The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Let’s do a little role-playing.”

The man shrugged, rolling over onto his side. “Ooooh, kinky. Okay. I’m game. What do you have in mind?”

The woman purred softly, pushing the man flat on his back. “I was thinking we would with me straddling you in bed, like this,” she said, kissing and suckling lightly on his chest. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, purring again as his hardness slipped inside her. “Mmmm... nice. I see you’re enjoying this game as much as I am.”

“Well, so far so good,” the man agreed, pushing his hips upwards slightly, making her moan. “What else?”

“Now, I wrap my hands around your throat, like this,” she said with a grin, caressing his cheeks with her thumbs, feeling his body go suddenly stiff beneath her. “And we’ll pretend that I’m an assassin, sent to seduce you, to get information from you, then, when the time is right, kill you.” She smiled wider, giggling at his expression.

“Hey, now, wait a minute,” the man said, reaching up to grab at her hands. “That kind of shit’s not funny, alright?”

“Relax, Rick,” she cooed gently, caressing his cheek idly. “I told you, we’re just role-playing. After all the mind-blowing sex we’ve had the past month don’t tell me you’re suddenly developing issues with being dominated sexually?” She leaned forward and kissed him deeply, clenching his cock with her vaginal muscles. “I just wanted to spice things up a bit... but, if you don’t wanna play...”

“Alright, fine,” Rick said, relaxing again, leaning back into the bed. “You just... caught me off guard a bit, yanno?” He sighed as she began slowly riding him, pumping up and down, giving them both the maximum level of pleasure. “Mmmmm... fuck.... okay... so what happens next?”

Still caressing and stroking his cheek, the woman yanked hard, wrenching his head to the side, snapping Rick’s neck. His body gave a brief shudder, the contact just enough to send the woman over the edge. She gasped loudly, panting for several seconds until the strength of her orgasm faded. “And now, you die,” she said needlessly, climbing off his body, leaning forward to give him one last kiss before walking naked out of the room.

Katherine sat up screaming, gasping for breath, struggling furiously against her bindings only to realize moments later that it was her bed sheets she was fighting against.

“Kat? Kat! Calm down. Relax!” her husband Justin said, shaking her gently. “You’re having a nightmare again. C’mon, Kat. Just try and relax. You’re home, baby... safe at home, and in our bed.”

“Oh God! Oh God!” she rasped, clutching the thin sheet like a magical talisman. “Oh, Justin... it was horrible! And it was so real! I... I... I killed a man! I just... I snapped his neck like a twig! I heard the bones break... felt them snap underneath my hands... oh God! I think I’m going to be sick!”

“Easy now, easy honey,” Justin soothed, “just take deep breaths. Maybe you should go to the bathroom, splash a little water on your face, and wake yourself up a bit more.”

“Okay honey,” Kat sniffed, walking across the room into the adjoining bathroom. Turning on the lights, she ran some cold water into the sink, splashing her face to try and wash away the remains of her nightmare. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, looking just as tired and scared as she was. Then, to her astonishment, the reflection changed, and the girl in the mirror smirked, winking at her. Katherine gasped, taking a step back. She blinked, and the reflection was her again.

“Honey?” Justin called from the bedroom. “You okay?”

“Y... ye... yeah, I’m fine,” she said, switching off the light. She glanced back at the mirror one last time before walking back into the bedroom. “I’m just fine.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Justin said, adjusting his tie, “I made an appointment for you with Dr. Rutledge for later this afternoon, at five, after his last client. Now, honey,” he said, pulling her close, “I know you don’t like the idea of going to see a ‘shrink’, but we agreed that if your nightmares didn’t stop in a couple of weeks that we’d seek professional help.”

“I know,” Katherine said with a sigh, looking down. “It’s just... it’s embarrassing! Going to a psychologist for bad dreams... it’s like running into my parents bedroom after a bad storm or something.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Justin insisted. “Plenty of people go to psychologists all the time for all sorts of things. And Frank Rutledge is an old friend of the family.” He patted her hand gently and kissed her. “Trust me. It’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” she said dubiously. “If you say so.”

“I do.” He picked up his briefcase. “I’ll be home around nine or so tonight, soon as the meeting is over. Try not to turn in before I get home; I want to hear all about what the doctor says.”

“Yes, dear,” Katherine sighed dramatically, then grinned. “You’d better run along, or you’ll be late.”

Once her husband left, Katherine headed downstairs, where her maid, Janine, was just finishing breakfast. Sitting down at the table, she helped herself to some bacon, eggs and toast, and was just starting her second cup of coffee when the phone rang. “It’s for you, Ma’am,” Janine replied, handing her the receiver.

“Thank you, Janine.” Placing the receiver to her ear, she said, “Hello?”

“Pawn to Queen eight.”

Immediately, Katherine’s eyes glazed over. “Yes, I’m ready,” she replied softly, listening intently on her instructions. She nodded several times, then hung up the phone. Pushing her plate aside, she thanked her maid for breakfast, then went upstairs to change clothes.

“Ah, Mrs. Southerby, good to see you again,” Dr. Frank Rutledge replied, reaching out to shake her hand. “Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the large padded chair in front of his desk. Katherine sat down nervously, wringing her hands lightly. The doctor noticed, shaking his head. “Now, now, my dear, there’s no need to be nervous. You’re in a perfectly safe environment, here. All we’re going to do is talk. So, please... try and relax. Trust me, I’m not going to bite your head off.”

“Sorry,” Kat said, sitting back in the chair, relaxing slightly. The chair was quite comfortable. “It’s just... I feel so silly, coming to you like this because of a few bad dreams. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Nonsense, my dear. I’ll have you know that a majority of my client list come to me for a variety of reasons, and having problems sleeping is rather high on the list.” He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “The human mind is a strange and wonderful thing, my dear. After all these years, we’ve learned a lot about how it works, but really only now beginning to understand the why of it. We do know that dreams are a product of the subconscious, and that it’s through dreaming the mind attempts to deal with and solve any lingering problems or traumas the person may be dealing with.”

“So... you’re saying I have unresolved issues that my subconscious is trying to force me to deal with?” Kat asked, dubiously.

The doctor laughed. “Well, that’s a pretty broad oversimplification, but yes. Your subconscious is trying to tell you something, but in this case, something is lost in the translation.”

“Considering the kinds of nightmares I’ve been having, I shudder to think what my subconscious is trying to say,” Kat replied, pulling her arms tight around herself.

The doctor sighed. “Okay. Why don’t we start simply. Tell me about the last dream you had, the one that prompted your husband to make this appointment.”

“I... I can’t remember,” Kat said softly, looking down. “It’s weird. I can close my eyes and see the same images... like a flash... but I can’t hold onto it. It’s like... it’s on the tip of my tongue... but I just can’t get it out.”

“Hmmm. Sounds like a repressed memory. I’d say the nightmares, and possibly the cause of the nightmares, are so traumatic that your mind has just blocked it all away.” He leaned back, considering. “Katherine... I’d like you to consider going under hypnosis.”

“You... you want to hypnotize me?”

“It may be the best way to piece together what’s going on inside your head. Under hypnosis, we’ll be able to get around your memory block and recall the nightmares you’ve been having in detail... and that will help me to ascertain their source.”

Katherine considered. “Is it... dangerous?”

“Not at all, my dear. It’s actually quite relaxing, like drifting off into a nice restful sleep. And trust me, you’ll be perfectly safe. I’ve done this many many times, and I’m quite proficient at it.”

Katherine reluctantly agreed, and within minutes was drifting comfortably, her head down, and her eyes closed as the doctor’s voice guided her inward. After several minutes of deepening, he spoke directly to her again.

“Katherine, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said softly.

“Good. Very good. You are now in a very deep trance. My voice is continuing to guide you, and you are completely in its thrall. In this place, my words have the power to reshape reality. Now... in just a moment, when I count to three, you will remain deep in trance, but you will open your eyes and move and talk normally, as if you were awake. Do you understand me, Katherine?”

“Yes Sir,” she replied. “I understand.”

“Excellent. Now then... when you open your eyes in a moment, you will find yourself staring at a giant flat screen television. When I ask you about your nightmares, you will see them before you, playing on the television screen just like a movie, exactly the way you dreamed it, and you will describe to me everything you see.”

“Yes... describe everything... I see.”

The doctor counted to three, then sat back to watch as Kat’s eyes opened and she sat up. At his urging, she began describing the nightmare she’d had the night before, in great detail. Murmuring softly to himself, he took careful notes, wincing slightly as she mentioned the snapping of bones. After she finished, he cleared his throat. “I see. Now... let’s go back further, to the nightmare you had just before this one.”

“Yes, Doctor. I can... I can see it now. It’s me again... I’m outside, and it’s raining, and it’s the middle of the night. The streets are mostly deserted, just a few people hurrying by, anxious to get out of the rain. I’m snug and warm in a black leather coat, and I’m carrying a red umbrella. I’m standing in front of a bus stop, waiting... waiting... and then my target leaves the building just down the street from me. I start walking then, slowly, just a normal pace, not wanting to arouse any suspicion. He’s being escorted on either side by two large men... bodyguards. Their eyes lock on me as I approach, but they dismiss me as no threat. Just a woman walking in the rain. I’m measuring the distance, counting the steps in my head, all the while trying to appear completely disinterested in them.

“Ten steps now. Five. Now, I’m right in front of them. The sidewalk is too small for us all to fit, so they shift into a single file line, just as I’d planned. As my target passes, I twist the handle of my umbrella, and pull down, revealing a long thin stiletto shaped blade hidden in the handle. My arm lashes out twice, slicing the throat of my target and his second bodyguard before either of them can even react. The third one turns, but he is too late, and his reactions are way too slow. I cut his throat as well, but instead of accepting his fate, he tries to grab me. I reverse my grip on the blade and bring it down then, stabbing him between the ribs, piercing him in the heart.

“The whole thing has taken less than ten seconds, and without a gun being fired. I glance up and down the streets to be sure, but I already know no one saw. I have some blood splattered on my coat, but its waterproof, and the rain washes away the evidence as I make my way to the pickup point. I toss the umbrella and the coat into the trash, climb into the black van waiting for me, then drive off.”

Doctor Rutledge closed his notebook, staring intently at the young woman in front of him. An icy prickle ran down his spine as he listened to her talk. The ‘dream’ she’d just recounted was nothing less than an accurate description of something he’d read in the newspaper last week: the murder of a visiting dignitary from Zimbabwe suspected to be a member of ZALFAT, the Zimbabwe Allied Liberation Front Against Tyranny. Realizing that, he noticed a disturbing similarity between the first dream she’d recounted and the strange death of a certain Chinese dignitary he’d read about in the newspaper this very morning.

What does it mean? Am I in the presence of a political serial killer, or just someone whose sleeping subconscious is manifesting a delusional state after watching the news or reading the paper? Which one is more probable? And... if she IS a killer... what do I do about it? Do I try and help her? Do I see if I can get her committed? Or do I call the FBI and let them handle it?

Definitely shaken, he gently brought Katherine back out trance. “Well, my dear, I think I’ve learned a bit about the... um... source of your bad dreams. Tell me, are you an avid follower of the news?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘avid’... I watch it now and again, particularly whenever Justin is on. Why?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” he said nervously. “Just trying to make sure I consider every possibility. Tell me, do you like... scary movies? You know, the ones with lots of blood and gore?”

Kat shuddered. “Definitely not! I hate those! I’d rather go see a nice romantic comedy.”

“Uh huh.” The doctor rubbed the bridge of his nose briefly to hide his anxiety. “Alright. I think I have a slightly better picture now. Katherine, I’d like you to make another appointment to see me, tomorrow if possible. We psychologists aren’t in the business of ‘quick fixes’ per sae, but I am confident that we can give you the help you need.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Kat said, shaking his head. “I certainly hope so. And tomorrow should be just fine, I don’t have anything important planned.”

Dr. Rutledge nodded silently, waiting until the door closed behind her, then he picked up his phone. “Hello? Operator? I need the number for the F.B.I.”

“Pawn to Queen eight.”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

Katherine listened intently to the voice speaking through her cell phone, nodding occasionally in agreement, then hung up, sliding the phone into her pocket. Making her way to the underground garage where she’d parked, she stopped by the doctor’s car. Taking a switchblade from her purse, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she dropped to the concrete, rolling easily underneath the vehicle. She emerged a few moments later, brushing the dirt from her overcoat, then continued on to her own car.

Opening the truck, she jerked hard on two small bolts hidden in fabric of the lining, and twisted. A small click sounded, and finding the seam with her fingers, she lifted the slat. She removed the dark brown shoulder bag, then closed the hidden compartment, and tossed in her green purse into the trunk. She took the Beretta from bag, checked the ammunition, and the silencer, then put it back inside the bag. Finally, she closed the trunk, climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the car.

The radio blared to life as she exited the parking structure, and Katherine began to sing along with the words as the song played. A few minutes later a black Buick merged into the lane behind her. She smirked at the obvious attempt at tailing her, then switched lanes, turning to the right at the next light. As expected, the Buick followed. Taking out her Blackberry, she began texting a quick message as she drove, then slid the phone back into the car’s glove box. She checked her watch, then, switching lanes again, turned left, and pulled off the side of the road, parking.

The black car pulled up behind her, and Kat got out of the car as two men walked up to her car. “Alright!” she yelled angrily, planting her hands on her hips. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re following me, but I’ve had it! I called the police before I pulled over, and they will be here in just a few seconds, so you’d better get lost if you know what’s good for you!”

“I don’t think so, Mrs. Southerby,” the first man said, flashing a badge. “I’m Agent Thompson, this is Agent Faraday. We’re with the F.B.I. and we’d like you to come with us. We have some questions for you.”

Natalia Romenko took another deep drag from her cigarette before stamping it out against the side of the building. The breeze blew her long dark brown hair slightly, but she ignored it, her attention focused intently on the door across from her. After a moment, it opened, and four men exited, with a tall grey haired man talking heatedly with the three others. Stepping out from the shadow of the building, she approached them.

“Comrade Zukov,” she said, causing them to turn. “I think we have much to discuss.”

“Romenko!” the elderly gentleman bristled. His attendants brushed back their coats, placing a hand to guns concealed within their clothing, but Zukov waved them off. “You certainly have a lot of guts showing yourself around here! I have nothing I wish to speak to you about. Consider yourself lucky to still remain in this country instead of being sent back home to Mother Russia!” He and his bodyguards slid into their car, slamming the doors.

“But... but Comrade,” the woman called, confused by his attitude. “I received your message, asking me to meet you here to discuss a matter of mutual importance.”

She took a step towards the vehicle as the driver turned the key. A wave of force blew her several feet back into a wall as the car exploded in ball of fire. Stunned, she shook her head to clear it, checking herself for cuts of broken bones. Several other cars were damaged by the explosion, the closest ones badly singed and burnt, their car alarms blaring loudly. Luckily, the charge had been a small one, and the majority of the damage had been confined just to the Russian dignitary’s car instead of the parking structure or building itself.

Regaining her feet, Natalia made a quick assessment of her situation. She was a former KGB Colonel, disfavored and ousted by the current regime, currently hiding out in America to bide her time until she could return home. The man most responsible for regime’s downfall and her exile, Sergei Zukov, was now dead, blown to bits from a car bomb. And she was here, at the scene of the crime, lured into the open by an apparently fake text message. Needless to say, when a security officer appeared on the scene seconds later, she did took the only logical course of action. She ran.

“Hey! Stop! Stop!” he yelled, rushing after the woman, only to skid to a stop as she vaulted over the barricade wall. The guard sighed, surveying the damage from the explosion, then pulled his radio. “This is Stevens, Security Sector Seven. There’s been an incident. Code Red, I repeat, Code Red. We’re going to need to pull all the security footage for Parking Level B... and put in a call for County Coroner’s office.”

Katherine sat primly, my arms crossed in her lap, and her legs together, On the other side of the table, Agent Faraday and Agent Thompson both sat, calmly staring at her, as if they expected her to crack any second and offer up a spontaneous confession. The thought amused her, but she managed to suppress the humor. “Look,” she said finally, pretending to be irritated, “you’ve had me sitting here for twenty minutes, and you haven’t even asked me any questions! You haven’t even explained what this is all about! You seem to know who I am, and who my husband is, so unless the F.B.I. is in the habit of harassing the wives of United States Senators just to get their kicks, I suggest you explain what I’m doing here!”

The two agents glanced at one another, then Agent Faraday slid a large manila folder over to Katherine. “Open it,” he said brusquely. She did, then gasped, covering her mouth at pictures of several corpses. While she didn’t recognize any of the faces—a basic and deliberate aspect of her training in case she was ever caught and interrogated, like now—she did recognize the woman in the second set of pictures.

“We’ve been investigating a series of high profile murders here in D.C. area,” Agent Thompson said, moving to his feet. “Drug lords, government officials, foreign dignitaries, influential businessmen... all very important people, all murdered. And the only thread connecting them all,” he said, pointing to the woman in the picture, “is this woman, who was seen at the scene of every murder.” He leaned forward, until he was nearly eye to eye with her. “Tell me, does she look familiar to you?”

“You... you’re not serious, are you?” Kat replied, shaking her head. “You brought me in here for this? You have a string of unsolved murders, and a really bad picture of the murderer, so you haul me in here as a suspect?” She laughed humorlessly. “Alright. The picture looks a little like me... and about forty percent of the women in this town. I suppose I should be flattered that you think of me as some kind of super spy or Lara Croft badass or something... but the truth is, I took a year of R.O.T.C. in high school, about fifteen years ago, and that’s the extent of my training.” She frowned. “But, of course, you’re the F.B.I. so you probably already knew that.”

“Alright, granted, you’re not exactly the obvious choice for a murder suspect,” Agent Faraday replied, taking back the folder. “But ever since we received an anonymous tip, we’ve done a bit of checking. There were two unexplained high profile murders of foreign dignitaries at the time you and Senator Southerby were abroad, visiting Greece a few months ago.”

“Yes, I know. We had to cut our trip short because the State Department deemed the area a ‘hot spot’ and had us shipped back home. I suppose I somehow caused those deaths as well?”

“Listen, Mrs. Southerby—” Faraday began.

“No, YOU listen!” Kat shot back, this time not having to fake her frustration. “I’ve been cooperative. I’ve been patient. I’ve been tolerant. I’ve sat here and listened to you make outrageous claims against my character based on circumstantial evidence, a passing resemblance to a woman in a low grade photograph, and... ‘an anonymous tip’ you received no doubt from Dr. Rutledge, who has no doubt violated my Doctor-patient confidentiality rights! The fact that I had some really vivid nightmares doesn’t make me killer! I have half a mind to—”

Suddenly the door opened, and a blonde man with a mustache burst in. “Hey! Thompson, Faraday, get out here! We just received a call from the U.N. office. A Russian diplomat just got taken out by a car bomb... and local police has the perpetrator in custody, caught trying to flee the scene of the crime.” He glanced at Katherine, then sighed. “It’s a woman, and she fits the description of suspect you’ve been tracking. You’ll want to question her, of course, but from the little we have on file for her, she’s ex-KGB, and had a serious axe to grind with the deceased.”

The two agents glanced at each other. Katherine, pushing her chair back, stood up. “Well, gentlemen, I take it that I’m free to go, then? Unless you think this is all a ruse, and that I, a housewife that works out three days a week to keep my figure, is a more likely assassin than a military trained ex-KGB member with a chip on her shoulder?”

“Um, well, uh, thank you again for your, ah, cooperation, Mrs. Southerby,” Faraday said, opening the door for her. “It wasn’t personal, we just have to check out every lead, no matter how farfetched.”

“Yes, well, I’m not the kind of person that holds grudges,” she said demurely, stepping through the doorway. She paused, however, looking back over her shoulder. “My husband, the Senator, however, IS the type. It would probably be a good idea to make sure no official mention of this interrogation gets put on record.”

The two men sighed deeply as the woman departed. “Well, I guess that could have gone better,” Thompson said, grabbing his jacket.

“Maybe so,” Faraday replied, sliding his gun into his holster. “Still, the day wasn’t a total loss. Looks like we finally have a suspect in custody. Let’s head on over and have a little talk with this Russian chick.”

“Ah, um, Mrs. Southerby!” Frank Rutledge stuttered, taking a step back towards the convenience store doorway as the brunette approached him. “What a, um, unexpected pleasure... running into you, here, like this!”

“Unexpected, indeed. You can cut the false pleasantries, doctor,” Katherine said icily. “I just finished having a nice long discussion with two F.B.I. agents. Seems I was their prime suspect in a long series of murders... at least until they got a call about a murder over near the U.N. building, committed by a woman fitting my description while I was being interrogated.”

“I... I see,” the doctor sighed. “Well, at least that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that your dreams are simply that: dreams.”

“Yes. And it also proves that you, Dr. Rutledge, were the one that alerted the F.B.I to pick me up.” She crossed her arms. “You violated your Doctor-patient confidentiality, doctor. You can expect to hear from my husband’s lawyers about this.” She turned and walked into the store.

“Now... now wait a moment, Mrs. Southerby,” the doctor cried, running after him. “Please! You have to understand my position! I—”

“Doctor, please,” Katherine said with an humorless smile. “You’re making a scene. We can discuss this later, in private. Remember, I have an appointment for tomorrow, at four-thirty.”

Shaking his head, the doctor left, walking out, and driving off in his car. He slammed a fist down hard on the steering wheel as he merged into traffic, cursing loudly. “Dammit! DAMMIT! Stupid... how could I have been so stupid? Katherine Southerby, a serial killer? Hah!” He sighed once more, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I guess she was merely delusional... her subconscious somehow latching onto the more gruesome details of those highly publicized murders and replaying the events at night in the form of nightmares. Hell, maybe she’s just psychic. It’s certainly not the strangest thing I’ve come across the past twenty-five years. Well... looks like that may be all over and done with now, if she decided to make this into a legal matter.”

Signaling left, he switched lanes, and sped up as he entered the Dumbarton Bridge. A crack of thunder sounded, and the rain that had threatened all day finally began to fall. He switched on his windshield wipers, and pressed on the brake pedal to slow down, only to feel his foot go all the way to the floorboards. Cursing again, he began pumping the brake pedal frantically, swerving to avoid a slower moving car. Horns blared at him as he frantically weaved in between cars, unable to slow down at all. Panic gripped him as he neared the off ramp leading out into Georgetown which was blocked with slow moving traffic. In desperation, he turned at the last second, crossing the yellow line into the empty oncoming lane. He nearly made it off the bridge when a sixteen wheeler entered the lane, moving directly into his path.

He had just enough time to wonder how she’d managed to do it before the collision.

“Queen to Queen’s Eight,” Katherine spoke into her cell phone, as she pulled into the driveway of her home.

“Checkmate,” the voice replied back. “You’ve done very well, Katherine. The game is over for now.”

“Thank you Master,” she said softly, hanging up the cell, dropping it into her pocket. She closed her eyes...

And opened them again, momentarily confused. “Huh? Wh... what was I doing again?” She glanced to her side, then smiled, nearly smacking her forehead. Of course, groceries! “Wow. I can’t believe I forgot almost forgot the groceries. All these restless nights with nightmares must be starting to take a toll. I hope Dr. Rutledge will have good news for me when I see him tomorrow.”

Walking inside, she handed the groceries to Janine, who began sorting everything. “Has Mr. Southerby called to check in yet, Janine,” she asked, pausing at the doorway.

“Yes, actually,” the maid said, opening the pantry door. “He should be arriving home any minute. Seems there was some kind of an incident where his meeting was going to be held, so they cancelled it.”

“Oh? That’s a shame... but at least I’ll be able to see my husband sooner. Will you have dinner ready by then?”

“Of course, Mrs. Southerby,” the maid said with a smile. “I always do.”

“You’re right,” Katherine said with a laugh. “Somehow, you always do. I’m going upstairs to change.”

Upstairs, Kat removed her overcoat, took off her blouse, slipped out of her skirt, then stripped out of her black skin tight body suit underneath it. She paused, frowning, not quite remembering putting it on... but then again, she always wore it whenever she went down to the gym to exercise, like she today after leaving Dr. Rutledge’s office. My mind is playing tricks on me, she mused, tossing the sweaty garments into the clothes hamper.

Justin arrived a little while later, just as she was coming out of the shower. “Evening, beautiful,” he said, kissing her on the cheek as she walked by wrapped in a towel. “Mmmm... nice. I’m almost glad the meeting was cancelled if I’m greeted to such a nice show.”

“Silly,” Kat giggled, exchanging her towel for a robe. “Go downstairs to dinner. I’ll be down in a minute. I want to hear all about your day, and I still need to tell you about my day.”

“Yeah... about that,” Justin said, glancing away. “Katherine, sweetie... I’m afraid I have some bad news. I heard about it on the way home. Dr. Rutledge was in a car accident.”

“Dr. Rutledge?” Kat gasped, turning around to face him. “Is he alright? What happened?”

“I don’t know all the details,” Justin said, heading to the door, “but somehow he crossed the median while driving along the Dumbarton bridge. He went head-on into a big rig truck. Traffic was backed up for half a mile, and the Georgetown exit was completely blocked off.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I have some people checking into the details, and he’ll let me know more as soon as he knows it.”

Dinner was quiet and subdued, and soon as it was done, they both returned to the bedroom. “You know, it all just proves what I’ve been saying all along. We live in crazy times. All this violence and chaos... things just seem to be getting worse and worse. The meeting I was supposed to be going to was for the formation of a task force to look into some of the more brutal crimes that have been going on lately.”

Kat sighed deeply. “Oh, honey, can’t we talk about your work some other time? It’s not often that you get home before midnight, and when you do, you’re usually too tired to do anything except go straight to sleep.”

Justin laughed. “Sorry. Guess I’ve just got a one track mind about these things.” Loosening his tie, he replied, “But the day that I choose talking about politics over making out with my hot sexy wife is the day I’d dead and buried. Let me just go to the bathroom and get cleaned up a bit.”

Clad in a t-shirt and boxers, Justin splashed a bit of water on his face. So many killings lately. First Miat, then Tyrell, then Chen last week, and now Zukov. Damn. Something serious is going on here. I know there’s a thread connecting them all, something obvious... but I just can’t find it. Oh well... plenty of time to work on that mystery tomorrow. Checking his reflection in the mirror, he smirked. Time to go work on my wife.

Back in the bedroom, he found the lights dimmed. Katherine lay on the bed, clad in black silken see-through negligee, giving him a smoldering ‘come hither’ look. Chuckling, he slid onto the bed, pulling her into a deep embrace, kissing her. “Wow. You really went all out, didn’t you? I approve.” He glanced to the side. “Why’s the phone off the hook?”

“Just making sure we’re not disturbed,” she purred, nibbling on his earlobe, as she straddled his hips. “Say... I have an idea. Wanna try something... kinky?”

Justin grinned wickedly. “Mmmm. Sounds interesting. What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s do a little role-playing.” Katherine said with a smirk.