarissa?”

Clarissa shook her head. “My husband’s out of town. He won’t be back for several hours.”

Stephanie crossed the threshold, closing the door firmly behind her.

“He wants me to give the coat back,” Clarissa managed, her heart beating wildly. “Today. Or he’ll leave me.”

“Does he?” Stephanie said, now standing in Clarissa’s foyer. “And do you want to?”

“I—I should—”

“Tell the truth,” Stephanie said. “It’s just us girls here.”

“No,” Clarissa said, feeling a weight lift off her as she confessed. “He’s jealous. I wear it almost every day… I sit and I wear it… and it feels just like the first day. You... telling me to touch myself again.”

Stephanie’s eyes widened slightly, and she stood still in place for a second. Then she evaluated Clarissa, and said, “Show me what you have on underneath.”

Clarissa was naked beneath the coat, and she had hidden this exact view from her own husband too many times to count. He’d only seen her naked in it that time she’d tried to wear it during sex, and the previous week, at the opera, when he’d exposed her in the locked bathroom. Every other time he’d found Clarissa sitting in her closet, she’d always been careful to keep the coat closed, and her nakedness hidden.

But she didn’t feel ashamed to show Stephanie— she knew Stephanie would understand. At the thought of showing her, she was curious to see where it would lead.

Clarissa opened the coat, exposing her naked body to Stephanie’s sight. Stephanie’s eyes darkened in lust when she saw.

“Show me what this is doing to you,” Stephanie added, stepping closer. “Spread yourself for me,” she instructed, quietly, still not touching Clarissa. Shakily, Clarissa moved her hand to her inner lips, spreading them for Stephanie. Clarissa knew the lights in the foyer left no chance of Stephanie missing the lubrication there.

“And you’re not a fur fetishist,” Stephanie said, with a titter of laughter.

Clarissa blushed— she couldn’t plausibly make that claim now.

“But you are lovely,” Stephanie said at last, her voice soft. “You obeyed me so well, that first day… and you’ve been obeying me ever since, haven’t you?” That piercing look was back in Stephanie’s eyes, and Clarissa felt shy again. She could only nod.

Stephanie looked back to Clarissa’s exposed pussy. After another minute, she spoke. “You can drop your hand now,” she said.

Clarissa did, but she’d gotten very drunk on the feeling of Stephanie’s eyes in her hidden places. And it was doing something to her to have Stephanie so close to her— here, in her waking life, and not only in her memories, or the drifting hazy place she slipped into when she put the coat on. She couldn’t properly think with Stephanie standing there. Instead, she said, “I have something I want to show you.” And then it was her turn to lead Stephanie back through her house.

She led her to the second floor, and down halls to the closet she knew held the coat. Stephanie followed her patiently, saying nothing as she walked. At last, they reached it, and Clarissa opened the door. She’d left the coat of silver fox fur hanging in the center of the bar, and she reached in and took the wooden hanger in hand. She turned back around, so Stephanie could see it.

“That is a beautiful piece,” Stephanie remarked, but Clarissa could tell by the look in her eyes that she didn’t understand exactly why Clarissa was showing it to her.

Clarissa held it out. “I want you to have it.”

It was such a simple confession, but with it she was saying more than the words themselves. She was offering something of her own to Stephanie and asking Stephanie to accept— she wanted Stephanie to be linked to her in the way she was linked to Stephanie, through the coat she’d bought from her.

She wanted them both to belong to each other. In asking Stephanie to accept the coat, Clarissa was at the same time offering herself up to the other woman’s ownership— she was admitting that she already belonged to her.

All of that would have been too much to say out loud. Clarissa could only pray it was coming through in her voice.

There was a look of dawning understanding in Stephanie’s eyes, and Clarissa noticed it. But Stephanie didn’t express it verbally. “You’d like to sell it to me?”

“I want to give it to you,” Clarissa said solemnly. A whispered confession. “I want you to take it, and I want you to wear it.”

Stephanie arched an eyebrow at her. “You’d like me to wear it. While you’re wearing yours.”

“Yes,” Clarissa breathed.

“Would you like me to be naked underneath, too?”

The thought alone made Clarissa dizzy on her feet. Stephanie caught her by the arm and she realized she’d nearly lost her balance because of it.

Stephanie stepped closer to her, her hand meeting Clarissa’s hand over the hanger. Her lips were just a few inches away from Clarissa’s. “What if I wore mine, and you wore yours— would you let me touch you then?”

Clarissa couldn’t answer. The image in her head was shorting out her mind… Stephanie touching her… Stephanie actually touching her, not by proxy, but with her own two hands…

“If we wore them together?” Clarissa repeated softly.

The curve of a smile from Stephanie— “Yes. And if we did, would you ever want to take your coat off again?”

“No,” Clarissa said, shaking her head fervently. “Never.”

Stephanie smiled at her again. She took the hanger from Clarissa’s hand, and before Clarissa’s hungry eyes, stripped out of her blouse and skirt. She was firm and athletic. Her waxed body seemed to glow. It contrasted with the soft fur coat she wore. Clarissa shivered with the knowledge; they were almost skin to skin now.

The image of Stephanie in silver fox fur was even more striking than the image of Clarissa’s reflection in the mirror. And Clarissa felt strange as she looked at Stephanie. She hadn’t much liked the silver fur coat before. She’d barely remembered that she had it. But it suited Stephanie perfectly. It had been overwhelming and large on Clarissa, but it sat thick and majestic on Stephanie’s shoulders. The fur was soft, but angular, accentuating Stephanie’s sharp facial features. The collar was imperiously high and dark around the back of Stephanie’s head. When she pulled her long blonde hair free, draping it over her shoulder, Clarissa realized the coat’s darkness complemented Stephanie even better than she imagined. More importantly, Clarissa’s hands were itching to streak over it.

Stephanie stepped to the nearest mirror and admired herself in front of it, straightening the coat over her front and pulling it closed.

“Go ahead,” Stephanie’s reflection said, grinning at Clarissa. “You may touch me.”

Clarissa was glad Stephanie had given her permission, because she wasn’t sure that she could have kept from doing it otherwise. Her hands touched down on the fur, and she couldn’t help but sigh at the texture. It was even softer than her own coat, and she ran her hands over it carefully. She caressed the collar, bringing it to rest against Stephanie’s face. She ran her hands over the shoulders and down the sleeves. She realized halfway through that she was touching Stephanie’s fur (she was already thinking of it as Stephanie’s fur) in the same way Stephanie had taught her to stroke her own in front of the mirror.

A long time passed like this, and Stephanie didn’t interrupt her. Clarissa swirled new patterns into the fur, painfully aware that she was touching Stephanie, and Stephanie was feeling the impressions Clarissa was leaving from the inside of the coat, on her naked skin. In her peripheral vision, she saw herself swathed in the brown fur, seeming desperate and fawning, her hands greedily touching all over the other woman’s coat.

Clarissa could feel lubrication streaking the insides of her thighs.

She couldn’t stop touching it. She never wanted to stop touching it. She wanted to go on touching Stephanie forever. Distantly, in the back of her mind, she tried to tell herself it was only about the coat— it was a well-made coat, or she really admired the color— but she knew none of the excuses were true. She was touching the coat because it was Stephanie’s— it was a perfect match to her. She was touching the coat to touch Stephanie. That was the truth, and there was no getting away from it.

“I must say, you have an excellent taste in fur, dear,” Stephanie said, breaking Clarissa’s reverie. She looked down at the coat.

“You’ll make an excellent addition to my collection,” she added, running her hand over the fur; but her hand brushed Clarissa’s when she did, and for that second of contact, Clarissa wondered if Stephanie was really addressing the coat, and not her.

“When you come over,” Stephanie said. “You must be sure to bring all your other furs as well. This one will obviously be a special favorite of mine, but I’m sure you have impeccable taste. It would be a shame to split your carefully curated collection up.”

Clarissa frowned, not understanding. “When I come over? I’m—I’m supposed to wait for Mark. I’m supposed to give you—what time is it? I have to—”

“You said you would never want take your coat off again,” Stephanie said, patiently. “Remember?”

Had she? So much had happened in the past half-hour. So many contradicting thoughts and feelings. She was supposed to do something, but she really wanted to do its opposite.

She realized Stephanie was standing directly in front of her.

“Tell me, could you imagine removing your coat now?”

Clarissa tried to picture it— tried to imagine what it would feel like to want the coat to come off her body. She remembered the long, painful week she’d endured. The pain. The tears. The shivering cold. She’d have to suffer all over again if she wanted to take off the coat.

“No,” Clarissa said. “I’m never taking it off again.”

“And what about your husband?” Stephanie said, stepping closer. “Didn’t you tell me that he’d leave you if you were still wearing my coat?”

There it was again, the shudder at hearing Stephanie say my coat. It truly was hers.

“If you come home with me,” Stephanie continued, tracing a line over Clarissa’s shoulder. “You’d never have to take off your fur. More than that, I would always wear my fur for you. Could you imagine me taking this off right now?”

“No!” Clarissa said, surprising herself. “Please don’t.”

Stephanie let out a peal of laughter. “I thought so. Well, if you prefer to wear your coat as much as possible, and you prefer me to wear mine…” Her hands settled possessively on Clarissa’s shoulders. “Wouldn’t you say these two are a matching set? Wouldn’t you say they belong together?”

Slowly, Clarissa nodded. Again, she wasn’t sure if Stephanie was talking about the coats or herself.

“Then it makes the most sense that we live together. In my house,” Stephanie said. “We could wear our fur coats together just like this. And not just these. There are so many more for us to wear from my collection.”

Clarissa felt the Stephanie’s grip on her tightening. Felt her hands running over Clarissa’s fur coat, felt herself being stroked into a relaxing rhythm. She settled into it, feeling it soothe her as Stephanie tempted her with a new lifestyle.

“Think about it,” Stephanie continued. “We could lounge at home all day, wearing nothing but fur. Rubbing it all over each other’s skin. Touching skin to skin. You wouldn’t have to worry about putting on clothes for those droll charity events. Or being shamed for wearing fur naked at the opera.”

Clarissa’s brow furrowed. How had Stephanie known about that? Clarissa had a vague memory of telling her. But when? Her memories were a tangled blur.

“Taking turns making each other cum in fur. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

Clarissa blinked. Something about that seemed off. She had vague thoughts in that direction, but hearing Stephanie say them aloud jarred Clarissa. Yet Stephanie’s confident gaze, looming large in Clarissa’s vision, combined with her soothing voice and the eager petting of Clarissa’s coat, made the idea at least worth hearing.

“And if you come home with me, that would be one of the first things you’d do. And, oh, darling, there’d be nothing like it. You know—deep down—that you can’t truly cum until a powerful woman in fur tells you that you can. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” Clarissa said, moistening at the thought. That sounded so right.

“So, could you fix this little hiccup for me?” Stephanie asked. “Could you settle your affairs here and come home with me forever?”

“You want me to—” Clarissa’s eyes narrowed in realization. “To leave Mark?”

Stephanie gave her a smile, but said nothing else.

“I can’t do that— I can’t— we can just… I can come to visit you, or you come to visit me…” She trailed off, because Stephanie was leaning in. Gently, she gripped Clarissa by the lapels of her coat, and pulled her closer. Her lips were now just an inch away. Clarissa thought, dizzily, that Stephanie was about to kiss her.

But Stephanie kept that inch of space between them instead, and darted her tongue out to trace Clarissa’s lips. Clarissa thought she was seeing stars— felt the pleasure in her core burn so painfully that it ached.

In the next second, as Stephanie licked along Clarissa’s lower lip, she shifted her hand in through the opening of Clarissa’s coat. And then a sleeve with that ultra-soft fox fur texture was brushing across Clarissa’s thighs.

When Stephanie had finished lining Clarissa’s bottom lip, she took her sleeve back, and dropped the hand that had been holding onto one of Clarissa’s lapels. She looked into Clarissa’s eyes with a firm stare.

“Who do you belong to, Clarissa?”

“You,” Clarissa breathed. There was no denying it, not anymore. She was laid bare under Stephanie’s gaze.

“And what do you call a person who belongs to someone else?”

Clarissa swallowed. She thought saying the word might break her. “A—a slave.”

“And if you’re my slave,” Stephanie smiled sharply. “What does that make me?”

“My—” Clarissa thought she was going to faint, she was so weak with desire. Her knees buckled, but Stephanie’s grip kept her standing. “My owner.”

Stephanie shook her head. “Your Mistress.”

Clarissa buckled again.

“Say it for me, now.”

“You’re,” Clarissa struggled to comply through her arousal. “My Mistress.”

“Very good, pet.” Stephanie’s smile softened. “You’ve done such a good job of obeying me, all this time we’ve been apart. And now that we’re clear on who’s in charge, I don’t have to worry about you disobeying, do I? You’d never be so foolish, would you?”

Some part of her wanted to protest— make one last attempt at resistance.

Stephanie stepped closer again, taking Clarissa’s lips in a kiss fully this time. It was all-consuming, and it erased everything else from existence. There was only Stephanie— only that sensation.

“No, M-mistress, you don’t have to worry about that.” And though part of her felt crushed by submission— a growing part of her was savoring her obedience.

“Good.” All too soon, Stephanie pulled back and stepped away.

Clarissa stood, eager and expectant, hoping Stephanie would touch her or kiss her again. Instead, she primly picked her clothes up from the floor, and folded them. Then she started back down the stairs. With the coat closed, it was impossible to tell that she wore nothing underneath— but Clarissa knew.

“Settle up what you need to settle up,” Stephanie said, turning to look back when she reached the front door. “And then you know where to find me.”

Clarissa had followed her all the way back down to the foyer without realizing. They stood together, Stephanie achingly close to her in the silver fox coat, their furs nearly touching again.

“Do you remember how I said you weren’t like those charity snobs?” Stephanie said. “That’s because you’re my needy little fur slut. You see that now, don’t you?”

A tear dropped down Clarissa’s cheek, not because the words hurt, but because they cut right through her foolish illusions, the lies she’d once believed. Because Stephanie told the truth. She was no longer that woman who argued with Stephanie a long time ago. No. Now, she was whoever Stephanie wanted her to be, as long as she wore Stephanie’s fur coat. Clarissa nodded. It was true.

“But you know what?” continued Stephanie.

Clarissa listened with all her heart, waiting for the answer.

“Maybe we can host a charity event in our home. Of course, I would be the worthy cause. Invite some of your friends and I’ll invite some of my friends. And maybe they’ll become friends. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Clarissa’s head filled with fantasies of betraying her fellow charity wives, of making them just like her. That was when she knew she really wasn’t one of them anymore.

“Yes, Mistress,” Clarissa said.

“I’ve won you over with this coat, haven’t I?” Mistress teased with a sly smile. “But for now,” she added, turning back to the door. “Time to get moving. Come find me when you’ve finished with your old life.”

Stephanie gave her a wink as she stepped outside— and Clarissa went weak at the knees, realizing she was going home like that, wearing nothing but the fur that Clarissa had given her. The wink and that knowledge combined were too much for her, and she sank to the floor.

The door closed again, announcing Stephanie’s departure. It took Clarissa a few minutes, but she did find the strength to stand again.

She did need to get moving. There was so much to sort out before Mark got home.