Monday was a difficult day at work, and so when I got home, I immediately changed and poured a glass of red wine, deciding that dinner could wait. Debbie hadn’t yet arrived, but I was enjoying the temporary solitude that had been missing from my day to that point. An hour later, the door opened and Debbie walked in. “Hi, Ray,” she called, slightly out-of-breath, and then… I almost had a heart attack. It took a conscious effort not to pee myself. Mr. Scary followed my wife into our apartment. He did not look pleased. “Is this the guy you call Mr. Scary?” Debbie asked. I could feel the color drain from my face as I nodded. “Ray… no matter what, don’t interrupt, or try to stop me in any way,” she brusquely finished.
“I’m afraid this breaks our agreement, Mr. Grant,” he said in that deadpan, yet-threatening way of his. My blood turned to ice. “I don’t know how you managed this little victory, you and Mrs. Grant, but rest assured, it’s the last one either of you will ever have.”
I was petrified. “Have a seat, Dr. Brown— you won’t be able to get up or leave until I say so.” Mr. Scary sat in the loveseat. “How I managed it,” my wife resumed, “is that your little secret government experiment has turned me into someone with the ability to control other people. You don’t even remember my asking you to come home with me today.” He sneered at her, obviously still believing that he was doing things because he wanted to.
Of course, he tested her command. “Very impressive, Mrs. Grant,” Mr. Scary evenly said, seemingly unaffected by Debbie’s direct display of her power. “We had no idea that you had—mutated in this fashion. My apologies, Mr. Grant. It appears that you had no choice but to tell your lovely wife. Unfortunately, that makes the course of action I must follow more of an imperative.” He looked at Debbie, who had steam coming out of her ears. “I doubt that Mrs. Grant would be interested in working for us.”
“You got that right.”
“It’s a pity you didn’t consider that alternative, Mrs. Grant, and chose this rash action instead,” he continued in that maddeningly calm way of his. “What are you going to do? Kill me? My second-in-command will take over for me, and I’m guessing that everyone knows that I left with you. The company will take the appropriate action regardless of who gives the actual order. I’m afraid it’s too late for the two of you.”
I was stunned. “You’re forgetting one thing,” Debbie calmly retorted. “I can make you do anything I want. And that includes not killing or injuring yourself. That would be taking a domino out of the sculpture.” She gave me a brief, humorless smile. “I want you alive—for now.”
“If I start acting strangely, the company will—take appropriate measures,” Mr. Scary evenly answered, giving us a patronizing look. “And you must know that I have been trained to resist conversion.” Without warning, he reached into his jacket and removed his gun. Everything went into slow motion as he pointed it at Debbie, and all I could see was two of his men falling backwards, bullet holes in their skulls, and I began to move towards him, but too slowly as he took aim and… froze. I tripped on the table leg and landed at his feet, and found the barrel of his gun in my face and I closed my eyes and… nothing. I opened my eyes and just watched as his next decision became action: he pointed his gun at himself—and he still couldn’t pull the trigger.
“Satisfied?” Debbie smugly asked. “You see that you can’t harm us or yourself. Ever. It also extends to our friends and our families as well. And do you have the authority to make sure that it gets passed through your entire organization?”
Mr. Scary flatly answered, “No. All of you will be dead by tomorrow morning.”
“Now tell me the truth,” my wife hissed, leaning to his face. Our adversary immediately began to sweat, and within a few seconds, he was showing strong signs of discomfort. The gun clattered to the floor. “I’m mad enough that I’m tempted to see if a ‘drop dead’ command would work,” she continued, “but you’ve given me a really good reason why I shouldn’t.” Mr. Scary remained silent, gritting his teeth against the pressure that I knew he was feeling. “Well this obviously won’t work,” Debbie said, half-to-herself, as she waited for him to crack. Finally, she sniffed, tossed her head, and walked away.
The tension in his body eased perceptibly, and relief showed on his face for just an instant. It was followed by an even more brief flash of another emotion: fear. He was afraid of my wife and her ability. If Debbie didn’t succeed at this, we were both dead, because in his eyes, she was now a threat to the country. He looked at me with almost—pity, and then the mask was in place once again.
Debbie returned with a holdered cigarette and gave me a hot kiss. “Let’s see... Dr. Brown, I have something I want you to think over,” she smiled at him. “Every time you lie to me, you’re not going to feel a thing, but when you tell the truth, you’re going to feel your last sexual experience. Your body has that memory, and all the sensations your body went through will happen as it remembers. All of those good sensations will flow through you, but they are echoes, and until I say so, they will not be real. Since they are not real, you will only feel the sensations, but your body cannot react as if it was being touched.”
She spun, looking all the world like the villainess in a James Bond movie, the femme fatale who had the secret agent firmly in her clutches. “Just to test things, we’ll try something simple. Did you recruit Ray for your project, or was he an employee?” I blinked.
Poker-faced, Mr. Scary said, “He was assigned to your case, and we are disappointed that he has been compromised.” My panic at that died when Debbie asked him if he was male. He replied yes, and his eyes widened in shock and a small involuntary moan escaped.
“See how good that feels?” Debbie said with mock sweetness. “Tell me that you don’t want to feel that again.” It was clear that Mr. Scary had a much more difficult time resisting the pleasure than fighting against the pain. He said no, but his lips were tightly pressed. “I know you’re lying now,” my wife continued with a smile, “and so I will get the answers I want one way or another.” She produced two of her favorite weapons—the blue pills—and put them onto a table within his reach. “Ray, bring Dr. Brown a glass of water.”
I complied out of curiosity, wondering just how far Debbie would go, and how long it would take Mr. Scary’s group to kill us both. He looked at the glass I offered him, and Debbie said, “Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned or anything. I can guarantee you that Ray hasn’t been drugged.” My wife giggled, “But you’re about to be spiked,” before turning deadly serious and commanding, “Take those pills.” She took a luxurious drag from her holder, posing as if she were trying to ignite my passion. I was too scared to be able to react. “Don’t go ’way now,” she told him before turning to me and saying, “Let’s go to the bedroom for a little while,” leaving Mr. Scary alone.
Debbie went straight to the closet while I tried to communicate how afraid I was of him, and how what she was doing would surely wind up with both of us dead, but I couldn’t get the words out. Finally, I sighed, “What if he breaks free from your control while he’s alone out there?” Apparently, I couldn’t pose a direct objection to what she was doing, but if I was creative enough, I could still get my point across.
“He won’t,” Debbie lightly said, adding, “He can’t. He can’t even get out of the chair. And he won’t harm us—you’ve seen that I’ve taken care of that.” She pulled out her soft, curve-hugging retro black velvet dress, and her opera gloves.
“Why the show?” I asked, changing tact. Maybe I could find a way to dissuade Debbie through this seemingly unrelated conversation.
“Because,” she began without much emotion, “I need to arouse him for this to work. I’m not gonna touch him, and I wouldn’t make Heather touch him… so I gotta get him going through sight and sound. I found out that he has a thing for Playboy pictorials of the 50’s and 60’s from his dad’s stash, so I’m going to be the sexy bad girl he wondered about undressing during puberty.” Debbie held out her hand and smiled without humor. “We’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing. I tested this body memory thing on Heather pretty thoroughly last night and all day today.” She added, “Y’know, you really make her cum,” with a knowing smile. “Her memories of you are much stronger than those of me—or anybody else for that matter. And no, I’m not jealous, because I know exactly why and exactly what she feels. As far as Dr. Brown—if that’s really his name—goes, though, I want you to relax, Ray.” She resumed changing clothes. “I’ve got it all taken care of.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I sighed in resignation, even as I relaxed, my mind put at ease for the moment. She finished primping in front of the mirror, selected her extra-long cigarette holder, and asked, “How do I look? Is this old-school Playboy or what?” I nodded in agreement and appreciation for the well-fit black dress and matching opera gloves. My wife smiled and kissed me on the cheek before taking my hand. She led me back into the living room, where her boss remained sitting in his designated chair.
Mr. Scary condescendingly greeted our reappearance with, “Viagra as a truth serum, Mrs. Grant? I can tell you with authority that topic has been thoroughly researched and that it doesn’t work.” He moaned and his hips moved as the bulge grew more prominent in his pants. “Although the effects can cause mild discomfort, you’ll have to do much better than that.”
“No,” Debbie corrected, “not a truth serum. A truth meter. You’ve no doubt figured out that telling me the truth is going to make you very uncomfortable, so why don’t you take your pants and underpants off for me?” His hands twitched in a momentary resistance while Debbie casually lit a cigarette and put it into a holder, stating, “You want to fuck somebody now.” Mr Scary squirmed, his cock twitching. “Your dick is hard, I look like an image from Playboy magazine when you were young—I can tell that you’re agreeing with me from your reaction, which means you’re telling the truth.”
He let a loud moan go. “I don’t exactly understand how you’re making me feel this but—”
“What you’d really like to know is how this happened, so you can make more of me that can be controlled. Something that can be turned to the country’s tactical advantage.” He said a soft “yes,” and moaned again, his cock free from his pants. “As for Viagra, that wasn’t what you swallowed. You just had a drink of water.” I could see puzzlement flash across his face for the briefest of instants, but only because I knew to study him closely for visual clues about what he was thinking. The smug, comfortable expression that I knew all too well settled back on his face. “I just want to understand you better, Dr. Brown,” Debbie resumed. “I know that we’re in a dangerous time, and increased vigilance is only a part of reducing the danger to this country.” He paused, then blinked before agreeing with her—and got harder as a result. “Would it be accurate to say that you believe that some of the ends—justify the means?”
Mr. Scary frowned, suspicion marking his measured response. “Yes, Mrs. Grant.” He gasped—each truth was accompanied by a small thrust of the hips now. “I do believe that, but why are you asking me these questions? I’m hardly going to establish a relationship with you and come to sympathize with your objectives. Your mutation makes you a threat, and both of you have knowledge that can severely compromise the company and its ability to defend this country.” He fidgeted, unable to get much separation from the chair for a full-fledged fuck stroke.
My wife smiled. “The pleasure you feel with each truth is getting more intense, as I’m sure you can tell. Pretty soon, you’ll be on the verge of orgasm, but you won’t be able to have one, because the feelings are just very strong echoes in your body memory.”
“Mrs. Grant,” he sighed, “this—” He gasped and his hips fucked at the air as much as they could. “—may be amusing, but it won’t get you what you want from me.”
“Yes, it will, Dr. Brown, because I’m raising the stakes,” Debbie countered. “You are going to want to please me because I can make this feeling even more intense—in either direction.” Mr. Scary regarded her quizzically, still able to hide his fear. She spent the next couple of minutes playing to my fetish, making me respond in spite of the situation, and then knelt in front of me.
Mr. Scary gasped loudly. He had a great view of me getting a slow, delicious blowjob from my wife. She encouraged me with her eyes, her touch, an occasionally whispered phrase between licks, and before I knew it, fire was burning though me. Nonetheless, Debbie continued her ministrations, devoting herself to intensifying my release. Spent, and awash in orgasmic haze, I collapsed onto the sofa, my legs unable to hold me up.
My eyes rolled around loosely for a while, and then reality gradually began to coalesce around me. I could see that Mr. Scary was completely aroused and that Debbie was regarding him clinically, saying something to him in a seductive voice. My afterglow evaporated in seconds, and my wife’s voice came into focus. “…Wasn’t that incredibly arousing? You are so ready to pop, but you can’t. And now, if you lie, or make me unhappy, that intense pleasure you feel will become pain of the same degree—and you won’t be able to scream.” She waited a second for that to sink in before asking, “Tell me all about the experiment that created me.”
“No,” he said his face hardening for a microsecond before twisting into an agonized rictus. His mouth was open, issuing a silent scream, and his body contorted, although he couldn’t move much, being mentally chained to the chair. His penis deflated almost instantly.
“The sensation will reverse if and when you decide to cooperate. I’m sure that you much prefer near-orgasm to this,” Debbie calmly said, walking over to him and raising his face to look her in the eye. “Tell me how you created me.”
“It—was—a—mistake,” he managed to gasp. His eyes widened as his body’s sexual response kicked back in. “A practical—joke.” I could hear him inhale sharply.
“A joke?” Debbie cried.
“The persons responsible—” Mr. Scary began, sighing rapturously, “were eliminated. We were trying to create a very powerful truth serum to be used in place of physical torture. They put one of our experimental formulae into your coffee, anxious to find out about your sex life. They thought that it would be fun to—embarrass—you. I regret that I could not prevent such a childish motivation from becoming action. Against all regulations, they removed the formula from the lab, and put it into your coffee.” A goofy smile lit his face.
“Tell me, is there a way to end this little—experiment of yours without killing us?” He replied yes with a rapturous moan, eyes wide, and his cock became absolutely rigid. “Then that is what you are going to do,” she replied simply. “You are going to release Ray and me from any further obligations, and you will do it in such a fashion that absolutely no one will think it strange.”
Somehow, somewhere, Mr. Scary managed to gather the strength and willpower to say, “No, Mrs. Grant. I can’t allow—”
“—Pain, Dr. Brown,” Debbie calmly, coldly, interrupted. “I want you to experience horrifying, excruciating pain. I can make it last as long as I want, because this pain is without physical consequences, unlike standard torture methods. And wouldn’t you like to have agents that can do this.” The witch who shared my wife’s body had returned. After an eternity of minutes, she finally said, “Or, I can reverse it completely—like this.” His body relaxed instantly, except for one part, which popped to urgent attention. He moaned happily. “All you have to do is give me what I want, Dr. Brown. It’s simple, this pleasure… or the pain.” Once again, Mr. Scary’s body jerked and twisted, his mouth open in that silent scream. My horror was tempered by a sense of satisfied revenge, albeit second-hand. “It’s your choice.”
Mr. Scary struggled to speak. “I can… I can… close your case,” he gasped. “I can fix it so that the experiment is failed—document a benign tumor.” Debbie cocked her head. “The evidence—is—there,” he wheezed, finishing, “I can—have the company—leave you alone.”
“And you won’t try to resurrect this experiment in any form. You will not work on any derivative of this formula,” Debbie added.
“No—I—can’t,” he protested. His body twisted again, a picture of incredible torment. And I enjoyed watching.
“You will end this experiment,” she explained, “Because I can make this go on forever. Your body isn’t damaged; your mind is healthy. In fact, it’s all in your mind, so your brain is working overtime right now—very efficiently, I might add. Close the truth serum experiment permanently, before you harm anyone else.”
“Too—late—for—that,” Mr. Scary truthfully managed, causing the blissful sensation to stop the pain; he was smart enough to realize that telling even insignificant truths would trigger the pleasure response.
Unfortunately for him, that admission pissed Debbie off even more. “Telling me the truth isn’t sufficient to stop the pain any more,” she snapped. “The pain will only stop when you do exactly what I tell you to do, Dr. Brown.” At that, horror filled his eyes, and he finally understood what the monster he had created was capable of. I couldn’t bring myself to feel any sympathy for him, even though Debbie had morphed into one of the evil, vindictive mind controllers from the EMCSA. I couldn’t stop her, but right now, I wasn’t even inclined to try.
I had been watching Debbie work on Mr. Scary for four hours without thought of food or drink, except when she asked for water. She had used the stick much more than the carrot for the most part, only appealing to the pleasure centers in his brain when he seemed to acclimate himself to the pain. She was ruthless and efficient: by midnight, even his occasional pithy retorts had stopped. Once he was at that point, it only took her another half-hour to extract the name of the truth serum project (“Absolute”), the number of people who had died as experimental subjects during the project (six, all “company volunteers”) along with the current status of the project (“still working on a non-toxic modification of the formula”), and the favored scientific theory of her survival (“genome-drug interaction.”)
“Any thoughts you have of disobeying me are going to cause you to feel significant precursors of the pain that you are undergoing,” she calmly said as his body contorted. “So, you’re going to terminate the experiment, right?”
“Yes,” he groaned.
“Truth meter time,” she sang, and Mr. Scary attempted to scream his throat raw. “Do you want to try that again? Surely by now you’ve realized that you can’t lie to me.” She knelt by his side. “If it makes you feel better, all I want is a little money, a guarantee that our family and friends will be left alone—along with their reputations—and for you and your company to leave Ray and me alone,” she sweetly reasoned. “We have the same sense of patriotic duty that you do, and, as you have experienced, I am perfectly capable of taking care of my own, so there really isn’t any conflict of interest here.” She waited until he began nodding. “You’re going to close the experiment normally, and pursue something else. You will make sure that no innocent people are harmed the next time you try anything like this. Will you do these things?”
“Yes,” he urgently whimpered. This time, the truth meter pointed straight up.
“See how good it feels to tell me the truth and do what I want?” He nodded, the goofy, pre-orgasmic look again on his face. “And you are going to figure out a good way to make closing this experiment look as normal as possible, isn’t that right?” He nodded again, smiling with his eyes crossed. “Excellent. It would seem that we have a perfect understanding of our working relationship now, wouldn’t you agree?” Mr. Scary sighed a happy, “yes,” and the truth meter never wavered. “Oh, you are so wonderful, Dr. Brown,” Debbie ironically smiled. He agreed with that, too.
She stepped back and resumed her 1950’s Playboy photo act, cooing, “And now when you look at me, you won’t remember any of this, only do what you have decided. The way I look now, the way I make you feel now is nothing more than a dream… a very potent dream that you will only have once, and only be able to remember for a short time.” She strutted back and forth in front of him, his eyes going from unfocused, to appreciative, to filled with abject lust. “And all those echoes of pleasure that you are feeling are going to become very real... NOW.” Debbie posed, holder held aloft, her chest thrust forward, incredibly elegant. As enraptured by the sight as I was, the vision was causing Mr. Scary to spurt all over himself, untouched, with an expression of awe and amazement on his face, his eyes locked on her, still unable to scream his ecstasy. She held her pose until he collapsed into the chair without a trace of muscular tension anywhere. “So now you’ll do what I’ve asked you to, isn’t that correct, Dr. Brown?” Debbie asked in her most seductive voice.
I held my breath for the answer, terrified for an instant that somehow, this was all an act, and that Mr. Scary was just biding his time until he was freed. When he finally got the energy to speak, Mr. Scary happily whispered, “Yes, Mrs. Grant, I will.” His body shook as his cock tried to re-inflate.
“Good,” Debbie affirmed, before turning to me and suggesting, “Shouldn’t you be in bed? Tomorrow’s alarm is going to come awful early, and we both know how much of a morning person you are.”
Jeez... It’s one o’clock already. Five-and-a-half hours of sleep won't be enough, but it’ll have to do, I thought. I gave Debbie a goodnight kiss on the cheek and retired.
“Debbie,” I cautiously began over dinner the next day, “about—what you did...”
“He deserved it,” she defiantly answered. “I didn’t have enough time to brainwash him. He had to be back at work today, along with me. Besides, I wanted him to suffer.” I asked her if she thought he could ever break her control. “Not unless he wants his heart to blow up. I booby-trapped it. If he even thinks about exposing us for more than a second or two, he’ll start to have a heart attack.” Correctly reading the distress on my face, she added, “You can’t tell me that being free of him once and for all isn’t worth his life. As morally reprehensible as that sounds, he has no conscience when it comes to dicking with other people’s lives, so I’m just being karma’s enforcer.” She gently took my hand. “He can’t tell anybody—I even made it impossible for him to raise suspicions—about me or you.” She sighed. “I just wish that he could make this go away quicker. All I’m wondering is when I don’t have to be around that place ever again. Now I get the creeps every time I walk in there.”
“So… we’ll just get to restart our lives as if none of this happened?”
“Can’t do that,” Debbie correctly observed. “You and I know too much, and even if I could erase your mind, too many things would wind up being unexplained—I’m really big on that domino model thing you taught me. I’m pretty sure that I’ve covered all the bases with—them—but we spend too much time together for you to not get suspicious. And you’re real smart, so I doubt that I could keep it hidden for long.” She looked at me. “So… how scared are you—of me? Do you—can you—still love me?”
I shrugged. “I’m afraid that you’ll get mad at me and literally put me through hell. I’m afraid that you’ll blow your cover in public. I’m afraid that somehow, Mr. Scary will regain his memory and kill us.” She nodded. “But… I’m as much responsible for you as he is,” I sighed.
Debbie tossed her head and re-fixed me with her gaze. “Duty aside.”
“You’re incredibly sweet, smart, funny, and sexy—fetish aside. That hasn’t changed,” I confessed. “And you could make me stay with your power, but you won’t.” She acknowledged that. “You’re giving me a chance to walk out, no strings, no vengeance, because it’s important that you know I want you, and that it wouldn’t be fair to keep me just because you want me. And that says a lot about who you still are.”
“Tonight, I realized that you can’t stop me from using—or misusing—my power. Only I can do that,” Debbie said. “But if it hadn’t been for you, I would have killed him on the spot without thinking about the consequences. Just by being here, you’re an awful big argument against abusing my power, because I don’t want you to get hurt in the crossfire, and I don’t want to scare you off. I want you in my life, Ray. I just can’t force you.”
“I want to be here, too,” was all I said.
We celebrated the end of our indenture that Friday with our Heather toy, as Debbie made sure to remind me that there were fringe benefits in her power for me, too. Saturday, my wife and I went out to a nightclub—and returned to our apartment with four other people—two women and two men, all extremely attractive. I know that I had to be jealous as the men indulged Debbie’s sexual curiosity, but I can’t remember feeling any. I also know that it had nothing to do with the blonde and brunette who were concurrently taking care of me, because I have a distinct memory of not being interested in either of them at the club beyond glancing at eye candy.
I got the courage to ask her about it a couple of days later as we were getting ready for bed. “Yes, I did—alter you a little bit,” she admitted. “If it’s any consolation, I was just curious, and being double fucked wasn’t that great.” Debbie rolled over onto her side to face me. “Besides, I know the guys weren’t really attracted to me. I can make them think so for a few hours, but it’s not like with you,” she said, her voice becoming throaty. “You’ve always been attracted to me, and that is just entirely too sexy to resist.” My naked wife smiled at me, seductive, yet impish, ending our discussion.
She came bouncing into the apartment the next day, a couple of hours later than normal, obviously extremely happy, and shoved a letter at me. “They let me go! Permanently. Officially, I’m being given a disability release. All I had to do was to sign this, saying that I won’t sue them over my ‘brain tumor’. I’m late because of my exit interview.” She babbled non-stop for a few minutes, forcing me to interrupt her by giving her a hungry kiss. “Wha—huh—was I saying something?” she grinned, giving me a lewd look.
Ignoring it, I asked, “What did—ummm—Mr. Scary say?”
“He told me how good I looked,” she smiled. “He looks at me kinda funny now—probably a Playboy hangover. I did drill that into his mind pretty good.” She paused, realizing that wasn’t what I was asking. “It’s a complete no-contact agreement,” Debbie resumed, a little more serious, allowing me to let out the breath I had been holding. “I figure that they’re reasoning that even a frivolous lawsuit could expose their cover operation. They’re going to send me fifty grand as severance, too, just to make sure I don’t sue. But that’s not the best part about today,” she softly finished. I leaned forward, waiting, while Debbie remained silent. Finally, a big grin broke out on her face. “I’ve got an interview with my old company Friday morning! They called me at work this morning and said that they had an opening for a mid-level manager with an MBA, and wanted to know if I could I come in and…”
My wife’s ecstatic chatter faded as I retreated into my own thoughts. The timing had me wondering if Mr. Scary had something to do with this seemingly random stroke of fortune, and if this was his way of keeping us within reach in case he was ever able to slip Debbie’s mental bonds.
“You’re still worried about him,” said Debbie. I nodded. “Ray, I got rid of his motivation to harm us. More importantly, I know that his superiors aren’t happy about all the deaths they’ve had to cover up on this project—let’s just say that he doesn’t want to rack up the body count any further. He’s got way bigger problems than us.” She reached into her purse and removed a Black and Mild cigar. “Now, I can fix it so you don’t worry about it ever again—” She waited for me to light it. “—or,” she resumed after her first puff, “I can take your mind off it the old-fashioned way. Which would you prefer?”
I looked at her, leaning back in the chair, playing with my fetish, her eyes alight with mischief, love, and lust. The only thing I was sure of was that Debbie was happier than I’d seen her in a long, long time, and when she was happy, mind control didn’t matter to her. Once again, she would be the same lovely, funny, and smart woman with whom I had originally fallen in love.
Friday, I wound up being on the phone with a California client until well after six. I made an apologetic call as soon as I left work, but there was no answer at home. I decided to surprise her by picking up dinner from one of our favorite restaurants. I called both home and her cell while I waited for our order and still got no answer. I figured that she had forgotten to turn her cell phone off, and was out somewhere, maybe with her old friends, having a good time and being normal again.
My good mood disintegrated and my heart dropped through my stomach when I opened the door to the apartment. I froze at the sight of Debbie walking around with her holder and a More, in front of a naked, very erect, well-muscled man. He began to turn his head towards me. “Don’t pay any attention to him, your only thoughts are of me,” I heard her command, and his head slowly returned to her. “Remain here.”
Oh no, I thought, she’s going crazy with this mind-control stuff. I don’t know if I can deal— “Hi, sweetheart,” my wife happily said, giving me a peck on the cheek. “Is that dinner?” she asked, sounding as if nothing were out of the ordinary. “It smells wonderful.” Debbie shut the door behind me because I was still rooted to the foyer floor, giggling, “We don’t want the neighbors to see everything.” She took a casual drag from the holder, posing, but my world was spinning so crazily that my fetish didn’t even register. “C’mere,” she said, tugging at me, still cheerful, “I want you to meet someone.” I reluctantly followed, as she brought me to a halt in front of the man, who was regarding her with complete adoration. He was tall, brawny without being ridiculously muscled, very handsome by any measure, and obviously well endowed. If this is what she’s going to put me through…
“Ray,” Debbie said, the cheer suddenly draining from her voice, “I’d like you to meet my former boss, Dickhead.”