NOTICE:
This is a about obsession; a journey into the dark
side of fantasy hypnotic mind control. As such, some of the
basic rules that usually guide my writing get twisted, bent,
or broken on this one. The title character is cut from the
same cloth as Suzerain in "Pleasure Cruise -- Exchange".
Don't say I didn't warn you.
SANDMAN
(c) Copyright 2000 by Wiseguy
Her beauty captured my soul.
I just stood there, precious time ticking away, and watched
her sleep. I'd seen sleeping women before -- many, many
times before -- but when I first saw Gabrielle's face in
the dim light of my penlight, everything stopped for a long
moment while I studied her face, so serene in sleep.
The moment seemed to last for hours, but was probably only
a few seconds. Then her face twitched -- the penlight was
rousing her. I held the little pump spray bottle close to
her mouth and pressed the button once, letting a light
spritz of the contents coat the lower half of her face.
Her eyes opened at the slight hiss of the pump and the feel
of the cool liquid on her face. The beam of the penlight
filled her eyes -- beautiful, bottomless brown eyes -- and
she gasped in surprise, which was exactly what I needed her
to do. Along with air she drew in a hefty dose of the drug
I'd sprayed on her face, a fast-acting relaxant used in
some hospitals for calming highly nervous patients long
enough to administer a conventional sedative. For the
second or two it took for her lungs to send the initial
dose through the bloodstream to her brain, she looked up at
me like a frightened child. I had a cotton cloth spritzed
with the same solution in my right hand, ready to stifle a
scream, but it wasn't necessary. She took a second breath,
then a third, and her eyes lost their focus as the drug
took effect. It would only last for a few minutes, but
that was more than enough time for my purpose.
"Relax, Gabrielle," I whispered, laying the cloth aside.
"You are safe, safe in your own bed. You are having a
strange dream is all." While I spoke to her, my right hand
dug in my side pocket and pulled out the crystal on its
simple black cord and suspended it in front of my victim's
face, twirling and spinning it, aiming the penlight at its
center to enhance the prismatic properties of the crystal.
"A strange, sleepy, relaxing dream," I continued. "You are
dreaming that you are being hypnotized by a mysterious,
attractive stranger. You see the crystal before you,
drawing your eyes to its center, the colored lights
reflecting in all directions, relaxing you more and more as
you gaze into its depths. Your eyes are captivated by it.
They can't look away; they don't want to look away; all
they want to do is stare deeper and deeper into the center
of the crystal, the eyelids getting heavier and heavier as
you relax ... "
Between the dissociative effects of the drug, her half-
asleep state to begin with, and my own consummate skill as
a stage hypnotist, she had no chance. Her eyes glazed over
and closed on my command. And once again, I had the
opportunity to relax a little myself and drink in the
beauty of her sleeping form. Reluctantly, I dragged myself
away from her bedside and got back to business.
Tonight that business was the age-old art of stealth
burglary. Out of habit, I took a quick look around the
bedroom. Aside from the high-rise luxury condominium
itself, Gabrielle lived modestly for a high-profile news
reporter, which she was. The closet was full of practical,
all-business-all-the-time clothing; the items in her cherry
jewelry box were of good quality, but not valuable enough
to be worth the effort of taking them; the bank envelope
taped to the underside of a dresser drawer held only a few
hundred dollars in cash, her passport, and some leftover
traveler's checks.
But those weren't my reason for invading Gabrielle's condo.
In the beginning, when bookings for my stage hypnosis act
were few, far between, and low paying, I had supplemented
my income with this sort of petty thievery; nowadays, I
deal in a much more lucrative commodity.
Creeping into the second bedroom, I found my true
objective: Gabrielle's computer. It was a Mac Powerbook
G3, very nice, with all the options. I turned it on and
waited for the system to boot.
The first thing it did was prompt me for a power-on
password. My respect for Gabrielle went up -- almost any
decent laptop provides this simple security feature, but
few people are wise enough to use it. If I'd merely taken
the laptop with me, it would be worthless -- the hardware
may be nice, but the true value of a computer lies in the
data it holds. Fortunately, my methods are much more
subtle and effective.
"Gabrielle," I called softly as I returned to her side.
"You are still in a deep, hypnotic sleep. I want you to
imagine for me that you have awakened, and that you want to
update your notes for the on Platt Pharmaceuticals
you've been working on. What do you do?"
Her mouth opened slowly. "I get up," she said thickly,
"and go to my computer. I turn it on and type in my
password."
"Listen to me, Gabrielle," I whispered. "That password is
very important, you know. If you've made it too easy to
guess, someone could come in and read your notes. I hope
you made your password a nice, difficult one that is hard
to guess."
"Yes, I did," she mumbled. "Very hard to guess."
"But at the same time," I continued, "you must be able to
remember it yourself. It's important for you to show me
that you remember it. Can you remember your password,
Gabrielle?"
"Of course," she said. "It's WILDFLOWER782. I can always
remember that."
"That's very good, Gabrielle. I'm very proud of you for
choosing such a wise password. Do you also use a password
on individual files, so nobody can read them but you?"
"No," she admitted with a sigh. "I used to, but Edgar
always gets annoyed when he can't remember the password for
a file I've given him, so I stopped."
"That's okay, Gabrielle," I assured her, enjoying the smile
that came over her at my words. "I'm sure your files will
be quite safe with that good, strong password protecting
the computer. Make sure you keep that password,
Gabrielle."
"Okay."
I told her to just relax, the crystal in her mind,
and just watch it spinning until I called her name again,
ignoring any sounds or movements around her, then went back
to the Powerbook. I typed in her password; the computer
finished booting and gave me access to her desktop. It
didn't take long to find the files my clients were
interested in -- judging by her filing system, Gabrielle
had a neat and orderly mind. I'll bet even her brain cells
are beautiful, I thought to myself.
Within 20 minutes I'd hooked up a portable Superdisk to the
machine and copied all of the files that looked useful or
salable. I spent a few more minutes returning the machine
to its original state. Now it was time to restore
Gabrielle to hers.
As I approached the bed one more time, I was again struck
by how beautiful she was. Unable to resist the urge to see
more, I peeled back the blankets. I was disappointed --
she looked as though she had a splendid body, but it was
covered from neck to mid calf in unglamorous blue and white
striped flannel. A practical nature is a fine thing in a
woman, but this was taking it too far.
"Gabrielle, my sweet," I said softly. "Soon your
wonderful, hypnotic dream will be over and you will return
to normal sleep. When you wake in the morning, you will
feel completely refreshed and content, and will remember
nothing about this dream at all. It's not important to
remember the dream, because none of it really happened. If
anything seems odd or out of place in the morning, it's
okay to just ignore it and act as though everything is the
way you expect. Also, you will find that you no longer
wish to confine yourself to wearing practical, businesslike
clothing all the time. You love the feel of fine fabrics
against your skin, fabrics like satin and lace and silk.
The texture of these fine fabrics makes you feel
wonderfully alive and sexy and confident.
"And now, Gabrielle, I will count to three. On the count
of three, your mental image of the crystal will fade away
and you will return to normal, restful sleep. Nothing will
disturb that sleep until it is time for you to wake up in
the morning. One ... two ... three. Sweet dreams,
Gabrielle."
Her body shifted ever so slightly as she slipped from
trance into normal sleep. I felt a strong impulse to bend
over and kiss her, but my common sense held me back.
Instead I crept quietly out the door and down the empty
stairs, undetected as always.
Professionally speaking, my encounter with Gabrielle was
highly profitable. Not only did I collect the agreed-upon
fee from my pharmaceutical client for identifying the
anonymous sources who had been leaking embarrassing
information to Gabrielle, but some of the other files I
copied contained information of great value and utility to
the campaign manager of an embattled member of Congress,
who paid handsomely for the "motivational speech" I gave to
him using the files' contents.
In the days to follow, however, when I thought back to that
evening, it wasn't the impressive financial gain that came
to mind. It was Gabrielle herself: the tranquility in her
face, the depth of her brown eyes, the way her black hair
flowed naturally around her, the sharp mind that showed in
the way she organized her life. I found myself turning
more often to the for news, especially Gabrielle's
station. Seeing her on the tube was nothing new -- she
was well-known locally, probably headed for network in
another year or two -- but now that I'd seen her in person,
she seemed more real to me than ever before.
Gabrielle occupied my thoughts so much that, when my
contact at the pharmaceutical company came back to me with
a follow-up request, I broke one of the cardinal rules of
my nocturnal business: never hit the same mark twice.
And so it was that about six days after my first visit to
Gabrielle's condo, I found myself once again looking down
at her quiet, sleeping face. My spray bottle and crystal
at the ready, I played my light across her face again. She
woke with the same start, inhaling the relaxant, falling
back against the pillows as I wove my spell around her mind
once again.
Something was different this time. Once I had her well
under, imagining my crystal spinning before her, I was able
to take a closer look and notice that her shoulders and
arms were bare, save for a pair of thin, shimmering straps.
I lifted the covers and beheld the results of my earlier
suggestion: Gabrielle was now wearing a peach-colored silk
chemise which flowed smoothly over her skin. Now that's
more like it, I thought admiringly. Her bare legs looked
so inviting that I lifted the silk slightly to peek
underneath and note the cotton panties. I also noted that
her nipples were erect, telegraphing their shape through
the gown. Slowly, gently, I caressed one through the silk
with my gloved hand. When Gabrielle moaned softly in
response, my cock responded. How I would have loved to
slide it inside her ...
But no -- this was still a business call, and a risky
enough one at that without leaving semen samples behind. I
took a deep breath and imagined tying a tourniquet around
the base of my cock until it slowly settled down again.
Self-hypnosis is a very useful tool at times like that.
"Gabrielle," I said softly, "how do you feel?"
"Mmmmm," she replied sleepily. "Dreamy ... sexy ... warm
and tingly in my boobs."
"How do you feel about Platt Pharmaceuticals?"
A frown clouded her face. "They're evil and greedy. They
made Tranquin so expensive to buy that the people who need
it most can't afford it, just so they can make fat profits
from the insurance companies."
You're probably right, I told her silently, then got to the
purpose of my visit. "Gabrielle, you've been given wrong
information about Platt. Platt spent millions and millions
of dollars to develop Tranquin so that people would have an
effective antidepressant that doesn't harm their sex drive,
but the FDA kept demanding more and more trials before they
would agree to approve it. Platt would love to lower the
price, but they can't until they cover the cost of all
those extra unnecessary trials. So you see, Gabrielle,
it's really the bureaucrats at the FDA who are responsible
for the high cost of Tranquin. Somebody should investigate
that story, don't you think?"
"Yes ... investigate ... "
"And then there's the insurance companies, especially the
HMO's. They have millions of patients who could benefit
from using Tranquin, but they refuse to make it easy for
doctors to prescribe it. Instead, they insist on trying to
make people pick from their list of cheap, less effective
drugs. That means there are fewer Tranquin customers,
which is causing the price to stay high. Somebody should
tell the people about that, too, shouldn't they?"
"Yes ... tell the people ... "
"Gabrielle, I know you're an intelligent and fair-minded
reporter, much too smart to be fooled by those people at
the FDA and the insurance industry. They want you to
believe that Platt is an evil, greedy company looking to
gouge people who need Tranquin. The truth is, Platt is a
generous company just trying to recover their costs so they
can stay in business. Whenever you think about Platt
Pharmaceuticals, Gabrielle, I want you to remember how
dreamy and sexy and happy you feel when I do this."
I let my hand touch her again, gently sliding the
silk over its surface, teasing the nipple, bringing a low
moan from her lips.
"Every time you think about Platt Pharmaceuticals, you will
experience that same wonderful feeling, and you will know
that they are truly on the side of the people. Do you
understand, Gabrielle?"
"Yes ..."
"Very good, honey," I told her. She smiled a sleepy, happy
smile. "And now, it's almost time to go back to your
regular sleep. I'm going to count to three, and on three
you will come out of trance and go back into deep,
refreshing, natural sleep. Nothing will disturb you until
it is time to get up in the morning. But from now on,
Gabrielle, any time you hear my voice say the word
'Sandman', a wonderful, warm, heavy feeling will come over
you and you will immediately slide back into a deep,
lovely, obedient, hypnotic trance even deeper than the one
you are in right now. Will you do that for me?"
"Yes ... Sandman ... "
"That's good. One ... two ... three."
Why did you do that? I asked myself, referring to the
induction trigger. You're not coming back here again. My
common sense told me I'd better not -- twice was risky,
coming back a third time would be foolhardy.
Of course, my suggestions worked. Gabrielle continued to
pursue the Tranquin with all the vigor that had won
her the respect of viewers and other reporters; however,
her angle of attack changed dramatically. Instead of
cornering Platt officials and asking hard questions, she
took her cameras into the offices of the FDA and several
major insurance companies, demanding that they justify the
practices which had contributed to the high cost of this
terribly important new drug. My contact told me Platt was
extremely pleased, and I received a hefty bonus in addition
to my usual "consulting" fee.
And best of all, every time Gabrielle mentioned the name
'Platt Pharmaceuticals' on the air, her hand would steal
over and touch her left for just a moment. I spent
hours watching the news, taping her segments and rerunning
them so I could admire the results of my work.
The next few days I spent in West Virginia, doing my
hypnosis act at a minor comedy club outside of Charlestown.
Ten years as a stage hypnotist, and I was still only
getting bookings in crummy little dives that nobody
interesting ever goes to. I'm a damned good hypnotist --
you can ask Gabrielle if you don't believe me -- but I
guess not much of a showman. Truth to tell, I'd probably
try harder if I really needed the money.
The first thing I did when I got home was turn on the to
see what Gabrielle was up to. I knew the Platt had
fallen by the wayside; Gabrielle's change of angle had
apparently confused her peers enough that the feeding
frenzy broke up, relegating the to the back pages of
the print media. From reading her computer files, I knew
she had a on Medicaid fraud that was ready to go and
fully expected to see it early in the newscast.
When the second commercial break came with no sign of
Gabrielle, I was irked. Halfway through the final segment,
when Gabrielle finally came on to deliver a puff piece
about some retired janitor who'd won the lottery, I was so
dumbfounded I barely noticed the lace-trimmed blouse that
she was wearing underneath her black blazer. Since when
does a reporter of Gabrielle's stature end up interviewing
lottery winners? Something had to be wrong.
I had to call in a favor, but a few days later I had the
name and home address of the station's executive director
in charge of the news division. It was a neighborhood I
knew well from previous excursions, a nice quiet suburban
conclave full of big houses with tall fences. His two
children, it turned out, were away at college, so I had
only the director and his to deal with. A quick spray
from my handy little pump bottle and they were both very
easy to manage.
"Listen very carefully, Howard," I told the director, my
crystal holding him completely in its thrall. "I am the
owner of the station, and it's very important that we talk
about what you're doing with Gabrielle Walker. Why has she
been getting less air time lately, and doing such
unimportant stories?"
"She screwed up on the Tranquin story," he said groggily.
"Got people at the FDA all pissed off and the insurance
companies threatening to sue us. And somehow Platt found
out who her sources were and they dried up. I decided she
should lay low for a while, earn her way back to the top
spot."
My blood boiled. This pompous, ignorant prick wouldn't
know a good reporter from an Amway salesman, and here he
was passing judgment on my Gabrielle.
"You've got it wrong, Howard," I scolded him. "Gabrielle
Walker is the best reporter you've ever seen. She's
tenacious, insightful, independent ... everything a
reporter should be. In fact, with her talent, she
shouldn't be chasing at all -- she belongs behind
the anchor desk. The sooner you get her there, the better
off my station will be. Viewers love and respect
Gabrielle; if you continue to mistreat her, she will leave
and you will lose your audience, which means losing your
job. You don't want that, do you?"
"No, sir."
"Good, then we agree. Gabrielle is to be put back on her
normal assignment, starting with that hard-hitting Medicaid
fraud she's been working on. And starting now,
you're going to see to it that she gets every opportunity
to take over as anchor. Oren Stevenson has been there too
long; the station needs some fresh blood, someone the
viewers can relate to and admire ... someone like
Gabrielle."
"Yes ... of course ... "
There was an extra fire in Gabrielle's eyes the next
evening as she delivered the first part of her Medicaid
fraud at the top of the hour. If her businesslike
dress plunged a little lower in the front than usual,
showing a hint of white lace around the shadow of her
cleavage, I'm sure it didn't the ratings any.
I told myself it was foolhardy, stupid, reckless, totally
against all common sense and self-preservation, but that
night I nonetheless found myself back in Gabrielle's
bedroom, standing over her sleeping form.
She was in another silk chemise tonight, a pale blue one
with white lace trim at the bust and the hem. Gently,
slowly, I put my hand over her and caressed her
through the silk. She stirred, smiling, then opened her
eyes with a start and a gasp.
"It's all right, Gabrielle," I reassured her. "It's me,
Sandman." At the sound of her trigger word, Gabrielle's
eyes dropped shut and her entire body relaxed with a deep,
satisfied sigh. Not quite her entire body, I noticed --
her nipples became firm and erect, pushing up against the
silk as the rest of her sunk deeper into the bed. I
caressed both nipples for a few minutes, talking her deeper
into trance, until she was moaning steadily and the scent
of her arousal began to tingle in my nose.
I lifted the bottom of the chemise and saw that she had new
underwear, an off-white mesh thong that failed miserably at
hiding her curly black thatch. The cotton insert was
thoroughly soaked and reeking of her juices.
"Gabrielle, my sweet," I said. "Your secret lover is here.
Already you've felt the pleasure of my touch, arousing you,
making you feel so wonderful. You love the feel of my
hands on your body. My touch, the touch of your lover,
never fails to arouse you. In fact, you have become so
aroused at my lover's touch that your sex is dripping with
the desire to receive me. Your body knows that great
pleasure is only moments away." Coaxing her to lift her
butt a little, I pulled down the thong to expose
her glistening center. "Go ahead, Gabrielle ... feel how
very wet you are, how very ready you are to receive me.
Touch yourself in all of your favorite places, each touch
making you more aroused and more anxious to receive me
inside you."
I watched, my cock threatening to burst through my black
slacks, as Gabrielle's fingers probed her own private area,
circling her nub and spreading the slick fluid all around.
Her moans grew louder and more impassioned the longer she
went.
Don't do that! my common sense screamed as I peeled the
glove off my right hand. I was in the grip of a more
powerful force than common sense, however: gently, firmly,
I removed Gabrielle's hand from her center and replaced it
with my own.
"I am about to enter you now, Gabrielle," I told her.
"When I do, it will give you the most intense sexual
pleasure you have ever felt. I will count to five, and at
the count of five your body will experience the strongest,
longest, most satisfying orgasm you have ever had. You
will continue to orgasm until I tell you to sleep; then you
will fade into a normal, natural sleep that will not be
interrupted by anything until it is time for you to awaken
in the morning."
With that, I plunged my first two fingers deeply into her
vagina, putting gentle pressure on the slight bulge in the
top wall where I knew she would feel it most intensely.
She shuddered and gasped, then went back to an ever-
increasing rate of moaning and panting. I teased her nub
with my thumb while stroking the inside of her with my
fingers, and I could feel her body struggling to hold off
orgasm until it received the command. I counted to five
slowly, relishing the uncontrollable passion in her face
and her body, and let her come until it seemed she could
stand no more.
"Sleep, Gabrielle," I told her. "Sleep now, and awaken in
the morning feeling better than you ever have before."
Before leaving, I took another short look around. The
array of practical cotton underwear I'd found on my first
visit was gone; a wide variety of soft, shimmering things
had taken their place. These were much nicer, much more
fitting for my Gabrielle. So were the various silk, satin,
and lace slips, camisoles and blouses that I found hanging
in the closet, the broadcloth things relegated to a
back corner. I approved.
My Gabrielle's Medicaid fraud piece more than made up for
any damage done to her reputation as a reporter. She made
her debut at the anchor desk the following week, marking
the beginning of a sweeps period. She looked absolutely
radiant behind the desk, her soft, sexy voice giving the
news a whole new level of compelling interest. I watched
every minute of it with her thong from our latest
encounter -- I didn't remember tucking them into my pocket,
but they'd been there when I got home -- clenched in my
hand. The scent of her juices in them was faint but still
detectable.
The next morning, I thumbed anxiously through the Style
section of the morning paper; my Gabrielle must be
mentioned in there, I reasoned. Sure enough, she was --
but not, as I was expecting, in the column. Instead, I
saw her name in bold type in the 'Reliable Source' gossip
column:
Local news reporter Gabrielle Walker
finished her first night at the anchor desk,
where she is filling in for vacationing Oren
Stevenson all this week, by painting the
town. Sources say her chosen escort was
fellow newshound Tom Matthews, fueling
speculation that the pair may be
collaborating outside of work.
Obviously, this would not stand. I thought briefly about
paying a call on Mr. Matthews, but abandoned the idea -- if
I warned him off, there would be many others willing to
take his place. No, this was a problem that needed to be
attacked at the source.
It had only been a few days since my last visit with my
Gabrielle, but I couldn't afford to wait any longer. I
crept into her room that night, roused her with my
penlight, and said the word that sent her into blissful
trance.
"We need to talk, Gabrielle," I said after deepening her
hypnotic state. "Tell me about your relationship with Tom
Matthews."
"He's a guy at work," she said slowly. "We've dated a
couple of times lately. He wants more, but I'm not sure I
do."
"Of course he wants more ... all want you, my
Gabrielle, but only one is worthy. Tom Matthews is a
walking Ken doll, a pretty face with no substance. He is
not worthy to lick your shoes, my darling. Indeed, none of
the you see in the waking world are right for you.
None of them can give you the pleasure that I give you, my
Gabrielle. I, your secret lover, am the only who can
please your body and your mind. You must love me, and only
me. Do you understand?"
"Yes ... only you ... "
"That's right, Gabrielle, only me. Other will desire
you, many of them will try to woo you, but you must remain
faithful to me at all times. You may socialize with these
men, but you must not become involved with anyone other
than me. If someone else presses you for dates, for
attention, you will invent excuses that will not betray our
secret love."
Slipping off my glove, I lifted the covers and reached
inside her nightgown. My fingers slid up her thigh and
found nothing but warm, soft fur and moist skin -- she was
wearing nothing under the silken sheath. She purred
sensuously as I caressed her mound, slowly spreading the
increasing moisture around and parting her nether lips.
"You love the feel of my hands on your body, Gabrielle. My
touch arouses you more than any other touch; my voice
arouses you more than any other sound; my kisses arouse you
more than any other could ever hope to. Feel the raw
pleasure of my touch, and my kisses, and my voice, and let
them bring you to a deep, intense, satisfying climax ...
and as you submerge yourself in the sexual joys that I can
bring you, realize that no other can give you this kind
of pleasure. No other can make you come. "
I probed her slit with my thumb and fingers for a while,
listening to the sounds of her ascending passion as I
touched all of her favorite spots. When she was dripping
wet and nearly out of her mind, I spread her legs apart,
peeled the black hood off my face, and dove in for the
kill.
She climaxed almost immediately. I let her enjoy it,
kissing her inner thighs gently while she writhed on the
bed until the pace slowed, then sank back in and traced
circles around her clitoris with my tongue. Her legs
clamped down on me and she climaxed again. I let her ride
it out, and then at the very end I stimulated her one more
time and sent her over the edge yet again. My face was
coated in her delicious juices when I finally let up. I
reminded her again that no other could make her feel
this way, and sent her off to sleep.
I managed to hold out almost a week before going back to
see my Gabrielle again. I was struck immediately by how
content she looked, and noticed that she was now sleeping
between satin sheets. Her eyes opened when I touched her
through the satin, but there was no gasp and no look of
fear in her face. Instead, she gazed intently into my
eyes, the only part of my face visible through the black
hood I wore, and waited.
"It's Sandman," I said, and enjoyed watching her eyes fall
closed and her body slide deeper into the sheets. I peeled
away the top sheet and drew in a sharp breath myself: my
Gabrielle was naked.
I sat there on the edge of the bed for untold time,
studying her body as it lay ready for our mutual pleasure.
Her nipples were already standing up in anticipation, and
the familiar musky scent I'd come to love was already
rising from her center. The sight of her breasts, felt so
often but now seen for the first time, was too much to
ignore -- choking off the scream of protest that rose from
the back of my brain, I removed the black hood I normally
wore and nuzzled my face between her breasts. There was a
strong scent of perfume on her chest which filled my head
and overrode almost all of my remaining reason. I spent a
long, happy time suckling at my Gabrielle's breasts,
kissing and and caressing them freely, listening to
her impassioned moans and losing myself in them.
My cock ached to be inside her, but my embattled sense of
caution managed to win that skirmish; instead, with the
flush of her excitement covering her skin from throat to
crotch, I settled down between her legs and adored her.
Her body responded to my loving attentions in a most
satisfying way, climaxing again and again as her thighs
squeezed around my head. Partway through I realized I was
coming as well, pumping large amounts of my own seed into
my pants. There was a large damp stain around my zipper
when I got up, but I was lucky -- none had soaked through
to the sheet.
I'd given myself quite a scare -- I'd come close to leaving
a dangerous piece of physical evidence behind, something
I'd never done before. My Gabrielle would never betray me,
of course, but I hadn't escaped suspicion for all these
years by leaving evidence in my wake. I would have to be
more careful.
The ratings for my Gabrielle's newscasts were excellent --
a good 10 percent above the station's normal share for the
6pm and 11pm slots. The station didn't hesitate to issue a
press release trumpeting the numbers, fueling speculation
that they may offer her a permanent spot as co-anchor. The
papers picked up on the story, and it became a minor
scandal when an "anonymous source" inside the station
speculated that my Gabrielle's sudden success may be less a
function of her journalistic talents than of her ability to
wear peek-a-boo lace with a business jacket. Probably Oren
Stevenson, I thought to myself. That sanctimonious prick.
It had only been a few days since my last visit, but I felt
that a celebration was in order.
This time, when I crept into my Gabrielle's condo, I had a
picnic basket with me. Quietly, letting the anticipation
build in my loins, I set out the contents of the basket on
the dining table: a magnum of champagne, chilled and
swathed in a cloth napkin, and two flutes. The vinyl
tablecloth I laid out on the living room floor for a
different purpose.
I made my way to the bedroom to see my love. Without
waiting, I peeled back the satin sheets and beheld her
stunning, naked body. She stirred at my first touch and
met my gaze just before I sent her off to sleep. I sat on
the edge of the bed with her, lovingly stroking her
with a gloved hand, until I heard a sharp metallic click.
"Take your hand off her, you pervert."
Calm and relaxed, I told myself as I turned my head slowly.
I could just make out the speaker in the dim moonlight from
the windows: a tall, gangly, redheaded woman with anger in
her eyes. The open closet door behind her told me where
she'd been hiding; the way her hands held the gleaming 9mm
Beretta, cocked and ready to fire, told me she was skilled
in its use. My best chance was to put the intruder off
balance, so I turned back to my Gabrielle again as if
nothing out of place was happening.
"I said stop that!"
I counted a quick three in my head as I continued fondling
my Gabrielle's breast. "She likes it," I said quietly,
keeping my head very still. "See how her body responds to
my touch?" To prove my point, I gave the a good
squeeze, rolling the nipple between my fingers, and my
Gabrielle gasped and moaned with pleasure, arching her back
in a most satisfying way.
"She does not like it," the woman insisted. I repeated my
action and let my love's obviously increasing arousal prove
the lie. The interloper watched as I removed my glove and
began fingering my Gabrielle's center, then could watch no
more.
"What the hell are you doing to her?" she demanded, moving
closer to my line of sight in an unconscious attempt to
regain control.
Still I didn't look away from my love. "That should be
obvious," I remarked. "I'm giving her an orgasm. The
first of several tonight." To punctuate my statement, I
slipped two fingers deep into my Gabrielle's canal and
rubbed her G spot, bringing her to an instant and loud
climax.
"Un-fucking-believable," she said as the moaning subsided.
"Aren't you even going to ask who I am?"
"You'll tell me soon enough." Beneath my hood, I smiled --
she still had the gun, but I had claimed for myself the
position of power.
Sure enough, my suggestion was immediately rewarded. "I'm
her friend, Vanessa," she said, her voice full of anger and
now frustration. "Gab's been acting very strangely lately
... she's stopped dating, and her taste in clothes has
changed ... then there's that whole fiasco with Platt
Pharmaceuticals -- she acts as though nothing went wrong
there, but she blew a big story. The other day she
remarked that some guy has been breaking into her condo,
feeling her up and going through her things, but it didn't
seem bother her in the least. Well, it bothers me, so I
decided to find out for myself."
I waited long enough to make this so-called friend wonder
if I was paying any attention to her at all, then spoke.
"Gabrielle, my love," I said, still running my hands over
her body. "Do you want me to stop visiting you at night?
To stop touching your body? To stop loving you as no other
man ever could?"
"No," came the breathless reply. "Please don't stop.
Don't ever stop."
In my peripheral vision, I saw Vanessa lower the gun and
approach a little closer to the bed. "Gab, you don't know
what you're saying," she argued, the anger in her voice
replaced by bewilderment. "He's got you brainwashed or
something. Don't you see how sick this guy is?"
My Gabrielle said nothing; she was too busy moaning as I
stroked her, bringing her closer to another orgasm. The
only voice she wanted to hear was mine. Seeing the
intruder's eyes locked on my Gabrielle's enraptured face, I
picked up the pace of my caresses with one hand. With the
other, I slowly reached into my pocket and found my little
spray bottle. "She's not listening to you," I said as a
distraction. "The only sound my Gabrielle wants to hear is
my voice."
The redhead made her final mistake -- she took her right
hand off the gun, took the remaining steps over to my
Gabrielle's side, and tried to shake her awake. With her
body now between the gun and me, I had the perfect
opportunity -- my hand with the little spray bottle came up
and I pumped twice, hitting her squarely in the face. The
intruder shrieked as the solution burned her open eyes,
wiping frantically with her free hand while she pointed the
gun at me with the other. I counted three gasping breaths
and saw her face begin to slacken. Then, and only then,
did I make direct eye contact.
"That gun is very heavy, Vanessa," I told her, slowly and
deliberately. "Very heavy ... so heavy you can barely hold
it anymore. Feel the weight of it dragging your arm down,
down, down ... deeper and deeper ... pulling you down ...
so heavy ... " I watched with satisfaction as her arm, as
if drawn by gravity, sank down until it was pointing the
gun at the floor near her own feet. "You're feeling so
sleepy now, Vanessa," I continued, "Sleepy and tired ... so
sleepy and so tired, that you can no longer keep your eyes
open. Let them close now, Vanessa, let your eyes close and
sleep. You know they must, you know they need to ... let
them close now, and listen carefully to my words."
Her eyes closed and a look of relief came over her face as
she slipped into trance. I relieved her of the gun
immediately, de-cocked it, then removed the magazine as
well as the round in the chamber before turning my
attentions back to Vanessa. I gave her another quick shot
of my relaxant to ensure her cooperation a little bit
longer, then took her deeper and deeper. She tried to
fight me, but her own body betrayed her, obeying my every
suggestion, until she finally slumped to the floor and
surrendered.
"Vanessa," I asked my new subject, "what did you plan to do
with me and that gun?"
"Stop you," she answered thickly. "I was going to keep you
covered with the gun while Gab called the police."
"Would you have shot me if I'd resisted you?"
"Yes ... in the leg, or something like that."
"And why would you have done that?"
"Because you're a creep ... a pervert ... "
I fumed in silence for a few moments. Creep, am I? I fumed
silently. Pervert? We'll just see who the real pervert
is!
"You're wrong, Vanessa," I said, gently stroking her hair,
fighting to keep the rage out of my voice. "I'm neither a
creep nor a pervert. I'm Gabrielle's secret lover, the
Sandman. She enjoys my visits, just as I enjoy visiting
with her. Anyone who would try to interfere with that
could never be a true friend to her. You must never
interfere with our affair again, do you understand?"
"Yes ... never interfere."
"Very good. Now tell me something, Vanessa: have you ever
had sex with another woman?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'm not like that," came the timid response. "It creeps
me out a little."
A most satisfying response; controlling the anger became
easy. "Listen to me carefully, Vanessa. You may not have
realized it before, but you actually do want to have sex
with other women. Lots of other women. Whenever you see a
woman, you will find yourself thinking about having sex
with her. You may feel disgusted with yourself for having
these thoughts, but they are in your nature and can't be
ignored." Vanessa squirmed, but didn't reject the
suggestion. A closet is born, I applauded
triumphantly to myself.
"In fact," I continued, "the first person you want to have
sex with is Gabrielle. When you awaken in the morning, you
will see her lying naked in her bed and the desire to make
love to her will be overwhelming. The more you try to
suppress that desire, the stronger it will be. You will
find a pair of hose and tie her hands together at the
headboard so she can't stop you; then you will take off all
of your clothes, climb in between her legs and perform oral
sex on Gabrielle. You will continue doing this no matter
what she says, growing more and more aroused the more she
speaks, until you orgasm. Once you orgasm, you will stop.
You will confess that it is you who have been sneaking into
her bedroom at night and molesting her, because you are
obsessed with her and want her to be your lover. You will
then do anything that Gabrielle tells you to do, even if
she says to go away and never speak to her again. Do you
understand, Vanessa?"
"No," she whined weakly. "I don't want to ..."
Another dose of my relaxant overcame her reluctance. A
wicked smile crept over my face when she relented. "And
now, Vanessa, I want you to go to sleep. You will sleep
without interruption until Gabrielle's alarm clock sounds;
you will then turn off the alarm and obey your
instructions."
"Yes, sir." My vanquished enemy sagged a little more as
she drifted into sleep. I took the opportunity to set my
Gabrielle's alarm clock about half an hour earlier than
usual and turn it on.
My Gabrielle lay on the bed still, her body flushed and
warm, waiting for more stimulation. I had other things in
mind, however. "Gabrielle," I called to her. "At the
count of three you will awaken, feeling refreshed and
happy. Nothing you see, hear, or do will seem unusual or
strange. You will know that I am your secret lover; you
will be happy to spend time with me, happy to do anything I
ask you to do, because we are so deeply in love with one
another. One ... two ... three."
Her eyes fluttered open and then fixed on me with love.
"Hi," she said sweetly, making no attempt to cover her
nakedness.
I took her hand and kissed it. "We are celebrating your
success tonight," I told her. "I brought champagne. Would
you like to come have some with me?"
"Certainly." She slid quickly out of the bed and followed
me, pausing only long enough to grab a pink silken bathrobe
and slip it over her shoulders.
The champagne had lost some of its chill during the
unexpected interruption, but was still cold enough to
serve. I popped the cork, using a cloth napkin to capture
it, and poured two glasses.
"Why the robe?" I asked casually as I handed her a glass.
She giggled. "The windows, silly." She pointed toward the
glass doors at the end of the living area, which led out to
the small balcony.
"Of course." I closed the vertical blinds and then slipped
off my hood, the better to enjoy my champagne. "To our
love, and to your success," I offered, holding my glass in
the air.
My Gabrielle smiled brightly and touched her glass to mine.
The champagne was deliciously dry.
"The papers suggest that you may be offered a permanent
anchor job," I said. "Do you know anything about that?"
"They already did," she admitted, grinning. "But I turned
them down."
I almost dropped my glass. "Why would you do that?"
"An anchor is just a figurehead, darling, not a real
reporter. I love the hunt, the deadlines, the grand
feeling I get from being first with the most. It's a
tough, unforgiving, brutal job and I happen to be damned
good at it. Why would I want to give that up just to sit
behind a desk reading someone else's copy from a
teleprompter?"
I was flabbergasted. If she had any idea of the risk I'd
run to get her that offer ...
"Listen to me, Gabrielle," I said seriously. "For a woman
with your abilities, there is no more appropriate job than
anchor. The exposure will lead to better offers, bigger
networks, and who knows? In time, you could be producing
your own investigative reporting specials. You need that
anchor job; it's important for your future happiness. In a
day or two, the station will offer you the anchor job
again. When they do, you must accept it. Do you
understand?"
Was that a tiny flash of resistance in her eyes? If so, it
passed quickly. "Of course, honey. I'll accept it if they
offer it again."
"They will," I assured her. Time to change the subject.
"So tell me about Vanessa."
"She's a good friend," my Gabrielle replied. "We've known
each other since I joined the station."
"What would you do if you woke up one morning and found
Vanessa trying to have sex with you?"
"I'd probably freak out. I don't have a problem with
lesbians in general, but I don't want to be one. Vanessa
wouldn't do that, anyway; she gets the shivers whenever
someone even mentions the 'L' word."
"Actually," I contended, "I think Vanessa really is a
closet lesbian. In fact, I think she desperately wants you
as her lover. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if she even
snuck into your condo sometimes at night and molested you
in your sleep."
My Gabrielle shivered. "That would be too weird," she
said.
"Much too weird," I agreed. "In fact, if you ever wake up
to find her touching you in sexual ways, you won't find it
pleasurable at all. You will immediately resist her. Tell
her to stop, demand that she stop, until she does. And
then, you will tell her to leave you and never try to
contact you again. You'll do that, won't you?"
"Yes, of course."
"I know I can count on you."
Sitting there at her glass-topped table, watching her drink
champagne while the pink robe fell open around her, I was
overcome with the burning need to make love to my
Gabrielle. That night, I had come prepared to follow
through on the desire.
Setting my empty glass down on the table, I walked around
behind my Gabrielle and began massaging her shoulders
through the robe. Her body melted under my touch.
"Mmmmm," she purred, "I love the feel of your hands on my
body."
"Oh, really?" I teased. "How much?"
For answer, my Gabrielle stood up and turned to face me,
dropping the robe off her shoulders. "This much," she said
lustily, and drew me in for a long, slow, open-mouthed
kiss.
My hands explored her back and bottom as our tongues danced
together. Every time I started to pull back and breathe, I
found her mouth closing hungrily on mine again. I felt
fingers working at the front of my pants, and her hand
slipped inside to grab the stiffening length of my cock.
I could feel my own self control withering as my cock grew
in her hand -- I wanted nothing more than to throw her down
on the floor and fuck her brains out. "I want you so
much," she breathed between kisses. "Please fuck me,
Sandman. I want to come. I want you to come inside me."
The whole time she talked, she was also working at my
clothes. My pants fell to the floor, and she began to
strip the off my back. I allowed her to keep going
until I was standing amidst a pile of my own discarded
clothes, as naked as she was. My Gabrielle put her arms
around my neck and climbed onto me, wrapping her legs
around me and clinging like a warm, beautiful vine. My
aching shaft was tantalizingly close to her sex; I could
feel the moisture coating it, dripping down from just
above.
Through an effort of will I walked us both over to the
living room. I put her down on the tablecloth and she
immediately climbed up on her knees to catch me as I
reached for a foil packet I'd left on the coffee table.
"You don't need that," she said to me. "I'm safe, and I
know you're safe too."
"It's better this way," I replied truthfully. "But you can
put it on me if you wish."
My Gabrielle was happy to take the packet from me and, from
her kneeling position, roll the condom onto my cock. One
hand snuck around and fondled my balls while she finished
seating the condom in place, and almost caused me to come
right then and there. "On your back," I croaked, and she
complied immediately, falling backward onto the tablecloth
and spreading her legs wide.
I dropped down between her legs, lifted her bottom, and
slipped easily into her ready and waiting receptacle. My
Gabrielle arched her back and thrust herself into me,
grabbing my waist with her legs and pulling me in as
tightly as she could. I felt forward with a hand, grabbing
a and caressing it in rhythm to the movement of our
hips. We rocked and moaned together, faster and faster,
louder and louder, until I exploded inside her. She felt
my orgasm begin and cried out with the force of her own
climax. We remained locked together, our loins shuddering
together in sympathy, until the intensity subsided, then I
released her and let myself slide down beside her to
recover.
"Gabrielle?"
"Yes, darling?"
"Go back to your room, my love. Get in bed and wait for me
there."
"Okay."
I watched in admiration as my Gabrielle's beautiful, naked
form rose from the tablecloth and padded lightly back to
the bedroom. I sighed heavily; making love to my Gabrielle
had been wonderful, but now it was clean-up time.
I used a dry corner of the tablecloth to clean myself,
being careful to keep it folded in toward the middle, then
carefully dressed again. I folded up the tablecloth,
keeping the surface we'd made love on to the inside, and
put it back in the picnic basket. The condom I flushed,
being careful not to leave any fingerprints on the commode
or sink area. The leftover champagne I poured down the
sink, then the bottle, cork, and glasses also went back
into the picnic basket. Using a clean cloth, I carefully
wiped the glass tabletop, kitchen counter, coffee table,
and any other surface that I had touched while my gloves
were off, then dropped the cloth into the basket. I took
one more look around: as far as I could tell, all possible
physical evidence of my presence was now either in the
picnic basket or down the drain.
My Gabrielle was on her back in the bed, her naked body
telegraphing through the satin sheet, waiting for my return
as instructed. "Sandman," I said to her, and I watched her
eyes lose focus and close down.
"Gabrielle," I said softly. "In a moment, I am going to
kiss you one more time. When I do, you will have the most
delightful orgasm you've had tonight, one that will be so
strong and so long that when it finishes you will fall into
a deep, restful, and natural sleep. Nothing will disturb
that sleep until you to awaken in the morning. You will
not awaken until you feel someone's tongue touching your
genitals. That someone will be Vanessa; when you do
awaken, you will react the way I suggested that you react.
When she leaves, you will get up and go about your day.
You will not remember the time we spent together tonight,
and you will be relieved to know that with Vanessa gone,
nobody will be molesting you anymore in your sleep."
I watched her face as my suggestions sank in, and
reinforced them several times before going on. My pulse
quickened as I prepared to give her the final suggestions
of the night.
"Tomorrow, Gabrielle, you will meet a very special man. He
will come to the building at 10:20am exactly in order to
look at the empty unit which is for sale on the 8th floor
of this building. At 10:20, you will find an excuse to
come down to the lobby and you will meet this man. His
name is Peter, and he is a stage hypnotist. Your conscious
mind will find him fascinating, and will feel a strong
sexual draw to him; your subconscious will recognize that
Peter is actually me, your secret lover, and will ensure
that your conscious mind falls deeply and passionately in
love with him." With that, I wished my Gabrielle goodnight
and kissed her, triggering the orgasm that would send her
to sleep.
I watched her sleep for a few minutes -- she was
breathtakingly beautiful, as always -- then gathered up my
hood and basket and stole away into the night.
-wg
10/5/00
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