The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

She sat there, staring at the computer, deep in thought, with her fingers resting in the top of her cleavage.

Some men manage to do it, but not me. I am completely unable to concentrate with a beautiful woman in my peripheral vision. There I was in a job which had turned out to be completely different from the one I’d signed up for, stuck working in a corner with all of ten square feet to myself, and twenty inches to my right was stationed beautiful Lori. It was all the more difficult because she seemed to be totally unaware that she was so beautiful. There’s no way that she would have done some of the little things she did if she’d seen herself the way I saw her. Maybe her plain dark hair and tall, voluptuous body weren’t quite what you see on the cover of magazines, but I for one appreciate beauty in many flavors.

How could she not realize, though, that she was practically caressing her breasts absentmindedly? She was even turned slightly towards me. It was worse than when she twirled her bangs around her finger, worse than when she stretched up tall and her shirt pulled up, exposing her midriff.

Maybe you’re asking right now if I’d considered that she was actually flirting with me. For one, the body language didn’t really add up to that. For two, she was newly married and seemed happy. For three, if I so much as give her an inappropriate look and anyone finds out, I will stand to lose a lot of money. You see, my dear Aunt Denise had been widowed for twenty years, and her only son, my cousin Robert, had stood to inherit a family fortune worth billions. Robert had attended an expensive private university, using his generous living allowance to support a lifestyle that he knew his mother certainly would not approve of: buying alcohol for other students, smoking weed, and bedding alarming numbers of young women. Aunt Denise had never known, of course, until one young lady was scorned enough to come to Aunt Denise and tell her about all the horrible things he was doing.

Robert and Denise had butted heads, with the end result being total excommunication for Robert, and a complete cut-off of financial support aside from the few millions in his college fund. When Denise died, nobody was surprised to find that she’d not left a dime to her outcast son. What everyone was surprised to find was that awestruck seventeen-year-old me had been designated sole beneficiary of the entire four-hundred-million-odd dollars that had not been entered into Aunt Denise’s charitable foundation. That bequeath, however, was contingent upon my complying with a seventy-five page long list of conditions I needed to fulfill.

The conditions were extremely strict. I was not to partake of any drugs or alcohol, to be confirmed by regular visits with a doctor. I was to complete college with good grades. I was to follow one of several approved career paths. I was never to tell anyone about my eventual inheritance and never borrow against it. But most importantly, I was to only engage in “proper” relationships with women, and to forgo any “intimate relations” until I was married. I would only receive the inheritance once I was either thirty or married.

You’d think I’d have married right out of college. Unfortunately, Aunt Denise had created a contradiction in her ramblings, dictated for hour after expensive hour to her lawyer. In order for any courtship to be considered proper, I would have to be introduced properly through approved means. I was required to take a young lady on a variety of approved outings, but I was prevented from being alone in a vehicle with her or even calling her on the phone.

The whole thing was administered by Denise’s original lawyer, Roland Benson. Roland had made millions of dollars from his tireless service to Denise, and his loyalty hadn’t flagged any less than his bills against Denise’s estate. He was executor of the trust, and director of Denise’s charitable foundation. He was committed to honoring the “spirit” of Denise’s batty ideas. I’d had to agree to be monitored at any time, and so a whole platoon of private investigators was constantly checking up on me.

Still, with the help of my own lawyer, I figured out fairly quickly how to navigate the rules. It was almost surreal, at times, sitting in that fancy conference room with four lawyers discussing, for example, whether or not I could be allowed to comment on the hairstyle of a theoretical love interest without invoking an impropriety. Years later, even with a good picture of how a courtship could occur, the problem was I couldn’t tell any young ladies why it was that I couldn’t ride in their car with them, or hold their hand, or go swimming, or any number of seemingly ordinary things. The few times I went out on dates, the knowledge that I was being observed for any slip-up made me so nervous that there was no way I could charm any of the young ladies I was courting.

Lori, of course, aside from being married, was also subject to the most troublesome restriction of all: I was prohibited to court a lady “below my station”. This determination was an infuriating one, as if I was interested seeking an introduction, I would have to first ask the lawyers to look into her and decide whether she was suitable.

For all this, I’d given up on any kind of love life until I turned thirty, when I’d start to receive the trust over the course of twenty years, and the restrictions on my life would lessen. I had been completely chaste since the reading of the will, not having so much as kissed a girl since high school. Thank goodness there were no stipulations as to what I might do alone in my bedroom... other than that I not own any “lewd materials”.

But there was Lori, and her fingertips on her chest seemed downright lewd to me. I got up and made my way to the restroom. It’s hard to stay focused when you don’t really enjoy your job, and you only have two years to go before you suddenly become filthy rich. The whole ordeal had been an extreme test of my willpower in every aspect of life. I get by on daydreams of what I will do with the money. I’d already had my real estate and automobile purchases planned out in detail. Other times I daydreamed about what I’d do after being released from the romantic constraints on my life. In my head I had concocted elaborate plans for storybook romances. I would still need to wait until marriage before having sex, but I figured it would be easier once I could actually explain the reasons for it. Of course, I worried about women who would lust for my money, and a prenuptial agreement was prohibited. That’s why I focused on women I’d already known fairly well, the ones I’d never been able to pursue before.

With Lori, though, my fantasy for her could never be realized. I placed us in the roles of “Indecent Proposal”, using my money to avoid the touchy issue of her husband. Immediate gratification. Not something I’d often been able to give my self all those years.

I took the long way back to the shared workspace, where aside from Lori and I, another eight people worked in a 300 square foot nook. I’d been promised a permanent office “soon” on a regular basis since my arrival, just as I’d been promised a budget and a staff to work on my “crucial” project. The others who were stationed with me were lower-level, temporary or part-time workers. I was the rising star, crucial to the company’s plans but still not worth a private office. I turned the corner, and there was Lori. She was squatting down, digging through her filing cabinet. I could see plainly down the front of her shirt, and I could also see the hem of her purple lace underwear protruding in the rear. I literally turned directly around and walked back out of the office.

I wished that I could just tell my bosses how distracting I found it working next to Lori. However, men aren’t supposed to admit that sort of thing, and once Mr. Benson heard about it he’d consider it a chink in my armor to be probed. I reflected sourly that if it were a man revealing himself to a woman, he’d be out on the street and black-balled, if not sued. I tried to walk off my angst, going downstairs and out of the building to the nearby bicycle path. I casually glanced out at the river, the water glistening in the afternoon sun. I checked my watch—I knew that even if my bosses wouldn’t care too much about a little time spent stretching my legs between tasks, that it wasn’t unlikely that there was a suspicious investigator watching me for any violation of the rules.

I doubled back and made my way back to the office, seething as I passed by the empty offices of managers who spent most of their time doing site visits, going to meetings, or working from home. Lori, at last, was sitting in a more dignified way, and with a nod I sat down next to her and tried to get some work done.

“What do you think?”

“I think he’s really got the hots for her.”

“She’s the married one, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect.”

“You’ve tried this before, haven’t we? With professionals? The guy is like a monk!”

“He saw right through those. He’s not stupid.”

“So that’s why you need my little invention, right?”

“Yes, but if we send another professional, there’s no way he’ll give in, not this close to the end. This one’s already got to him, and he sits right next to her for hours a day.”

I knew the moment I walked into my apartment that someone had been poking around again. Probably looking for stashed porn or changing the batteries in the hidden microphones. I spent the evening in my architecture software, refining and re-refining the plans for the home I planned to build in Colorado. I longed more than anything for privacy and independence, and I had my eye on a certain working ranch with room for an airfield and a racetrack.

I slept particularly well that night, and I had a vivid dream about Lori. My dreams were one thing they couldn’t keep from me. This one was so intense that I woke up with sticky underwear, something that hadn’t happened to me in years.

I had a spring in my step that next morning, but I was interested to note that Lori seemed tired and weary, like she hadn’t slept well. She was subdued as we exchanged pleasantries. She was usually bright and cheerful, even in the mornings. You’d think that her down mood would dampen my distraction, but I found myself feeling concerned for her. She left for most of the day for meetings, and I only saw her once later that day, and she was talking on her cellphone outside, and she was crying, bawling, the tears streaming down her face.

In my dreams that night, I comforted her, and she melted into my arms, and into my life, and the money didn’t matter any more, because we were meant to be together. Lori was absent that next day, and the remainder of the week. I continued to dream about her, sometimes in a carnal way, sometimes in a romantic way.

The next Monday, I arrived to find Lori already at work catching up on her growing pile of mail. She seemed to be back to herself, and never commented on her absence. Maybe it was the contrast from her absence but she seemed to more distracting than ever. Previously she’d only worn low-cut blouses or skirts occasionally, but all week she wore the ones I’d always liked—or rather, hated—the most. She seemed always to be doing those innocuous little things, the slightly revealing body movements and subtly sexy mannerisms that drove me wild.

That Friday my immediate supervisor, Susan, called me into her office.

“Good news,” she told me, “with the reorganization complete I’ve found a private office for you. You’ll have to share it, though.”

“Oh, that’s fine, so long as I get a little room to stretch!”

“You’ll have half of a twelve by thirteen,” she said, “and you seem to get along fine with Lori, so you won’t have to learn to co-exist with someone else.”

I managed to keep my face impassive. A private office with Lori might have been the worst option of all.

We were moved by the following Wednesday. In the enclosed space, the scent of Lori’s perfume was hard to ignore. Did she always wear so much of it, I wondered? We sat back to back, at least, but I was always aware of her presence.

We were nearing the deadline for the next year’s budget submissions, and so it happened that Lori and I were both working late one night, as was about half the staff. I was putting the polish on my big proposal; Lori was refining some projections for the sales division.

“I’m heading out,” she said about seven, “see you tomorrow.”

“Sure,” I said, “I’m almost done myself.”

When I got to the parking lot, I found Lori standing with the hood of her car open. “It won’t start,” she said as I approached.

I came over and peeked at the engine. I’ve never been very mechanically inclined, but I knew how to jump start a car. I drove mine over and hooked up, but nothing happened.

“Must be the starter,” I said.

“Rats. Could you give me a lift home?”

I glanced around the parking lot. Surely there was no harm in helping her? It was the gentlemanly thing to do, rather than leave her stranded.

“Sure,” I said, stowing my jumper cables, “hop in.”

She directed me to her house, which was in a nice residential neighborhood.

“Looks dark in there. Is Jon working late?”

Her eyes fell. “Jon... left me last week.”

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“No, it’s okay, I haven’t told anyone.”

“Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, but then she started crying.

After an uneasy moment I reached out and patted her lightly on the shoulder. She looked up at me, and our eyes met, and she leaned forward and kissed me, slowly and sincerely.

For a long moment I was overtaken by unharnessed emotions. I reached out, placed a hand on her arm, where I felt goosebumps. Then I pulled back.

“Lori,” I said, “I can’t.”

The tears welled anew. “Why?” She sobbed.

“The time just isn’t right for me.”

Her lower lip quivered for a moment, and then she opened the door and ran up her walkway.

“Maybe we went too fast.”

“How could I know the bitch would out her old man so fast?”

“Maybe by the fact they hadn’t screwed in a month?”

“Maybe. Still, he’ll be thinking now, and they still have to work together.”

“Right.”

“Now, go ahead and raise the dose in her perfume.”

“You sure? We don’t want to over-do it.”

“Not like she gets close enough to anyone else.”

“Guess not.”

“I wish that asshole would just give in already. Fucking twenty-eight year old virgin, what the fuck.”

“Dude’s looking at a lot of money.”

“A lot of my money.”

“Our money, you mean. I hope.”

“You’ll get your bit, don’t worry.”

Working next to Lori became still more painful. I found the scent of her perfume more distracting than ever. I found my continuing dreams about her slipping into my waking mind. I found myself watching her faint shape in the reflection of the aluminum frame of the printed artwork on my wall. I daydreamed of her lips. I noticed her weary eyes and my heart was wrenched by the thought of her crying alone at night. I wanted so much to comfort her, to soothe her, to tell her that if she could just wait for me for seventeen more months I would make it all up to her, make her the queen of my empire.

I knew it could never be. I hoped time would soothe the ache of our separation, but she only became more heavy in my thoughts every morning when I woke. The tension between us became palatable. She began to brighten, seemed to notice my conflicted attention. She began to flirt with me overtly again. It was extremely difficult not to respond. I became suspicious for a time—I searched every part of our little shared office one night, looking for evidence of video or audio surveillance, but I found none. Then I cursed myself for thinking that she might be an enemy. Her emotions were real—I no longer doubted how strongly she wanted me, as careful as she was to control her actions.

And the dreams! Every night, I dreamed of Lori, every night I dreamed a new fantasy, and every morning I found a mess in my bed to clean up. Sometimes I would wake in the midst of my dreams, dimly aware that I was jerking myself off or humping the bedspread, but I never felt inclined to stop, or to spare myself the task of changing my sheets every day. Despite my nightly emissions I was still constantly horny when I was around Lori. I would get unwanted erections at the most inconvenient times.

One afternoon, Lori was strutting around the office with a mischievous grin on her face. When I went to my car that evening I found sitting on my driver’s seat a fancy gift box tied in a bow. I picked it up, and nearly melted from the unmistakable scent of Lori’s perfume. I took the box, which didn’t have a tag, and moved it to the passenger seat. I started to drive but instead of driving home I went the other way, making random turns for miles until I was sure I wasn’t being followed, studiously and painfully never even glancing at the mysterious package. I parked at a deserted public park, looked around once more to ensure that I was alone, and then picked up the box and pulled on the meticulously tied red satin bow.

Inside was a book. I carefully opened it. On the first page was a picture of Lori, laying on her side and smiling up towards the camera, her glorious cleavage in full view. The pictures on the subsequent pages were increasingly sexy, and looked to have been taken by a professional photographer. By the end, Lori was topless, artfully and teasingly posing for the camera... no, she was posing for me. I could tell by the look in her eyes that the sexiness she exuded was meant for me, and me alone.

On the last page a hotel key card was taped, along with a note: “Nobody has to know.”

Hands trembling, I closed the incriminating book, sealed it back in the box along with the red satin ribbon, and drove home. I carried it into the house under my jacket, and carefully hid it on my bookshelf. Then I sat down with the plans for my dream home and did my best to not think about Lori.

Three hours later, I had just started designing a new layout for my fruit tree grove when I was startled by a knock on my door. I walked over and looked out the peephole. It was hardly a surprise to find Lori there. I stood behind the door, aware that she would have heard me walking across the room. I closed my eyes and swore I wouldn’t open the door. Then again, if my front door were being monitored, perhaps Benson would use the incident against me anyway, especially if Lori broke down and started to cry.

She knocked again softly. I sighed, stepped for a moment in front of the refrigerator, and then walked to the door and opened it. She looked kind of surprised to see me. She was wearing a short dress with a long jacket. It looked like she’d had her hair styled. She smelled heavenly.

“Oh, I’m glad you could stop by,” I said, “here’s that report you asked for.”

“Wha...” she started, then looked down at what I was handing her. “Oh, right. See you tomorrow.”

I closed the door, my heart pounding, my head swimming with conflicting visions of romantic bliss and financial ruin.

“What, he opens the door and she just walks away?”

“Shut up and look at what he gave her.”

“What? It was just something he had lying around.”

“No, it was a menu. For a restaurant.”

“Oh, duh, he wants to meet her there.”

“Right. Now see if you can figure out what restaurant it was for. I’ll see if I can get there in time to follow him.”

“Right.”

I looked around the restaurant, and my heart started to fall when I didn’t see her. Then she caught my eye, from a secluded booth at the back of the restaurant. She followed me with her eyes as I made my way across the place.

I sat opposite her, and we just looked at each other. The tension was palpable—every movement, every facial expression seemed to convey volumes of meaning: trepidation, desire, longing. The waiter came, and I waived him away.

“I’m sorry it’s been like this,” I said at last.

“What do you mean, like this,” she let out, her voice betraying the hurt she felt.

“There’s something...” subconsciously I glanced around, and leaned in, “a reason that I can’t be with you. Not yet,” I corrected quickly.

“Go on,” she said, hopefully.

I started to say something, stumbled over the words, glanced around again, and scooted closer to her around the circular booth.

“Okay,” I said quietly at last, “so I had this rich aunt, see.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And she died and left me four hundred million dollars.”

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really.”

“But I don’t get it unless I live my life by her rules until I’m thirty.”

“Which includes not getting involved with me.”

“Right.”

“That’s the most ridiculous excuse I’ve ever heard,” she said.

“I swear, it’s the truth.”

She regarded me carefully. “I believe you. I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me sooner.”

“I’ve been living this life since I was seventeen years old,” I said, “and that money has been motivation enough for me to follow her rules to the letter, until I met you. You’re driving me insane, and I don’t care about the rules any more.”

“You are willing to throw away four hundred million dollars just to be with me?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “I really am.” The words felt so good to finally emerge.

She looked deeply into my eyes. “That is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Just like that we were embracing, kissing. The waiter came again, chuckled, and left.

“We have to go somewhere,” she said, “before someone sees us.”

“Yeah,” I gasped, at a loss for rational thought.

She dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table to cover her drink and we raced out the door, hand in hand, giggling like teenagers. We found our way to a hotel room, and she threw me on the bed and made me a man.

“They’re not here, but he left his car here, and the waiter recognized him. Said they left together.”

“Bummer.”

“No, it’s only a matter of time before they slip up and we catch them in the act.”

“I hope so.”

“I’m going to go check the hotels, see if I can find their little love nest.”

“All right, I’ll keep watching the cameras.”

I was extremely self-conscious the next day at work. I tried to act normal, but I could rather plainly see the newfound spring in Lori’s step. I found excuses to be away from her, and she was careful to make no overt notion towards me.

It had been Lori’s idea, actually, the perfect solution to my problem. She would request a transfer to be closer to the sales team, two floors up. We’d thought that she would have to swap with someone, but it turned out they had an extra seat up there and so I finally had my private office, if only for a time.

Lori and I started to correspond secretly via hand-written notes. Once a week or so we would risk meeting in person, and at every get-together our passion was undiminished. We spent a few precious weekend days together. I was careful to ensure that I was never followed, as was she, and we always met in different places, sometimes far from home. I hoped we were getting away with it.

She started to half-jokingly plead with me at the end of our visits to just give in and have a regular relationship. She tried to convince me that the stipulations of the will would not hold up in court. It was hard for me not to feel greedy, forcing her to endure emotional torture over my eventual fortune. It was only the long late-night talks of the fairy-tale life we’d have together that kept me sane.

One morning as we stole a moment’s embrace in a stairwell, she’d joked that she would come visit me at my apartment that night, and that I should be waiting for her. I laughed it off. However that night I awoke in the darkness to the feeling of a warm body—an increasingly familiar, nude warm body—sliding under the covers in my dark bedroom.

I wanted to scream out, “are you insane,” but I could not fight the intensity of our desire, the allure of the forbidden activity as we made love in my bed for the first time. I knew that the cameras were probably recording us, or at least the microphones, but I felt my last care slip away. She was intense, and I felt a soothing level of completion, like this was the realization of a moment I’d desired all my adult life, to screw in front of the cameras and know that Benson would have the video on his desk in the morning. We made love with wild abandon, then we rested wordlessly and made love again.

In the morning we both got ready for work, as we had together in hotels so many times yet, but this time, it felt more right than ever.

“What’s this?” Asked Lori, pointing to a painting.

“Oh, just a notion from college,” I said.

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” she intoned with a smile.

“I haven’t picked up a brush in years.”

“Maybe you could paint me sometime,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows at the cliche.

“I’d be delighted,” I said, leaning in to give her a kiss. With hardly a thought, I found myself pushed back onto the bed, with her removing my work clothes, and then hers. A small part of my mind screamed at the way she seduced me, making both of us late for work. But then she mounted me and as I watched her move over me in the light of the young day, my resolve slipped away.

Being my third session in twelve hours, I was notably long-lasting. She rode me until her thighs started to tremble, and then I took my turn on top. I was screwing her harder than I had ever before—the bed was rocking quite intensely as I felt my hips achieve super-human speed. Finally I felt my orgasm welling, and I shoved myself into her, and sprayed my seed into her womb. As I groaned, I leaned forward and dropped my hand above her head to support myself, but I came down too hard, and with a massive “crack” the wooden bed frame snapped at one corner and we both tumbled off the bed.

Once it was clear that we were both fine we started laughing hysterically at the comedy of it. It was a couple of minutes before we sighed and wiped our eyes. I started to rise up on my elbow.

“What’s that,” Lori said curiously.

I peered down under the bed. Some kind of electronic machine was straped to the underside of the bed frame. “Just something that the lawyers put there. To listen to me or something.”

“Huh,” she said, narrowing her eyes at it. “I knew they were doing that, but it seems odd that it would be so big, you know?”

I shrugged. I was trying hard not to think of the battle I would soon face to keep my money. But Lori was crawling under the bed and looking closely. “You’ve got to see this,” she said, popping to her feet, “turn it over.

Together we flipped the bed over on its side. The machine in question certainly didn’t look like any kind of surveilance equipment. I could see the outline of a bottle for containing some kind of liquid or gas. Lori unstrapped half of it, exposing the other side. A pair of what were unmistakably speakers was present. As we watched, a small, slightly opaque jet of air puffed out another small hole. She leaned in and sniffed it, and I did the same.

“It smells like...” she said, trying to place it.

“Like your perfume,” I muttered.

The smell was unmistakably arousing.

“What fucking luck. What do we do now?”

“I will call the lawyers. If I can get this DVD to Benson in time, it won’t matter what the little shit has on us. He’ll look desperate and insane. You go down there and try to slow them down, but don’t let them see you.”

“What do you want me to do, slash their tires?”

“If you have to. Best thing is if you can get the machine back. But above all, don’t let them see you.”

We dissected the machine. Inside, we found a bottle of medical-grade compressed air, a bottle containing the fragrance itself, and a smaller bottle containing nothing but a serial number. The device also seemed to have wireless Internet access and contained some kind of mechanism for playing recorded messages out of the speakers.

“Do you really think it could be some kind of...”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Do you think... that everything we’ve done, everything we feel...” she seemed to be having some serious doubts, “did I ruin your life because some stupid box made us want each other?”

“You haven’t ruined my life,” I said sincerely, “you made me see how screwed up it was. And I’ve felt this way all along.”

She swallowed hard. “But did I feel it for you?”

I had nothing to say to that, I just hugged her close. I was thankful that we’d dressed, because for some reason as she cried against my chest I became aroused again.

“We should go and see,” she said, “whether there’s one under my bed too.”

We left the strange device behind and headed to Lori’s. As we arrived a familiar-looking green mini-van was just driving off. In Lori’s bedroom—it was somewhat distracting, finally being in her feminine-smelling home—we peeked under her bed. Sure enough, there was no device present, but there was a notable discoloration where it probably had been. She leaned down and sniffed her sheets above where it had been, and shivered a little, whether from the fact of the violation of her personal space or from memories of her time with me, I couldn’t tell. We walked out the door in silence and then together down the street a block to where I hoped we weren’t being listened to.

“What do we do now?” She asked.

I shrugged. “You should go to work. I’ll call my lawyer.”

I told my lawyer what had happened. Once he finished cursing me out for my screw-up, he asked, “where’s the thing? This device thing.”

“I left it at my house.” Only as I said it did I realize how foolish the idea was.

“Well, go get it,” he said.

By the time I got there, the device was gone, and I could see the subtle signs that many of the other surveilance devices I knew about had been removed as well: a displaced heater vent, a stereo speaker turned five degrees in its dust footprint.

My phone rang. “I sure hope you got that thing,” said my lawyer, “because we’ve got a serious fight ahead of us.”

I promised to come see him and start preparations. When I was done, I stood there cursing myself. I quickly keyed in a text message to Lori—I’d never actually called her directly before, but I had one of her business cards—and told her: “You and me is what matters. Now we can be together and stop hiding.”

I was getting ready to go see the lawyer when out the window I glimpsed a dark green mini-van with fully tinted windows. I hesitated barely a moment before running down the stairs.

“Nice work cleaning up.”

“Thanks. It was close, but I got it.”

“They didn’t see you?”

“I don’t think so. I’m careful, you know?”

“Right. Now get rid of those things, we don’t need them any more.”

“Right. See you tonight.”

I approached the van from one side, my blood beginning to boil. I boldly pulled open the door, and was presented with the sight of a surprised-looking fat man surrounded by several video monitors, and a small workbench on which one of the two strange devices was partially disassembled. I’d half expected to find Benson himself in there.

“What the fuck,” he blurted as I grabbed him by the back of his collar and tried to yank him out of the van. His flimsy t-shirt tore, and he recoiled.

“Come out here, you asshole,” I screamed, “and tell me what the fuck you did to us.”

“Fuck you man,” he said, and started to close the door. I stopped it with my hand, and pushed it all the way to my left. He swung out a meaty hand, but I slipped to the side, and moved in, my fists flying. I hit him squarely in the face twice, but he resisted by sheer mass. As he dodged my next flurry, he tipped back in the flimsy little stool he was sitting on, and fell over backwards. I jumped on top of him, and we struggled and we each punched and kicked each other to moderate effect. Then he pushed me with a grunt to his left, and I crashed against the rickety wooden workbench. The partially disassembled device landed on me, and I felt a cold spot on my back, sucked in air sharply and felt my lungs fill with vapor. The back of the van was filled with something, and my blood boiled anew. I felt an intense desire to be with Lori, but as that desire mingled with the betrayal I was feeling, washing over the floodgates of an eleven-year ordeal, I converted that desire into the rage I was feeling, the intense desire for revenge.

The fat man, he just looked dazed, coughing out the vapor that covered him as well.

“Who are you working for?” I spat, breathing in another lung-full of the stuff from the broken glass vial.

He answered all my questions, and then some.

“It’s done, I’m watching it all burn as we speak.”

“You okay? You sound... tired.”

“It’s hard letting go of my work.”

“Well, once this all settles down, you’re free to use your little creation to your heart’s content.”

“Sure, sure.”

“Well, things are looking good, better than good, the little shit even blew off the meeting. We might even get our motion filed this week.”

“Sounds good.”

“Shit, you could at least get a little excited over forty million.”

“Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

The fat man, Rick, hung up the phone. “Was that good enough?” He asked numbly.

“Yeah,” I said, “try to brighten up, though, we don’t want him suspicious.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow for an update,” I told him. “If anything comes up, you know where to reach me.”

Three weeks later, I walked casually in to the small, dark, one-room office.

“Hello, Robert,” I said, smiling as he jumped and turned.

“What? Hey, cousin, how’s it going! Haven’t seen you in ages! What brings you down here?” Robert’s rambling betrayed his unease at seeing me.

“I just came to pick up that statement from you,” I said at last.

“Statement?” He said, swallowing hard, “what statement?”

“The one in that envelope there.”

He glanced down at it. “Oh, that one. Right.” He glanced between the envelope and me several times. “You little shit,” he concluded.

“I’ll tell you what,” I told him as I took the envelope. “You kind of did get a raw deal here. Out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll give you five percent after taxes. You should be able to live comfortably the rest of your life.”

He regarded me critically. “You’re a better man than me.”

“I know,” I agreed, “that’s why it wasn’t fifty percent.”

Outside, I hopped into Lori’s car.

“Well?”

“It’s right here,” I said, “he won’t be bothering us again so long as we’ve got this.”

“And so long as we have this,” she said, gesturing to the small aerosol can bulging in my pocket.

“Well,” I said, “there’s not enough to last forever.”

“You sure we can’t just spray Benson and get your payout now?”

“Patience, dear, patience.”

“I’m not sure I can stand another year and a half of being subtle about you and me,” she said, squeezing my knee for emphasis.

“We’ll manage,” I said.

We drove up the highway, and while she watched the road I sat and smiled at the way she twirled her hair around her finger, not even thinking of how crazy it makes me.